Chapter One

ground

/ɡraʊnd/

noun

the solid surface of the earth

       “Himchan! C’mon, we’re gonna be late for work!”

       “I’m coming,” Himchan called, tripping down the stairs while trying to pull his boots on. “Sorry,” he said when he met Junhong in the foyer, tugging his jacket off a hook and shrugging it on as he was pushed out the door and onto the sidewalk, dim and only lit with by old, creaking street lamps.

       “Did you eat?” Junhong shoved his hands in his pockets and sped ahead of him, looking back to make sure Himchan was following him.

       Himchan huffed and jogged to catch up. “When was the last time either of us had a proper breakfast?” he grumbled, taking the small package of processed prunes that Junhong had pulled from his pocket and offered to him.

       The streets were dark and crammed with people as usual, trains and buses speeding past. The people of the Upper Center District mostly worked in engineering, and, thus, the central districts of Urbs Equidem were mainly functional as the power plants for the city. Buildings squeezed not-so-sparingly into the tight space loomed, and sometimes Himchan found himself wondering what would happen if the ceiling of the giant bunker were to collapse on them. Would the buildings be strong enough to shelter the people? Likely not. Then again, Himchan had no idea what was really above the ceiling. Maybe nothing? Maybe another closed off area? Did people live up there?

       Sometimes the massive, dull yellow light fixtures attached to the ceiling swayed and shook. Sometimes the ground rumbled and moved beneath them. Most people paid it no mind, but Himchan still remembered the first time he had to bring Junhong down from a panic attack in the basement of their apartment, only three weeks after he had moved in with Himchan.

       The living spaces were lined up like blocks, but uneven. The housing in the central districts was the oldest of the architecture in Equidem, and sometimes when the trains went by behind them, the structure would shake and dust would fall, chasing Junhong back into the basement late at night, where he would pull his knees to his chest and try to reassure himself that he wasn’t going to suffocate down there.

       Despite the late start, they managed to catch the train that would shuttle them to the factory where they worked, Himchan as maintenance and Junhong in engineering.

       When Junhong had been assigned his career path at graduation, he had been shocked; usually people had to spend years working their way up to the title of an engineer, just as Himchan had been and was still doing his entire life. He had been convinced some sort of mistake had been made, but when he addressed his concerns with the director of his school, he had simply been waved off and handed a manila envelope containing his new housing assignment.

       He didn’t know that he was simply filling an empty space, left by Himchan’s first housemate. They had been told there was an accident at the factory.

       As usual, there was no room to sit in the train, so both Himchan and Junhong stood, squished against each other uncomfortably, in the middle of the car.

       At the fifth stop, a line of workers streamed out, Junhong and Himchan falling in line and filing with the others into the building. They would be brought through the main lobby to have their fingers scanned before being allowed to proceed further inside. It took only minutes for Himchan to reach the desk, and he pressed his index finger to the scanner, which beeped and flashed a green light. He didn’t look at the receptionist sitting on the other side, a man named Bang Yongguk – he lived in one of the higher-up, more domestic areas on the opposite side of the city – just waited for the go ahead, and when it was given, he pushed through the doors and made his way down the hall and into his section.

       Junhong watched as Himchan disappeared, then stepped forward and pressed his finger to the machine. It beeped in approval, but the receptionist stopped him. “Choi Junhong,” he spoke softly, typing at a keyboard swiftly. Junhong waited. It wasn’t unusual to receive special assignments on occasion in the morning. Oftentimes, random employees would be selected to make deliveries or complete other small tasks before beginning their regular schedule.

       The fax machine beside the receptionist’s computer creaked and spat out a stack of papers, which was grabbed swiftly and shoved into a folder. Junhong’s eyes flicked over the man at the desk. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes. He watched as nimble fingers pressed and smoothed an already-marked sticker to the front of the folder, and held it out to him. “You have been assigned to deliver these files to floor eight, office 876,” he said. Junhong nodded and took the folder.

       “Once completed, immediately return to your station.” Yongguk sounded more tired than usual.

       Junhong nodded and proceeded through the doors, making his way to the elevator. Office 876 was the boss’s office. Junhong looked down at the tanned folder in his hands as he walked. These must be important. He wondered if they might contain information on the new generator.

       The doors of the elevator slid shut behind him, and Junhong leaned back against the wall, tapping the button that would take him to the eighth floor. The employees hadn’t been told much about the new generator. Only that it was “revolutionary”, “incredibly efficient”, and that it produced “absolutely no waste!” Junhong thought it was pretty sketchy, if he was being honest, but he was used the company pulling things like that. Though, it was noticeable how much brighter all the lights were, though; how much faster appliances like indoor heating and telephones were working, how quickly energy had started traveling from district to district within just the past few days. Junhong figured whatever it was, it had to be something big. Something powerful.

       It was rather worrisome, too, though–– what if this generator was so effective that the company wouldn’t need so many workers anymore? Junhong knew that engineers like himself were valuable, so he figured would be okay, but it was Himchan he worried about. There were a lot of workers on the maintenance staff.

       Junhong bit his lip, shifting the weight of the folder from hand to hand, glancing down at the bright, rectangular, yellow sticker on the front. CLASSIFIED, it read. He lifted the flap of the folder, then slapped it shut. No, he shouldn’t. But… he could just check… maybe get a sneak peek at a diagram or photo of the new machinery? That couldn’t hurt, right? He knew there weren’t any cameras in the elevators…

       The elevator continued to creep up slowly, beeping as it passed through the fourth floor. Junhong his lips and flipped open the folder. At the top rested a sheet of paper with a graph printed on it. He scanned the information. It was a demographic of the monthly energy output. The line spiked in a growth spurt above a date marked just a few days ago, and it seemed to only be rising, so far.

       There was another beep. That was the fifth floor. He lifted the graph and sifted through the papers. They were mostly just statistics. The only thing that was abnormal was just how much the energy output had grown over the past week. With the technology Junhong had knowledge of, that couldn’t be possible, so he figured it must be something totally new, probably developed in secret. Or a lie.

       But why would something so successful be kept a secret?

       Skimming through the files, Junhong couldn’t find a single statement that addressed the new generator. He frowned. How could there be nothing, even in these classified papers? No written descriptions, no blueprints, nothing. The boss must have really wanted to keep this a secret. But didn’t the employees need to know what is was they were working on? Something just wasn’t adding up.

       The elevator came to a jolting stop, and the light on the ceiling flickered for a moment before the door slid open. Junhong stepped into the hallway carefully, walking as though the ground was a minefield. He had never actually been on the eighth floor before. It was different from the rest of the building. Everything was a bright, pristine shade of white that Junhong didn’t think he’d ever seen before. It was plain, and the hall was almost eerily quiet, the sound of whirring machines just a whisper. He rapped his knuckles smoothly on the door of office 876, and a low, gruff voice granted him entrance.

       Junhong pulled the door shut behind him, and the man at the desk spun around in his chair, from where he had been staring out the window, and narrowed his eyes at Junhong as he folded his hands in his lap.

       “What are you doing here?” he asked slowly, tension and suspicion obvious in his voice. His eyes shot to the folder in Junhong’s hand and he raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes were squinty and narrow. A nice, black suit fit around his shoulders loosely, accompanied by a blue-striped tie and a crisp white dress shirt. The name on the plate resting on the desk read Kim Taesong. The man tapped his foot impatiently as Junhong approached the desk.

       “I-I was sent to deliver these to you,” he said, voice coming out meekly beneath the burning gaze of his boss.

       The folder was snatched out of his hands and slammed onto the shiny metal of the desk harshly, making Junhong cringe ever so slightly. Kim opened the folder, and Junhong felt his stomach turn at the greedy grin that took over his face.

       “Very nice,” Kim mumbled to himself, flipping through the papers. He seemed to have forgotten Junhong was there. “He seems to truly be a source of infinite energy…”

       Junhong’s eyebrows drew together. He? How could a power generator have a gender?

       There was a sudden, shrill scream, and Junhong’s head shot up, meeting Kim’s gaze, which looked rather calm.

       “What was that?”

       “Oh, don’t worry,” Kim said, leaning back in his chair. “People get their fingers caught in the machines all the time.” He spoke as if trying to soothe Junhong, only to raise his suspicions. Something was going on.

       “You may go.”

       Junhong bolted, speed-walking out of the office, being sure to shut the door behind him, and down the hall. That scream. It was one of suffering, he could tell. Nobody ever worked hand-to-hand with machines while they were running; Junhong had never witnessed somebody catching even a strand of hair in one. Thoroughly spooked, he made for the elevator and pushed the down button.

       There was another shriek as the elevator slowly made its way back up from the first floor. The voice seemed closer. Junhong glanced from door to door, wandering further down the hallway. The doors were all dark, save for one at the very end of the hall, tucked into the corner. There was a sign screwed into the metal that read: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. OTHERWISE ENTRY RESTRICTED.
       It was pushed slightly ajar, stale light flooding onto the pale floor. Junhong crept closer, sticking to the wall. Maybe he could get a look inside.

      There was another cry as Junhong pressed himself into the wall opposite the door, sliding further down. It sounded muffled, as though being shouted through a wall of glass, or behind a door, or something. The sound of something slamming on hard plastic cut it off abruptly.

       “Shut up!” somebody yelled, annoyed, from inside the room.

       Junhong backed up. He should leave.

       “God, gonna drive me insane,” they said. Junhong could still hear little whimpers, remnants of the screams from before. They seemed to occur periodically, like shocks. Someone was being hurt behind that door. After a few minutes of internal debating, Junhong found himself stepping forward, preparing to pull open the door and stop whoever was harming this person, but a hand caught his shoulder. His eyes shot wide in surprise, and he turned around, only to come face to face with his housemate.

       “Himchan! What are you doing here?”

       “Finding you!” Himchan hissed, grabbing Junhong’s wrist and dragging him back towards the elevator.

       Junhong pulled back. “What? Why! You’re supposed to be working! God, if somebody finds out you snuck up here–”

       “I’m not working anymore.” Himchan punched the button on the wall, and the elevator’s doors opened.

       Junhong’s face paled. “W-what? What do you mean you’re not–”

       “I mean they gave me the pink slip is what I mean, Junhong.”

       They stepped into the elevator, and Junhong bit his lip.

       “They don’t need me anymore,” Himchan mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Told me to get my stuff and leave.”

       “Himchan, I…” Junhong trailed off, suddenly remembering the cries from before. They had stopped just moments before Himchan had grabbed his shoulder.

       “It’s all thanks to that stupid new generator,” Himchan interrupted, growling. The elevator stopped with a heavy thunk on the first floor, and the two of them stepped out.

       Himchan sighed, and turned to face Junhong. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself as soon as he got a good look at him. “Whoa, you don’t look too good,” he said, pulling Junhong to a set of chairs in the lobby and pushing him into one. “Are you alright? What happened?”

       Junhong swallowed dryly. “I think…”

       Himchan rose a brow.

       “I…” Junhong glanced around. There were a few people here and there, mingling with cups of coffee, spreading morning chatter, and Yongguk was still seated at the receptionist’s desk. He was looking at them curiously. When he caught Junhong’s gaze, he turned back to the screen in front of him.

       “I’m fine.”

       Himchan didn’t look convinced.

       “Okay, yeah, I’m not fine. I’ll tell you at home,” Junhong promised, and he gave his hand a squeeze.

       “Are you satisfied with this week’s stats report, Mr. Kim?” Youngjae stood next to the console, hands clenched tightly, nervously, together in front of him. Kim circled the metal and plastic enclosure in the middle of the room. The structure was only about waist-level height, but nearly six feet in length. Long enough to hold a person inside.

       “Yes, quite,” Kim answered, peering over the side, at a shadowed, still figure. Strands of wires were connected and strung from the capsule to a larger, more complex looking machine that ran along the side of the room. “With this machine, we will be able to maximize profits,” he said, straightening back up and turning to face Youngjae.

       “However, there is a problem.”

       Youngjae gulped. Had he forgotten something? He walked himself back through the list of tasks he had been assigned that morning.

       “It is too loud,” Kim explained. “I don’t want any of the workers getting suspicious. The last thing we need is a complication of that sort.”

       “I understand,” Youngjae said, breathing a sigh of relief and hoping Kim hadn’t noticed his nervousness. “The extraction process seems to cause him immense pain. Should we put a gag on him?”

       “No. That wouldn't be enough.” Kim rounded the container and stepped closer to Youngjae to speak instructions quietly into his ear.

       “What?” Youngjae’s eyes grew wide. “But…” he protested. "It's– I mean, that’s–"

       Kim snorted. “What does that matter?” He gestured to the setup in front of them. “It’s not like he’s even human.”

       Youngjae his chapped lips.

       “If you aren't comfortable, of course, I could always put somebody else in charge of the project.” Kim continued.

       “I–I suppose you're right, sir,” Youngjae stuttered out. "I'm sorry. It will be done as soon as possible."

       Kim turned and nodded, making his way to the door. He paused before stepping out, and looked back.

       “I would like to see the procedure completed by morning, before nine.” Kim pulled the door closed behind him.

       Youngjae gulped, looking back at the sleeping figure of the boy as soon as the door was shut, and he pulled out his pager.

       “Daehyun? Yes, I know, it’s late.”

       “No, that’s not why, you idiot. I need you to come into work tonight.”

       “One hour.”

       “No.” Youngjae bit his lip and rested a hand on the plastic of the case in front of him. The boy looked much more peaceful as he slept, but his discomfort remained obvious, in the way his expression stayed twisted up, sweat still beading on his face. Youngjae’s heart ached. “Bring your kit, and make sure you have some anesthetics. I'll give you the details when you get here. The generator room.”

       Himchan let himself fall backwards onto his bed. Losing a job in Equidem was practically the equivalent of a death sentence. It was damn-near impossible to find a new one, because there were already overpopulation issues, so every spot was filled. No job meant no income, and no income meant no house, no food, and no food meant death–– and Himchan wasn’t about to let Junhong pour all his money into him. Their rent was already steep enough, much more than the cramped, three-room block of a house was worth.

       Himchan wasn’t stupid; he knew that something must’ve happened to get a reaction like what he had seen that morning out of the kid. Junhong was always composed at work, so of course Himchan was worried, having seen such a rise from him.

       The clock on his night table read 5:10PM. Not a minute later, Himchan heard the front door being shoved open, a boot kicking the bottom right corner heavily where the metal liked to stick.

       There was a loud, exhausted sigh from the kitchen, followed by the clunk of the cabinet falling closed and the squeaky turn of the tap. Himchan pictured Junhong leaning heavily against the counter with a glass of water in his hand, eyes closed and steadying his breath like he always did when they came home after a long day at work.

       Himchan had been stewing for hours over what had happened that morning. Junhong had looked utterly terrified when Himchan pulled him into the elevator with him. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary, though; maybe seeing the boss had just freaked him out? Most people never saw his face.

       But, of course, there was also the issue with Himchan being laid off. He just couldn’t decide what to dwell on, couldn’t choose what he wanted to drink to forget. He had to remind himself that Junhong came first.

       “Himchan?” His voice was soft when he entered the bedroom. It was dark inside. The curtains were drawn, and Himchan hadn’t bothered with the light. He planned to turn in early that night, anyway.

       Junhong sat down gently at the end of Himchan’s bed, near his feet. He placed a hand on his shin, trying to be reassuring. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Himchan interrupted him, wishing to put off the discussion of his current predicament for as long as he possibly could.

       “Are you okay?”

       “I’m going to break into HQ.”

       Himchan’s jaw dropped.

       Junhong gently placed his cup on the nightstand, but the noise of it meeting the wood roared in Himchan’s ears.

       “Sorry, I think I just hallucinated.” Himchan shook his head back and forth. “What did you say?”

       “Tonight. After dinner,” Junhong added as an afterthought, as though he was deciding what to eat for lunch on a Saturday afternoon.

       Himchan did not respond.

       “At second glance, I don’t think I should have started with that,” Junhong said, cocking his head to side as if he hadn’t just suggested a good way to get himself killed.

       “What do you mean you’re… going to break in?” Himchan collected himself and met Junhong’s gaze evenly. He spoke quietly, as if someone might be listening in on their conversation. Which, to be honest, wasn’t too far from plausible.

       “Exactly what it sounds like.”

       “Um, no. No.” Himchan sat up straight when he realized Junhong was being serious. “No, you’re not.” He raised his voice. “What the hell are you on about?”

       “You remember earlier? Upstairs?”

       Himchan didn’t move. “Of course. Is this–”

       “Because of that? Yeah.”

       There was a brief moment of silence before Himchan spoke up again.

       “What were you doing up there?”

       “Delivering files to–”

       “After that,” he interrupted.

       Junhong hesitated, swallowing thickly.

       “I heard something,” he said slowly, and Himchan raised his eyebrows, silently asking him to continue.

       “Somebody was screaming. Kim tried to brush it off; something about people getting fingers stuck in machines or whatever… but it was too periodic, too patterned, and it wasn’t stopping.” Junhong paused to take a breath and a sip of water. “So, I followed the sound, and then you showed up.”

       “I didn’t hear any screaming,” Himchan said, folding his arms across his chest.

       “It conveniently stopped right when you got there,” Junhong grumbled, mirroring his position.

      Himchan sat back with a heavy sigh. “Look, Junhong, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said, “I just… maybe Kim was right.” He shrugged, and Junhong immediately shook his head.

       “Himchan, I think…” he bit his lip. “I think the new generator is energy from a person.”

       “What? What do you mean  energy from a person? That’s not– that’s not possible. You’re an engineer, aren’t you? Don’t you know how that works? You can’t do that!”

       Junhong’s frown deepened, and his eyebrows drew together. “I saw those reports, Himchan. This is no joke.”

       “You looked at the files, too!” Himchan’s hand landed on his forehead and he leaned backwards until his back hit the wall. “That’s treason, Junhong!”

       “Yes, I looked at the files,” Junhong hissed. “And I saw impossible demographics.”

      “…what do you mean?” Himchan lowered his voice.

      “This generator has only been operational for a week, right?”

       Himchan nodded.

       “Well, within the past five days, the company has produced over double the amount it has within the past two months.”

       Himchan’s mouth dropped open. “That’s––”

       “Impossible?”

       He chewed his lip for a moment. “So, you think…”

      “Kim also referred to the generator as ‘he’ if that makes a more convincing case,” Junhong said.

       Himchan shook his head. “Even if… even if that is what’s going on, you’re not meddling in it.”

       “But–”

       “No. I won’t let you.” As much as Himchan hated being stern with him, that was just too risky. It was dumb! He didn’t even know for sure if someone was getting hurt. “I can’t let you risk your job, not to mention your life, over something that’s probably nothing!”

       “You don’t believe me, do you?” Junhong’s voice hardened.

       “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Himchan said. “It’s… I just don't think you should be getting yourself involved.”

       “Why not?” Junhong challenged.

       “Because it isn’t your responsibility.”

       “And what is my responsibility, then?”

       “Working as an engineer in the company, doing as you’re told!” Himchan raised his voice and got to his feet. “If you go there, and you get caught, you will lose your job, and be sentenced to jail time. They might even put you on death row! You can’t go!”

       “Risking my life is worth saving another!” Junhong stood up to face Himchan. “I don’t care how small the chances are,” he said quietly.

       Himchan looked startled at the outburst, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

       “No way, you’re not going.”

       Junhong looked away, but kept his head up. He knew it was no use arguing once Himchan had made up his mind. He pushed past him and made his way to the hallway.

       “Fine,” he said, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him.

       Only ten minutes later, Himchan joined him in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher they kept in the fridge.

       “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning on the counter next to Junhong, who was gazing out the tiny, rectangular window above the sink.

       “It’s fine,” Junhong said. He took a sip from his glass.

       “No, really, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I really feel terrible,” he laughed dryly, and Junhong turned to look at him.

       “It’s okay, really, Himchan.” He emptied his glass and placed it in the sink. “I was being irrational. I’m going to sleep.” He turned and walked into the hallway before pausing, and leaning back into the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I won’t be going anywhere.”