The kids from Gangnam started disappearing.  The first few were shady students, so we all thought they were hauled off to rehab or something. But then the star students from that group started disappearing. There was no sign why they left, no warning. It’s like they never existed. We tried calling them, texting, emailing, but there was never a response. When we called their parents, they were hysterical. Said we should stop calling them, to tell whoever that they weren’t going to pay the ransom. That’s when we learned they were kidnapped.

Yet the school said nothing about it. No announcements or warnings. We started getting suspicious. Some of us came up with a code so if one of us disappeared we might have a better chance of knowing who it was.

The one day, one of my roommates disappeared with a note that said “Letters”. That’s when we knew the school was behind it. Soon we couldn’t trust any adult, not even the most favorite teachers. All we could do was clutch each other at night and hopefully still wake up in our beds the next morning.

Kids from rich families started transferring out. I can’t blame them, they were the targets. Some of the scholarship kids also left. They said they would be next because the school would want the money they were giving them, if they already wanted money for the rich kids.

No one knows what’s happening to the kids that are gone, but I swear, every night after everyone figured out what’s happening I dream of those kids locked in a dark musty room, screaming, their bodies shriveling up as each day they lose hope of escaping. Everyone who still remains at school dreams the same dream. It can’t possibly be a coincidence.

You sent me here to be safe, didn’t you? Well the tables have turned, and you’re sending me into a lion’s den, ready to be imprisoned.

Please, don’t send me back. Please do something about it.

*

Director Park ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and sighed. These rules that Yunho has put up is not going to make this mission easy. His jaw tightened. That little twerp…

“Director Park?” His secretary’s voice came through the scratchy intercom. “Your four o’clock appointment is here.”

“Send her in,” he replied, readjusting himself in his chair.

The door opened and suddenly he found himself facing an angled gun, pointing right between his eyes.

A soft voice spoke up. “You called for me, sir?” she said, the last word said with a dangerous tone.