‘Hi, Jungeun-ah, how are you? I hope you’re keeping up with your studies. My co-worker’s daughter hasn’t come home in four days. Please stay safe. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know in the city. Walk the main roads. Mom’s doing well. Love you.’

The voice message from her father ends with a beep. Sooyoung lets out a laugh.

“You sure your parents still don’t use a baby monitor with you?”

Jungeun flushes in embarrassment.

It’s dusk on a Friday, but her head is buried in her studies, holographic lines of text casting a blue hue over her face. The bright world outside floods into her dorm room in flashing bursts.

“Dunno how you endure this ty lights show,” Sooyoung quips as she flops onto the neatly made bed, eyes squinting at the bright screen floating by Jungeun’s fifth storey window.

The low buzzing of the drone is drowned out by the ad's syncopated synths. The alluring voice promoting some implant leasing service fades out as it moves on to the next window.

“So I can leave my lights off and save on my electricity bill. The rates have skyrocketed.”

“They probably do that on purpose, so you’re forced to open the curtains and look at the eye sore outside.”

Jungeun tears her eyes away from her assignment to look out the window. On one of the imposing tower displays, she catches the CEO of Jeon Pharmaceuticals just in time, arms crossed high over his chest. His mouth is hidden by the polished metal plating, but Jungeun can guess he’s sneering behind it. They’re always smiling on these adverts.

Sooyoung’s watching the same screen. “I really didn’t think they’d take prepolac off the shelves. Does that mean they actually listen to us?”

Jungeun scoffs. “Don't be naive. You think they did that because of public outrage over the privacy breaching? As if they give a ..." she mutters, "Jeon only recalled the drug to give people a false sense of security. I bet my life they’re still collecting data behind consumers’ backs.”

She’s always had a knack for saying what was on everyone’s minds. Her mother always scolded her for it though, telling Jungeun that it’s a dangerous habit and she must choose her words carefully.

“Geez, what can I do to get just a sprinkle of optimism around here?"

“That’s an extremely tall order.”

Sooyoung heaves her boot-clad feet onto the same table Jungeun eats her meals on. “I’m so bored, Jungeun.”

“Fine, wanna hear something fun?” Jungeun says, arm slung over her seat. “First, feet off.”

Sooyoung raises an eyebrow as she takes her feet off the table.

“I have a lead telling me that Park might be marrying his son off, but not just to anyone. To a Jung daughter! He really does have kids! And Park obviously wants a piece of that filthy agro-money.” 

For someone who’s been shielded her entire life, Jungeun was far too tangled up in the corporate grapevine.

She leers, but Sooyoung rolls her eyes, let down by the news. “More chaebol gossip. Snooze.”

“Oh come on,” Jungeun frowns, “haven’t you at least wondered about Jung and his elusive children? And who’ll succeed after he dies?”

“Don’t care,” Sooyoung curtly huffs, “’s gonna live and lead forever. Your idea of fun is so dreadful. Why can’t you have a normal hobby?”

Jungeun purses her lips in offense. “Hey, if anyone on the council ever caught wind of how much I knew about things, they’d grovel at my feet to keep it hidden!”

“Wow, you are every megacorp’s biggest nightmare,” Sooyoung deadpans, sarcasm dripping from her words, “as if you’re not on track to be chained at the ankle to one of them. Seriously, Jungeun, you contradict yourself.”

“Ugh, you don’t get me at all,” Jungeun retorts, turning back to her assignment in evident disappointment. 

Sensing the mood threatening to turn blue, Sooyoung leaps off the bed and grabs Jungeun’s shoulders. “Enough of this, let’s go out. Just you and me.”

“I can’t, this project’s due in two days.”

“All you do is work, write, work, write. Same thing, everyday, all day. Don’t you ever get sick of it? You need some fun in your life.”

Jungeun glares at her. “Not everyone can snag a corporate sponsorship and just cruise through drinking liquor and ing androids like you do.”

At that, Sooyoung’s pink lips contort into a nasty grimace. “Oh, don’t get defensive again,” she says, “and I can’t believe you’d really think I’d pay to sleep with robots. I have some self-respect, believe it or not.”

Jungeun only keeps her gaze on the display in her desk. 

“Come on, take a break. Please. I know exactly what you need and I’m telling you it’s something you’ve never done before.”

Consider her interest piqued. Jungeun pauses her lazy scrolling and it’s that half a second of silence that convinces Sooyoung she’s got her. Next thing Jungeun knows, she’s getting hauled out of her room with a vice grip on her wrist.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My playground.”

Jungeun narrows her eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” is what Sooyoung tells her when she looks back.

Jungeun doesn’t miss the glint of mischief in her eyes. 

 

 

 

“Oh, toughen up, you look like a kicked stray.”

It turns out what Sooyoung calls her ‘playground’ is what Jungeun has grown up calling the ‘fringe’.

Akin to the planets orbiting the sun, the city was a corporate-centric milieu of radiant skyscrapers and digital displays surrounded by segregated echelons. The further from city square, the lower on the social ladder. All her life, Jungeun’s managed to remain somewhere in the middle.

Her parents were always keen to cover her eyes and ears.

Never go into the fringe, they’d say of the area near the city outskirts, it’s only bad news.

Stranger danger, mob turf, the jungle gym of the underworld. A cesspool of murder, trafficking, drug smuggling, illicit cyberware, and all the bad that scares the wits out of any child.

Don’t look back, Jungeun-ah, keep your eyes on the towers ahead. We’ve worked all our life to make sure you’re facing this direction. There is nothing but urban atrophy behind us.

Their voicemails parrot the warnings.

It’s been instilled in her that the urban slums and the people in it, much like corporate gossip and the government’s underhanded affairs, are to be kept out of sight so to be out of mind.

But the air of urban decay was palpable. The voice in her head tells her she shouldn’t be here.

“It smells like piss…” she weakly argues when Sooyoung asks her if her feet are cemented to the ground.

“Did your parents install a tracking chip in the back of your neck?”

Jungeun shakes her head. She doesn’t think so, at least.

“Then you have no reason to be afraid,” Sooyoung answers, “you’re a big girl now. Come on, princess, I won’t let anyone scare you.” 

Sooyoung had a flair for glazing everything she said with reassurance, or maybe Jungeun’s just been conditioned to trust her word after months of following her around. Sooyoung was the only city slicker she knew. 

Besides, the walls her parents have built around her were never indestructible.

Sooyoung leads her through the dirty streets, cutting into alleys and sidestepping electronic scraps like she could do this with her eyes closed. Jungeun’s view is polluted with flickering neon signs, sparks from loose wires, glowing vandalised advertisements, and scowls from strangers. 

They stop at a vividly lit marquee. Before she could even read the name of whatever seedy club Sooyoung has brought her to, she’s roughly pulled inside.

Expecting high-octane beats to pummel her eardrums and blinding strobe lights, Jungeun’s surprised to find a much calmer atmosphere welcome her instead. A dim room with yellow lights and a faint scent of booze and perfume wafting through the air. The patrons are an eclectic mix of humans and cyborgs, as are the servers in high heels balancing colourful drinks on cybernetic arms.  

“You’re kidding me. What is this, a cabaret?” 

Sooyoung laughs. “Lighten up. It’s more like a pub. A good friend of mine owns the place, no one’s gonna bite you.”

Jungeun’s dragged to the bar and she can’t bring herself to stomp out of the building. She was never taught to brave those streets alone.

Sooyoung winks at the giggling bartender with glowing streaks in her hair and sleek, silver skin that reminded Jungeun of pure chromium. 

“Darling! Been waiting for you all day, don’t you know?” the giggling bartender flirts in a high, almost computerized voice as she sends a funny smirk Sooyoung’s way.

Jungeun narrows her eyes, leaning over to murmur. “I thought you didn’t sleep with robots?”

Sooyoung shrugs her away. “I don’t! She’s just...fun to talk to.” 

“Does the blonde chemistry babe you never shut up about know you come here often?”

“Shut up. Jinsoul and I aren’t exclusive,” Sooyoung mutters, “not yet, anyway.” She lets out an uncharacteristic sigh. 

“You’ll win her over one of these days.”

Sooyoung chuckles at that. “I’m doing my best,” she replies, “let’s get you a drink.” She calls the bartender over to order and Jungeun wonders if she’ll ever meet someone special too. 

A drink is put into her hands.

Do I have to pay for this?

She downs the shot anyway. It tastes distinctly of nectar.

Rent is due in a week and four days.

The pleasantness compels her to drink another.

How many tuition installments can my remaining savings pay for?

Sooyoung puts a new drink in front of her, fizzy and glowing blue with a floating black ice cube. The sweetness hits first and the spice afterwards. Her worries dissipate with every sip. 

Something distracts her from the burning in , a voice with a sweetness rivaling her drink. Twice more captivating. Jungeun instinctively turns her head towards the stage.

Beneath a weak spotlight no brighter than the lights at the bar stands a girl who doesn’t look any older than twenty. A mechanical hand grasps onto a rickety microphone.

“Who’s she?” Jungeun asks.

Sooyoung briefly looks over her shoulder. “She is Jiwoo. I’ve never talked to her before, she only sticks around to sing. Pretty chummy with the regulars here, though, if you know what I mean.” She snickers before going back to chatting up the bartender.

She does, but Jungeun only watches and listens. Jiwoo’s song is a funny contrast from the techno noise blasting from the other clubs on the street, something Jungeun’s only heard from her mother’s old CDs. A tune belonging to a different era, a voice unlike the virtual idols on every screen at city square.

Jiwoo opens her eyes and catches Jungeun’s curious gaze, the only pair of eyes in the room that seem to be on her. She holds it until the end of the song.

 

 

***

 

 

The second time she ventures into the fringe, Jungeun must swallow her fears and navigate the streets alone. On one ear, Sooyoung’s reassuring her and giving directions while someone - Jinsoul, probably - cackles in the background. On the other, her mother’s frail voice weakly pleads for her to be careful while she finds her father.

Jungeun hangs up on the both of them when she spots the vibrantly lit karaoke booths lined up on the side of the street. It’s then she finds who she was told to look for, but also who she’s been wanting to look for.

She was just hoping she wouldn’t find them at the same time. 

Jungeun stumbles towards the booths and yanks open one of the doors.

It’s a lot dimmer inside. Her wide eyes first land on the body on the floor; her father, passed out and reeking distinctly of metal-tainted synthetic liquor, the same Jungeun smells whenever they fill up at a gas station in the industrial district. 

Then her eyes move to the other person in the booth; Jiwoo, blinking silently at the man sprawled on the floor.

Jungeun’s head is still spinning.

“Um…it’s…it’s Jiwoo, right?” she stammers with furrowed brows, “I saw you from the bar…uh, last week, I mean.”

Jiwoo nods timidly. “I remember.”

Bewildered, Jungeun looks her up and down, at her pleated skirt, her crisp white button-up, and her scuffed up Mary Janes. Jungeun wants to make sense of this, but she refuses to understand what her father’s doing in a karaoke booth in the fringe with the singing stranger she hasn’t stopped thinking about, a girl at least thirty years his junior.

“We just sang. Nothing more than that. Don’t worry,” Jiwoo reassures her hurriedly, “then he just fell asleep. I didn’t know what to do with him. I was just going to leave him here, I’m sorry.”

Her speaking voice is different from her singing voice. A different charm, maybe. 

“I…” Jungeun vacantly lifts a hand to pat her jacket pocket. “Has he paid you yet?”

“Yes,” Jiwoo replies. She shuffles on her feet awkwardly. “I-I’ll get going then…”

Jiwoo side steps over the snoring body and heads for the door, but Jungeun stops her.

“Wait,” she says, teeth snagged on her bottom lip, unsure if she should even ask, “does he…does he meet up with you often?”

Jiwoo fiddles with her mechanical hand as she shakes her head. “This was only the second time. All he asks for is if we could sing together. He’s a nice man. Reminds me of my own dad.”

Jungeun just nods her head in relief. She didn’t want to bring him back with terrible news for her mother. She looks at Jiwoo, once again, with new eyes and a clearer mind. She was a lot prettier up close; straight auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, trimmed bangs stopping just short of kind eyes. 

“Is he a good singer?”

Her unexpected question gets a laugh out of Jiwoo, a contagious and candied sound. Seems like everything about her was sweet.

“He’s not too bad,” Jiwoo replies with a small smile. “I’m sorry you had to find him like this.”

“It’s okay.” Jungeun lets out a sigh. “If all he wanted to do was karaoke, he should’ve just told me and I would’ve gone with him…ah, what an idiot.”

Her father grunts when Jungeun nudges his leg with her foot.

“He always told me he didn’t want to use up your time because you’re busy with school,” Jiwoo answers sheepishly. “Ah…sorry if this is weird...”

Jungeun turns to her, eyebrow raised in amusement. “He’d talk about me? Geez. I hope he only said good things,” she says, “especially to you.”

Jiwoo giggles. “He seems really proud of you.”

“I just,” Jungeun sighs, “can’t believe he’s here.”

“I think he only comes here to let off some steam and have someone to talk to.”

Her burnt out father’s been overworking to help pay off the bills – at home, at the hospital, Jungeun’s tuition – for years now. It’s silly of Jungeun to think he never needed to vent or let loose.

“He hates burdening people. It makes me sad. But this is all so ironic,” Jungeun murmurs, “he always told me to stay away from this part of the city, but here he is…smashed on car fluid after paying a girl to sing karaoke with him.”

It’s almost pitiful. Her walled world has felt more like purgatory than paradise the older she gets, the more the pulls away from her parents’ grasp. Even they can’t keep up the charade.

“I know it's easy to turn a blind eye, but unless you’re at the very tip of the pyramid, you’re gonna find yourself out here at one point or another...”

Jungeun nods solemnly. “I think I started figuring that out for myself long ago.”

She eyes her father’s prosthetics. They’re a crude work of cybernetics built by an unlicensed workshop somewhere in the fringe, the wiring beneath salvaged from the e-waste depot by the docks. 

She still remembers when he worked extra hours seven days straight, disappeared on the eight day, and came back on the ninth with two bionic arms.

“I was twelve. Half horrified, half fascinated,” Jungeun recalls. “I found out he was saving up for it because everyone was getting sacked. The higher-ups kept bringing in new machines to do all the work instead. My dad couldn’t lose his job, so…” she shrugs, “cut off his arms so he could be one man doing the work of ten men. Total lunatic.”

She scoffs lightly. That was when she first knew the foundations her parents had built for her were unsteady, and they’ve continued to shake over the past decade of her life. Her parents keep their hands in front of her eyes, but she’s been peeking through the gaps of their fingers since then.

Jiwoo frowns. “That’s how it is...you’ll fall behind otherwise, but everything moves so fast.”

“It’s a life,” Jungeun comments bluntly, “do you think there’s any way to live without sacrificing your humanity?”

Jiwoo tilts her head, eyes floating to the ceiling. “Tough call,” she finally answers after a minute, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s about keeping your head up despite everything.” She shrugs lightly. 

Surprised by her answer, Jungeun can’t help but raise her eyebrow at Jiwoo’s mechanical hand. It was just as unpolished as her father’s arms, if not worse; a bunch of discoloured scrap metals soldered together and littered with scratches.

Jiwoo glances at her hand. “This old thing?” She lifts her sleeve to reveal that the prosthetic goes up to her elbow. “Surgical mistake. It was supposed to be a simple procedure, but everything that could go wrong did. Words of advice? Don’t seek medical help in the backroom of a nightclub from a sketchy man with wheels for feet. You might lose an arm.”

Jiwoo’s smile greenlights Jungeun’s chuckle. “Holy . But why…?”

“Cheapest we could find. It’s alright, though. I could’ve died. And some people here just stumble around with stumps! I’m lucky to have even gotten a cyberlimb, much less one with functioning fingers.” She lifts her hand to her face and gives Jungeun a peace sign. 

Jungeun marvels at how bright Jiwoo looks when she talks, the way her voice never loses its airy timbre. Every instance of optimism she’s come across has always been fleeting or too fanciful. Until now, at least. 

“You’re the most optimistic person I’ve ever met.”

“Well, I’ve always said that if there aren’t any silver linings to find, you make ‘em,” Jiwoo tells her with a grin.

Maybe it’s the reflection of the faint light above them, maybe Jiwoo’s got optical implants, or maybe Jungeun’s just simply imagining it, but something in Jiwoo’s eyes makes them shimmer impossibly. Little speckles dancing in dark brown.

Jungeun smiles a little. “I like you.”

Jiwoo laughs. “You’ve only just met me.”

“You’re fascinating. This might not make any sense to you, but I feel like I’ve been waiting to meet you all my life.”

Jiwoo’s grin mellows into a fond smile. “That line sounds a lot sweeter coming from a pretty girl than some greasy old man,” she jokes.

Jungeun's reminded of what Jiwoo does. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was sixteen. I help my grandparents run an orphanage not far from here, but we don’t have the funds, so I pick up some side jobs here and there.”

“Like singing at the cabaret? You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you,” Jiwoo replies with a chuckle, “just playing to my strengths.”

Shame to waste it on karaoke sessions with lonely men and skid row venues where everyone’s too drunk to pay her any real attention. No one their age should be catering to such clientele and shuffling through back alley hostess clubs as often as money changes hands in underground dealings.

“What about you? What do you study at the university? I know going to school's pricey. You're lucky.”

“Communications. It is. And I am,” Jungeun answers, “but we only have enough for a year and a half, so I work my off day and night. I’m desperate to get good grades and scholarships, and who knows, I might catch the eye of some corporate hotshot and score myself a sponsorship. Seems impossible, though.”

“No, that’s good. You have ambition.”

Jungeun shakes her head as she fiddles with the cuff of her jacket. “My friend Sooyoung, she’s from around here too. But now she lives in a swanky flat near the business district and doesn’t really give a about school. She’s just happy to be fed and have a roof over her head.”

Jungeun would be lying to herself if she wasn’t envious of Sooyoung’s free ride, but Sooyoung would mock her every time she showed it.

You wanna be seen as a charity case? Wow, if only your parents were dead too and you slept on the sidewalk, she’d say with that bleak sense of humour of hers. It’s not all that, Jungeun-ah. They don’t really care about us.

And then she’d stop there, refusing to elaborate on her words.

“If it’s any consolation, those sponsorships probably have a lot of strings attached,” Jiwoo says sympathetically, as if she read her mind. “I’m sure your friend has had to sacrifice a lot too.”

“I figured." Nothing's really free around here. "I just don't know what she's working towards. She hates it when I ask her what she wants at the end of all this.”

“Well, when you’re from here, you can’t really help but be short-sighted,” Jiwoo replies before looking at Jungeun with a guileless gaze, “and you? What do you want? Do you have any dreams?” 

“Dreams?” Jungeun laughs. What will impress you?  “Hm…PR for a big firm.”

Jiwoo seems surprised. “Really?”

“…Doesn’t suit me?” She blinks. 

“I don’t know. It’s just…interesting,” Jiwoo hums, punctuating her thought with a shrug. “PR people are shady, you know.”

The chuckle that leaves Jungeun’s mouth sounds more like a snort. “It’s compatible with my hobby.”

“What’s your hobby?”

“Digging up dirt on the elite, writing them into articles, and sending them anonymously to every news site I find on the net…?” Helps pay her tuition, too. “And with that kind of skill, public relations is the highest road I can take, so…”

Jiwoo shoots her a new look. “Funny. So, you moonlight as a freelance journalist exposing secrets, PR's worst nightmare, while simultaneously dreaming of one day working in PR making big money burying those very secrets?” 

Bingo! “Told you it’s compatible.”

“You’re interesting.” 

“Sooyoung says I’m contradictory.”

“You’re more of a paradox,” Jiwoo hums thoughtfully, tilting her head, “…but I say you’re just being nosy.”

Jungeun can’t tell if Jiwoo’s enthralled by her or amused, but she’s surely interested.

And that’s all Jungeun was hoping for, really. 

“Well, do you find nosy people attractive?” she teases. 

This time, the corner of Jiwoo’s lip quirks up. “Depends on whose business they’re putting their nose in.”

“The business of people with a lot to hide,” Jungeun answers.

“Hm,” Jiwoo hums with a slow nod, “then I’m into that.”

“Yeah? What else do you like?”

Jiwoo turns to her and eyes her carefully. “Gorgeous brunettes who are diligent, ambitious, and harbour subversive intentions…” Her words fade as she teases a smile.  

Jungeun tilts her head. “Do I fit the bill?”

Jiwoo laughs. “If you admit that your real dream is actually to be a whistleblower – because that’s what it awfully sounds like – then maybe I’d go on a date with you.”

“My real dream is actually to be a whistleblower,” Jungeun complies without hesitation. 

Jiwoo playfully rolls her eyes. Even under the booth’s muted lighting, Jungeun doesn’t miss the way her cheeks flush a rosy red. “You’re funny.”

“I’m funny, I’m interesting, I’m nosy, I’m a paradox…how many more ‘til you just admit you’re interested in me too?”

“Do you do this with every girl you meet?” Jiwoo asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Jungeun replies, “only with the pretty ones who ask me about my dreams and sing karaoke with my dad.”

“Sounds like I fit the bill...” Jiwoo says, giving her one last look before acquiescing. “Okay. If you don’t mind coming here for someone like me, I’ll let you take me out.”

Jungeun eagerly opens to reply – I don’t mind at all – but is abruptly interrupted by a guttural groan from below.

Her candid conversation with Jiwoo had her completely forgetting that her poor father has been passed out drunk on the floor this entire time.

She and Jiwoo exchange glances, and then laughter.

“, I better take my old man home. My mom must be worried sick,” Jungeun says, squatting to look at her dad’s drooling face.

“You should do that. I can signal you a cab.”

“That’d be great, thank you, Jiwoo.” Jungeun pauses, chewing on her bottom lip in sudden shyness. “I actually would love to take you out, if you meant what you said...”

Jiwoo’s smile turns into a giggle as she digs through her purse for a pen. She grabs Jungeun’s hand, boldly scribbling a string of numbers on her palm with her mechanized fingers. Looking up, she gazes expectantly. “Your name…?”

Jungeun finally figures out that she’s only imagining the shimmer in Jiwoo’s eyes, but she still can’t look away.  

“Oh- right. , I never introduced myself, huh,” she murmurs sheepishly, ducking her head. “It’s Jungeun.”

“Jungeun,” Jiwoo repeats with a smile, “nice to meet you. I’ve never met anyone like you around here.”

“Really? Because you’re not like anyone I expected to meet here either.” 

“What do your parents say about people who don't live in middle of the city?” Jiwoo asks.

That they’re thugs.  “That it’s where all the loose threads of the social fabric gather.”

Jiwoo chuckles. “That’s one way to say it, I guess. But it’s not all bad if you look in the right places,” she hums, a sudden sentimentality to her expression. “There’s a whole world here I can show you.”

All her life, Jungeun’s been told to keep her eyes straight ahead, barred from glancing behind her at whatever lurked in the shadows of the skyscrapers. Sheltered from the grit beneath the glitz. 

But if there’s vibrant life beyond the confines of the sheltered faux bourgeoisie, beyond her vigilant parents’ warnings and the media’s scare tactics, then Jungeun needs to see it. She’s received filtered information her entire life, but perhaps that’s why she chases anything she’s not supposed to see.

Jiwoo, for instance. But how does Jungeun turn away from someone like her?

Perhaps the hand that’s going to lead her out of purgatory is robotic and scuffed up, attached to a spirited personality with a hopeful glow in her eyes and a grin more dazzling than the business district.

“So, come find me again, will you?” Jiwoo tells her earnestly, “I’d like to find out why you’ve been waiting for me all your life.”

Because I’ve always wondered what was behind me, but I’ve never been brave enough to turn around ‘til now.   

Jungeun grins. “As long as you’re here, I’m willing to brave these streets a million more times to find you.”