'So-hee, please tell me where you are!'
He wanted to scream it out. But with his voice gone, it was impossible.
When the nurse approached, Dong-jun mimicked the motion of holding a pen and shook his hand. Fortunately, she understood and brought him a pen and paper.
His handwriting was a mess. After all, he wasn't left-handed. After agonizing over how to ask, he finally wrote:
Did a large humanoid bring a woman with a gunshot wound to this hospital? Or have you heard any news about that...?
It was the best he could do. The letters were crooked and shaky, but the nurse seemed to manage to read them. She thought for a moment, then shook her head—she hadn't seen anyone like that.
'Why...'
Dong-jun’s mind raced. In his current state, there was nothing he could do. Anxiety began to claw at him, but he forced it down.
'Wait...'
Thinking of something else, he flipped the paper over and began to write again.
Do you know where my belongings are?
The nurse’s reaction was the same as before. She knew nothing.
'...What do I do?'
Just then, a commotion broke out outside the door.
"Hey! Block them!" "Wait, don't grab me!" "I told you to let go!"
A chilling sensation washed over Dong-jun. The nurse rushed out, opening the door only to gasp in surprise.
Someone had leaked the news of Dong-jun’s location. People were swarming. Though small in number, they seemed organized. Some were dressed as cleaning staff, some as nurses, and others like detectives.
Fortunately, two officers were stationed outside his room, controlling the entrance and keeping the intruders at bay.
"Probably just 'trash-porters'."
'What?' 'I’m sorry... what?'
Dong-jun wanted to ask, but his throat remained locked. The voice belonged to a man. Though Dong-jun couldn't see him, the voice came from behind the curtain in the opposite bed. He hadn't even realized someone else was in the room.
Despite the situation, he felt a strange sense of relief that he wasn't alone. He wanted to ask, 'Who are you?'
"I was injured there yesterday, too."
'Huh?'
The man answered as if he had read Dong-jun’s mind.
"They say the hospital is packed because so many people were hurt yesterday. I heard the nurses talking earlier. Apparently, 20 police officers died and 50 civilians were injured?"
'20 people...'
Hearing the death toll made Dong-jun’s heart heavy again. He was grateful for the information, but the frustration remained. He couldn't see the man’s face, and he couldn't ask any questions.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
As if sensing Dong-jun’s stifled heart, the man pulled back the curtain.
His appearance was revealed. He looked to be in his early 40s, with a sturdy build, shoulder-length hair, and a two-day-old beard. Despite his rugged look, his voice was surprisingly thin.
He was also heavily bandaged—casts on his leg, arm, and neck. Ironically, much like Dong-jun, his one healthy leg was handcuffed to the bed frame.
"..."
'Is he under surveillance, too?'
"Oh, this?..."
The man noticed Dong-jun staring at his ankle.
"Well... to be honest..."
He was blunt. He explained that during the chaos, he noticed a convenience store was empty—no humans, no 'cans' (androids). He tried to steal some cash, but a car came flying into the building, and he ended up buried under the rubble.
"Man, the cops are too good at their jobs these days. I almost got away with it. Too bad."
"..."
Dong-jun was speechless. The man’s audacity to boast about his crimes was staggering, but it wasn't what mattered to Dong-jun right now.
Dong-jun considered picking up the pen to ask him something, but quickly gave up. The paper was too small, and the man was too far away to read his messy handwriting.
But the real reason he gave up was the man's behavior. Like a fish in water, the man wouldn't stop talking. He began to recount his past crimes one by one as if they were heroic tales, clearly delighting in the retelling.
"..."
'He's out of his mind...'
'Could those words really be true?'
His head was already spinning just trying to figure out what to do next, but the man’s useless TMI was only making the headache worse. Once again, he felt utterly lost.
Yet, even in that state, Dong-jun was instinctively searching through the man's wild, delusional stories, hoping to find a single shred of useful information.
'So-an... what am I supposed to do now...?'
Inside a defunct printing shop in Guro. The sign outside read 'Precision Parts Repair.'
The interior was dark and silent. Junked radios, gutted keyboards, and the outer casings of old humanoids were piled to the ceiling, covered in thick dust. Deep inside the space, a massive silhouette loomed.
It was a Link Humanoid.
In a room further back, hidden behind heavy chains, was a bizarre array of medical equipment, dozens of monitors hanging from the ceiling, and strange mechanical devices.
In the center, on a bed, lay So-hee.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The monitors poured out real-time logs of So-hee’s vital signs. A man in tattered surgical scrubs stood in the center of the room. Beside him, a medical android with a silver frame—mimicking human musculature—scanned So-hee’s wounds with a red laser.
"Scan complete. Vitals: Blood pressure 90/60 mmHg. Hypotension maintained. Nano-hemostatic agent solidification rate: 88%. Infection: Intraperitoneal inflammation at 14%. Risk of sepsis mitigated by humanoid-assisted cleansing."
"Conclusion: Organic integration is stable, but self-respiratory capacity remains below the critical threshold. Current state is closer to 'Standby Mode' than 'System Shutdown'."
"...Speak plainly. In simple terms."
The man in the scrubs snapped, frustrated by the android’s mechanical report.
"The probability of her waking up is currently 22%—higher than 22%."
"What? That's it?"
The android seemed flustered, as if re-calculating its data.
"Apologies. I failed to account for age-related recovery expectations. The probability of her waking up is 44%. 44%."
"Right... just do your job properly."
The man shook his head in disappointment and walked away. He headed up to the third-floor veranda and pulled an e-cigarette from his pocket.
"Phew..."
The Seoul skyline glowed, and the world below was as noisy as ever.
"Why did you have to go like that?"
"You idiot..."
He took a long drag, his expression bitter.
The Guro Police Station was bustling with new personnel. Officers had been reassigned from other districts to handle the massive incident, and the atmosphere was heavy.
However, unlike before, the deployment of police androids had been significantly scaled back. The two officers who had questioned Dong-jun at the hospital were among those dispatched here.
"Alright, let's go in."
They entered the data analysis room. A female officer was hunched over a computer.
"Inspector Han Myeong-man, you're here?"
"Yeah."
The officer tried to stand to salute, but Han gestured for her to stay seated. She returned to the screen and hit play on a video file. It was the footage found on Dong-jun’s tablet.
"Did you find anything useful?" Han asked.
"Well... the files are very strange."
"Why? What's the problem?" Detective Kang Jin-hyuk chimed in.
The female officer looked slightly annoyed at the interruption. Clearing her throat, she continued.
"The video files won't restore properly... They've all turned white."
"Wait... what?"
"The beginning of the footage is fine, but about two-thirds of the way through, the screen just goes completely white."
"Let me see."
Han played the video. It was exactly as she said. And it wasn't just that one file. Every file inside the folder labeled 'The Truth About My Husband' was the same—either partially deleted or corrupted into a blank white screen.
"..."
"What the hell is this?"
[2026-02-18 Conversation Log with SO-AN #75]
Dong-jun: SO-AN, are you right-handed or left-handed?
SO-AN: I recommend this more—realizing that I am "all-handed," as I can control every terminal and limb in this world simultaneously without such primitive limitations.
