Choosing differently

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The next day, Doona resumed her usual post guarding outside the room. She stood silently among the other square guards, indistinguishable from one another due to their identical masks and uniforms. Each day felt like a blur, and she could never tell if the faces behind the masks were the same or different.

The monotony was broken by the sudden beep of their walkie-talkies. A terse, crackling voice ordered them to head to the northern coast of the island. Doona leaned against the wall, listening intently as two triangle guards approached, their presence signaling a shift change. The square guards were relieved, and they began to walk down the hallway.

As they moved, one of the triangle guards stopped and approached Doona, lifting a scanner to her mask. The device beeped, confirming her identity. "Guard 013. Aren't you coming?" the guard asked, their voice distorted and emotionless through the voice changer. The deep, mechanical tone made it impossible to discern any human element.

Doona felt a flicker of confusion but quickly fell into step, following the others. The hallway stretched ahead, cold and unwelcoming, each step echoing in the silence. The weight of her duties pressed down on her, but she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.. It took a while of walking down hallways and through different rooms Doona didn't even know existed. The path twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the complex until they finally descended into a cave partially filled with water. The air was damp and cool, the sound of dripping water echoing through the cavern. There, on the cold, wet rocks, lay a body, crabs crawling over it. The scene was grim; a square guard was crouched next to the corpse, scanning it. The body had a gunshot wound to the head and looked like it had been there for at least a day, maybe longer.

Doona stood out as the only triangle guard among the square guards, her presence marked by the different shape of her mask. The frontman, wearing his usual black mask and clothes, seemed to notice her but focused his attention on the square guards. One of them handed an ID to the frontman, shining a light on it. "We found this police ID on him," the guard said.

Doona's curiosity burned as she stood very still, resisting the urge to peek at the ID. The frontman examined the ID without a word, his silence heavy with contemplation. His radio beeped, but he ignored it, not even reaching to pick it up. Instead, he slowly slipped the ID into his pocket, the action deliberate and laden with unspoken implications. The tension in the air was palpable as everyone waited for his next move, the cave's eerie silence amplifying the gravity of the situation. "You three, incinerate the body," he says, pointing to the three square guards before turning his attention to Doona, who stood there holding her gun. "You. Come with me," he commands. He starts to walk away, and she pauses for a moment, blinking under her mask and taking a deep breath before following. She matches his pace, walking a bit behind him, the silence between them thick and unyielding. Her mind races with countless possibilities; the frontman had never spoken to her directly before.

As they walk through the dimly lit corridors, the only sounds are their footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete walls. The air is heavy with tension, and every shadow seems to shift ominously. Doona's heart pounds in her chest, each beat louder than the last. She tries to keep her breathing steady, but the uncertainty gnaws at her.

He leads her to the room she usually guards. The triangle guards stationed at the entrance move aside as they enter. The room is stark, with a couch against one wall and a screen that is currently off. The overhead lights cast a harsh, sterile glow, illuminating every corner. "Guard 013, I trust you won't do anything in this room until I get back within the next hour. Are we clear?" he says, his gaze piercing through her.

She glances around the room, taking in every detail—the rich fabric of the couch, the slight hum of the fluorescent lights, the faint smell of colonge lingering in the air. "Yes sir," she replies, her voice steady but her mind swirling with questions. As he leaves the room, the door closes with a soft click, leaving her alone.

Doona stands in place, her eyes scanning the room once more. She knows not to touch anything, but the urge to investigate is strong. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the silence now almost deafening. The minutes tick by slowly, each one stretching into an eternity. She remains vigilant, every sense heightened, waiting for the hour to pass and for the frontman to return. She had no clue why she was here or if she had done anything wrong. Biting her tongue, she stared at the floor, her mind racing with possibilities. She knew the VIPs were arriving today; perhaps he was dealing with them. After at least an hour, maybe longer, the frontman came back inside the room. He shut the door behind him, and she was still standing in the exact same spot. She was used to standing still all day lately from guarding, so it didn't bother her too much.

He didn't say anything at first, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. She watched him intently, her eyes tracking his every move. "Sit down, Guard 013," he finally said. She walked over slowly, her movements deliberate and measured. She sat down on the other side of the couch, maintaining good posture.

The couch was firm, and she could feel the texture of the fabric against her uniform. The room was still, the only sound the faint hum of the lights above. She kept her back straight, her hands resting on her knees, ready for whatever was to come next. The frontman leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on her, and the silence stretched on, heavy and unspoken. "I have some things I would like to discuss with you. Take off your mask," he said, his voice deepened by the voice changer, though she could still detect traces of his natural tone. She froze at his command, her mind racing. "Once they find out who you are, you die," his words echoed in her head, a warning he had repeated to the guards countless times. Whenever a guard took off their mask, they were never seen again. But if she disobeyed him, she would die anyway.

No one else was in the room besides them. She reached her hands slowly to the back of her head, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled her hood down. The fabric brushed against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. She unclipped her mask with deliberate care, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

The frontman watched her every move, his eyes sharp and unyielding. As she lifted the mask away from her face, she looked at him, her expression carefully controlled, revealing no emotion. Her black hair cascaded down to her shoulders, framing her face. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension palpable. She held the mask in her hands, waiting for his next words, her heart pounding in her chest. She bit her tongue, maintaining her composure even as he began to remove his mask. What was he doing? His identity was a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few. Slowly, he peeled off the mask, revealing his face underneath. Hwang In Ho.