Substitute-Chapter 116

Jiwon was about to slide his arm into the gap when a sharp sound crackled from the speakers.

[The seekers have entered. Hide well. The seekers have entered. Do not leave your hiding places.]

At last, the seekers appeared.

He’d assumed the game started the instant the siren cut off; blaming himself for not moving a little more shrewdly, Jiwon slipped back inside the gap and snapped branches at random. With the springy ones he bent a circle and set it on his head; he split the rest between both hands. He had no idea if it would work, but after camouflaging himself he stepped out of the gap.

He drew the brush closed from the outside so the opening wouldn’t show, then crouched as low as possible and moved quickly.

Urgent didn’t mean sloppy. Like he’d done inside the building, he walked with an even stride and counted numbers in his head—to judge the distance.

The path was well kept, but there were three sharp curves, so he couldn’t measure it as a straight line.

Roughly 250 meters.

About 250 meters from the gap to the first gate out.

He reached the place where he’d first found Kim Yunho.

[No entry—private property. High-voltage electrocution hazard.]

Standing where the sign was posted, he looked up at the CCTV’s red eye.

That eye hadn’t existed inside the gap, but out here it still tracked him.

Making a point of it, Jiwon walked to the brushy path on the opposite side and dove into the thicket.

He edged in as close to the wire fence as he could.

Did this fence actually carry a high-voltage current?

Or was the warning just there to scare people?

If he touched it for nothing, he could get roasted, so he pushed through the brush carefully, keeping clear of the fence as much as possible. After a bit, he could see beyond the fence.

Unfortunately, a wooden privacy fence ran along the wire, blocking his angle of view from a crouch. He had no choice but to rise, screening himself with grass.

A man over 180 centimeters couldn’t move without making any noise at all, so he shifted right as carefully and slowly as he could.

Then figures in water-blue wetsuits and black uniforms came into view. The red suit, cut the same as the Crew’s but in their color, had to be a seeker; unlike the Crew, who’d only been issued flashlights, the seeker wore a helmet and goggles. There was even a small black pack on their back.

Judging by the way two in black shadowed each red suit, the three of them made a set for the game.

How many are there?

He started counting the reds, when—

“Found one!”

someone shouted.

That was the start.

“Me too, fuck!”

“What are those assholes. They didn’t even try to hide.”

“What a fucking buzzkill.”

Clicks of the tongue rolled into a flood of profanity.

“Dead-fish eyes, that one.”

“Grandfather, come on. That’s too much.”

“You gonna do it?”

“Already?”

“Fuck it. I don’t care.”

They were loud enough for anyone half-deaf to hear. It even felt like they were raising their voices on purpose to be heard.

A moment later, a jaunty fanfare blared from the speakers.

[Ten out. Ten out. The ten captured runners are being escorted by two seekers. After the whipping sentence, the runners will face strict penalties. We wish them the best of luck.]

Wait, whips?

He thought he’d misheard.

Whips? No way.

Muttering to himself, Jiwon edged farther right to see the captured Crew.

One of the group seemed to turn this way, and he ducked down at once. After counting to ten in his head, he slowly lifted his head.

The seekers were gathered at the center of the garden, but only two stood with the ten runners they’d caught.

Ten at once?

He didn’t even feel like laughing.

They’d sprawled around the garden without even thinking to hide and got caught exactly like that.

It was less a problem with the Crew than with management. To start a game at all, you needed to be in your right mind, but they hadn’t enforced even that basic rule.

The ten captured were forced to their knees, heads bowed, surrounded by Security. He was too far to make out faces. One thing was certain: not one of the ten was a Sailor.

Among the twenty-nine Crew, only the Sailors had long hair—easy to sort by hairstyle.

Relieved at least by that, he held his breath to see whether they would really use whips or just go through the motions.

At some point a device suitable for corporal punishment appeared in the center. It had wheels and stood taller than a person—a triangular frame—and figures completely draped in white cloth took their time anchoring the giant frame to the ground.

When they finished, one of the white-clad figures nodded at Security.

Two guards pulled one runner up by the arms.

The Crew in a water-blue wetsuit went without resistance, lifted both hands high in a surrender pose, and leaned against the frame.

With their back shown to everyone, a white-clad figure came up and slid the suit’s zipper down. As if waiting for the cue, another tied the Crew to the frame—arms, legs, then waist in order.

Some of the captured Crew snickered.

A nasty squeal scraped out of the speakers, and then, like on the Quiz Show, the announcer began their patter.

[We will now commence the whipping sentence. Each runner captured by a seeker will receive a total of five lashes. Originally, the executioners were to give the first lash as a demonstration, and the remaining lashes were to be delivered by the seekers. However, due to the large number of captives today, the seekers and the executioners will split the lashes half and half. Executioners and seekers, please step forward.]

In a very chipper voice, the emcee called up the executioners and seekers.

The first seeker looked at least ten centimeters shorter than the bound Crew, but their body didn’t lose in the least. Anyone could see it was a trained, maintained physique.

Proud of it too, judging from the showy gait and attitude.

While the seeker got advice from an executioner, one of the white-clad figures grabbed the suit at the sides and peeled it down to the thighs, baring the ass.

Everyone laughed like that was funny. Not just the red-suited seekers—the captured Crew giggled too. Even the Crew tied to the frame seemed to be laughing, his body shaking.

Is this a °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° joke?

From far off it looked deadly serious to Jiwon, but on the spot it seemed much lighter. Otherwise, why would they be laughing like that?

Right. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to scar their own assets with whip marks.

It’s just a game. A fun game.

Unlike them, he had to run. Maybe that’s why he was taking this far more seriously than it was, he thought with a bitter smile.

He was about to move on when a whip split the air with a whoosh and a raw scream smashed his ear. There must have been a mic on the frame—the sound came through the speakers horribly vivid.

Jiwon’s eyes flew wide.

No way. Did they actually hit him?

He sank back into the grass and looked toward the garden. The white-clad “executioner” swung again, and the Crew bound to the frame writhed and howled in pain.

“Fuck, what the hell. Why are they hitting that hard?”

Not only the captured Crew—the seekers looked rattled too. The seekers murmured among themselves; the Crew lifted their heads to look up at their comrade under sentence.

When the third lash cut the air, the Crew finally seemed to grasp the situation and began to resist in unison.

“You motherfuckers think this is a joke?”

“Fuck, who said you could whip us. Who the fuck said!!”

“You think I came here to get beat? You cunt-faced shits—enough is enough! Ptooey!”

“Ah, you dick-sized little shits. Try taking a beating yourselves.”

Several of the nine still held down jumped to their feet.

Cops, probably.

But they couldn’t do what their big mouths promised. The executioners laid into them without mercy with telescopic batons.

Blood sprayed into the air, and the ones who resisted went down.

The blood spatter left marks on the white cloth.

In an instant, the mood froze.

Jiwon was appalled.

Why the hell are they doing this?

They’d spent a fortune to recruit Crew for this Party, and now they were cracking whips? It made no sense.

On top of whips being insane, they were striking hard enough to throw blood. At that force, the wounds would be bad.

“Hey, wait. You can’t just hit like that.”

One of the seekers protested, but the executioners didn’t answer.

“Chairman, hold on. This isn’t what we agreed.”

“Michael. What are you doing.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

What? So the seekers hadn’t known either?

Something was going very wrong.

Jiwon found himself holding his breath and snapped out of it. This was no time for that.

While they were absorbed in the whipping, he had to find Park Geonwoo. He did not want Park in their hands.

He moved with as little sound as possible.

Then, hands out like he was swimming, he pushed through the grass.

Praying Park Geonwoo was hiding somewhere nearby.

Even as he searched for Park, the screams didn’t stop.

No one over there was laughing or murmuring anymore.

When the emcee called up the fifth runner, there was a brief commotion, but it died down. The voice in the speaker stayed unnaturally bright; the screams were brutally sharp.

One of the seekers declared they were done, but even that didn’t seem to be allowed. There was a scuffle on that side, but the punishment didn’t stop.

Jiwon pushed forward until he was out of breath. No matter how far he got from the garden, the sound didn’t fade. The speakers mounted along the fence were dutifully carrying the live feed.

Sweat streamed down his temples. His thighs felt like they might rip after walking so long in a deep squat.

Despite all the effort, the only things he met in the brush were bugs.

They must have thought it was a joke; no one had bothered to come out this way.

Manager Kim’s appointment that Kim Yunho had heard was probably a hallucination.

Even so, he hated the idea of turning back to where Yunho was. Since he’d come this far, he wanted to see how far he could go. He considered the case where he’d have to give up on Park Geonwoo and run.

Catching his breath, he edged back to the wire.

The wooden fence that had blocked his view was gone now, but he still couldn’t see the garden.

Jiwon slowly stood up in the brush. He straightened his back, slapped his aching thighs, and checked the crooked path he’d taken. He was far enough that the garden was out of sight, but not far enough to reach the next gate.

He stopped hiding his posture and walked openly. Good thing he’d stolen the combat boots—he crushed through the grass without hesitation.

Pushing too hard had left his throat desert-dry. The hunger had him dizzy; that went without saying.

Motherfuckers.

He seethed at them for not giving them even a single bottle of water.

If the game was going to run at least twenty-four hours, the least they could offer was water and a chocolate bar.

He was a fool for expecting a fair game in the first place.

“Oh!”

Ten meters ahead, the grass moved.

The shake was far too big for a small animal or insect.

Catching a flash of a water-blue suit through the brush, Jiwon sprinted that way. The grass thrashed harder, and then a head popped up.