“Help! Help! Somebody, help me! PLEASE! No, stop it! Help!”

It was barely even noon, the streets bustling with people eager to see their friends, buy more beautiful things, enjoy their weekends. Yet, within that crowded area, one of the main shopping districts, not one person stopped to help. No one even glanced her way.

In this “survival of the fittest” society, there was no such thing as “helping others”. That kind of absurd idea was unimaginable. And here, in this monstrous world that we live in, women were the weakest.

“Help! Somebody, help!”

“Shut up, you stupid ! Hey, move over Jonghun, let me get a shot. I want to have some fun too.”

Someone tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around and was suddenly thrown against the wall; his group suffered the same fate, lying in an unconscious heap like a pile of abandoned wastes.

“Are you alright?” Her rescuer asked.

It was not unusual to hear a female’s cry for help, not uncommon for an unaccompanied young girl to be suddenly surrounded by a group of vicious males, not surprising for an outsider to feign ignorance and not interfere. This apathetic attitude, this was the prevailing mentality in Seoul.

Gone were the innocent and care-free days where it was innocuous for a girl to walk alone even at 11 at night; you were lucky if you managed to walk a couple of feet unscathed at 11 in the morning. Seoul was a devil, tempting the weak with its pleasures and crushing the even weaker until they couldn’t breathe. It was a living hell made only for the males who either had money or who had guts.

The rescuer asked the girl again. “Are you alright?”

The stunned victim just sat there, quivering in silence. When the stranger touched her shoulders, she finally broke to pieces and clung to the unknown person, sobbing uncontrollably. After an hour, she eventually calmed down enough to tell the person her address, where she found herself a few minutes later in her mother’s arms. Before they were able to express their gratitude, the door quietly closed and the stranger was gone.

That stranger is me.

And now, here I am, standing in front of my own house with my three brothers. This was the house that we lived in for the past 12 years with our parents. Even if someone were to offer us a million won to name any other place that we consider to be “home”, we would not be one won richer. Besides various photos, that place was the only thing left that carried the essence of our parents. And as simple as that, it was gone. Technically, it was still there but we were forbidden to enter. To do so would result in a confrontation with the police.

How ironic.

According to the bank, everything had been confiscated and sold while we were away; the remaining undesirables were emptied onto the front lawn: a few of our clothes that bordered on rags, broken framed pictures, our old textbooks that had long been untouched, and an unopened box of trashbags. That last one was not ours but it was left for us, intentionally placed there so we could quickly clean up the mess.

We gathered everything, but the books, into the bags, leaving the ragged texts in the nearest recycling bin. Besides the meager amounts of money in our bank accounts, we had no cash on hand nor did we have enough to possibly pay for a hotel room or a short-term shelter. Our only choice left was the streets.

“If our parents weren’t officers, would we be like this?” Sungjong asked.

“Sungjongie, don’t ever think like that!” Hoya scolded. “You have to be grateful that they tried their best to give us a happy life!”

“I know, I just… I just miss them.” There was a sudden gust of wind and he gripped his jacket tighter. A tear fell down; he would probably make the excuse of how the wind just made his eyes dry.

“If they came back, I would be nicer to them,” Sunggyu sighed.

I nodded. “We all would. Mom, dad… please come back… MY STOMACH IS HUNGRY!”

“YUSEON!” they all shouted.

Looking at us, one would think we were four brothers. All with short, messy hair styles (although Hoya’s was slicked back) and all wearing the same dark blue school uniforms. Sunggyu was the only one who graduated; the rest of us had to drop out of Seoul Science High and find whatever jobs we could. Our uniforms were the only change of clothes we had that were regularly washed and kept pristine.

Four brothers? I may have been born a female but my mother knew better. She constantly witnessed the crime scenes, the blood, the trauma. She knew what risks just being born the “lesser” gender carried. Fortunately, I was raised no different from my brothers; we were trained everyday by our parents to recognize the expressions of anger, disgust, intent to harm—commonly seen on faces of criminals—to quickly spot and locate hidden weapons, and to swiftly defend and attack with the least harm possible to the other party. I was taught some additional information, such as how to use a chest compression wrap. The other behaviors—how to talk and walk like a boy, how to dress like one—were already an extension of my own self. I didn’t need to learn them; they have defined me since the day I spoke the words “umma” and “appa”.

“But we’re going to starve to death!” I cried while clutching my stomach. We plumped ourselves down on a bench in a nearby park and tried to come up with a solution.

Hoya scratched his head. “I wonder if some rich person will come and take us in.”

“Are we going to have to join a gang?” Sungjong pouted.

Sunggyu unhesitatingly started slapping him. “You idiot! Who do you think killed our parents?! It’s all because of some mindless gang rivalry that they’re dead!”

“Ow! Ow! Hyung! I’m sorry!” Sungjong cried as he and Sunggyu ran in circles around me and Hoya.

I sat there, thinking. “Hmm… a rich person… Hey! I think I’ve got an idea!”

Everyone froze and expectantly looked at me. “Yuseon? You know someone? Who is it?”

“Let’s go visit a gang!”