TCWGRF 19

Neighborhood Watch members ‘Vincent’ and ‘Joshua’ were officially dead.

These two unfortunate citizens were brutally murdered by rebels while cleaning late at night, and their bodies were immediately cremated internally for security reasons.

The Neighborhood Watch, having experienced two rebel disturbances, naturally went through the process of disbandment.

The citizens, trained not to harbor questions, did not wonder how the rebels had infiltrated the heavily guarded Public Security Bureau, or how they had come to kill innocent people. The Public Security Bureau, for its part, did not bother to explain to the citizens that this was part of an operation, or that its purpose was now fulfilled.

This was because they had stated from the beginning that it would be implemented on a trial basis, and they had given the members a hefty reward, so there was no need to add a plausible reason.

They returned to their respective residential areas and took the lead in cursing the rebels who had taken their jobs. Thanks to this, the image of the benevolent Public Security Bureau was improving as never before.

The quiet mourning for their fellow citizens who lost their lives at the hands of the rebels was brief, easily replaced by anger toward the outside and the rebels, and by a sense of crisis that even the shabby rooms and hard bread they possessed could be taken away by the enemy.

The city quickly heated up with the citizens’ voluntary censorship and accusations, causing them to distrust each other even more.

The city’s politicians, who preferred the division and distrust of citizens for easy rule, considered the entire process—from the recruitment of the Neighborhood Watch to the two rebel disturbances within the Public Security Bureau and the subsequent handling—an operation. Instead of rash criticism or commentary, they chose to keep their mouths shut and watch for a while.

In any case, the regular reports from each department were due in the near future. The new Public Security Commissioner General, Samuel, would have to do his best to prove how well he had kept the promises he made at a meeting attended by all party executives.

If the results fell even slightly short of expectations, it would be considered a falsehood presented to the city and the party, and he would have no choice but to meekly accept any punishment. Without anyone needing to take the lead or raise their voice, the Commissioner General, who was an outsider and incompetent to boot, would be eliminated on his own.

Perhaps that was why. Most of the executives did not think he had let the ‘head’ of the rebels escape, nor that the person hidden in his official residence was someone special. The politicians, despite being highly suspicious, had a habit of being optimistic until a clear problem erupted and the moment came to assign responsibility.

They believed the veiled Commissioner General’s operation was still in progress, and a few of them even had the uncomfortable expectation that Samuel might actually root out the rebels who had infiltrated the city, and that they might have to acknowledge the lowly, outsider Commissioner General.

“Ugh…”

As Isaac slowly regained consciousness, he realized his body was no longer fixed to the cold chair.

He could feel the hard floor at his back, and his arms, which had been bent behind him, could move at his will.

His retinas, dimmed from being locked in a dark basement for days on end, reflected a bright room and a high ceiling.

This was not the basement, nor was it the hell or purgatory he had pictured in his mind while sitting there.

It was an empty room with no furniture to speak of, but light poured in from a window set too high to reach, and the air smelled fresh instead of like musty mold.

His body was no different. His dirty, foul-smelling clothes were gone, replaced with clean ones.

‘What happened…’

It was all a complete mystery. The last time he had been conscious, he was tied to a chair in the basement, imagining what awaited Asel, and searching for a way to survive, no matter what it took.

Isaac didn’t even know that a being called the ‘head’ of the rebels was in the city, and as for his partner ‘Vincent’, he knew next to nothing about him, aside from a few circumstances.

Even if, by some chance, Vincent played an important role in the rebellion and had been deceiving him, how could Isaac, a mere errand boy, possibly know how the rebellion operated or whose orders they followed in the city?

Even if questioned a hundred times and tortured until his flesh was mangled, it would be difficult to give the Commissioner General the answer he wanted. Nor was he creative enough to invent a plausible story from beginning to end.

‘It would be better to trade information about the camp…’

Fortunately, the rebel camp where Isaac grew up was a gathering place of rather unsavory adults, so much so that he would feel no guilt selling it out at a moment like this.

The rebel Misters, who had long risked their lives fighting the city to share resources monopolized by a few, could be called remarkable people, but they were certainly not good people.

They were the first to taste the alcohol, meat, and bread stolen from the city; they bathed in the hot water that orphans had diligently carried with their small hands; and sometimes, under the pretext of ‘for the greater good,’ they plundered civilian houses scattered here and there and violated women.

The rebel camp was overflowing with orphans. There must have been children of fallen comrades, children picked up while moving bases, or children brought in through plunder, but their circumstances were not so different in that there was no one to protect them from the unexpected outbursts of adults or from grueling labor.

Before long, the orphans’ status was divided into two. Would you become a proud comrade of the rebellion, or would you become an errand boy and attend to the comrades?

Children with sturdy physiques were selected as future rebels and learned how to become comrades.

Those kids soon began to eat gluttonously, talk loudly, and spew vulgar curses, insulting those who had been their friends until yesterday, just like the Misters. Isaac and Asel, who had not become comrades, were always on the receiving end.

The only time the selfish comrades and comrade-candidates showed any semblance of discipline was when the captain was present.

The ‘captain’ who led the rebellion was an elderly man of a relatively small build. He always wore a hood and a mask over his face to conceal his identity.

However, when he opened his mouth, the rebel philosophy of ‘a greater cause for all’ and ‘a small kindness must be repaid with great loyalty’ poured out with a magnificent resonance. So, all Isaac had was a vague expectation that at least the captain, unlike the other Misters here, might be a proper adult pursuing a noble ideal.

The captain frequently traveled around the camps, the number of which was unknown. He would scout for comrades ready for immediate deployment, inspect the plundered supplies, and then abruptly leave without revealing his destination. Perhaps it was because that place was just one of the less important small bases.

When the rebel ‘ideal’ suddenly disappeared, a time of lawlessness would once again descend upon the camp. It was a jumble of curses, violence, and insults, making it impossible to even distinguish who was evil and who was good.

Isaac was sick and tired of that place, and he planned to run away with Asel someday when he could fend for himself. He had not yet shared his thoughts with the boy, fearing that he, unable to tell a lie, would excitedly blabber about it everywhere, but that was the plan nonetheless.

‘It should be fine to hand over a little information about the captain or the camp.’

That much would ensure that nothing happened to the other orphans still tied down doing chores there, or to the people whose faces he remembered, who were among the more innocent ones.

The problem was whether the other party would want it.

If they showed no interest in anything he knew, he planned to, as a last resort, recite the captain’s description from memory or do his best to make something up. He wanted to somehow secure a promise of safe release and become someone worth keeping alive.

Creak. Until he heard the sinister sound of the basement door opening, Isaac thought only of a deal, a deal with the Commissioner General.

He wracked his brain, wondering if he could really deceive the formidable man, and what lines he should deliver to capture his interest.

But when he realized that more than one person had burst in, and when they not only put a black cloth over his head again but also forced a small pill into his mouth, Isaac realized everything had been in vain.

He flailed, trying to desperately cling to his fading consciousness, but his limbs went limp and hung down like a corpse. Soon, unknown people untied his body from the chair and dragged him off somewhere. That was Isaac’s last memory of the basement.

‘So I didn’t die.’

When he opened his eyes again, this plausible and yet never-before-seen space unfolded before him. It was still small, but while the small room in the basement had reminded him of a coffin buried deep underground, this place had something that spurred a desire for life.

He had thought that his lack of value had been exposed and he would be dragged to the execution block to be shot, or buried or burned alive, but that was not the case at all. Perhaps this was the world promised to Isaac after his death.

“Ugh.”

He pinched his cheek hard, but the torn wound inside his cheek and the sores on his tongue from biting it repeatedly throbbed, so it seemed he was not dead.

“What is this…?”

Isaac belatedly realized that a heavy shackle was attached to his right ankle, clanking every time he moved.

The shackle, firmly connected to a thick pipe that rose from the floor in the corner of the room and pierced the ceiling, offered the hypothesis that he had not yet shed his status as a prisoner, and that only a slight change had occurred in his circumstances.

Perhaps because of the long chain connected to the shackle, the only clothing he had on was a long shirt. His lower body felt bare, and the soft touch of the fabric against his skin felt awkward.

Not far away, there was a single door, the only way out of this room.

Groan. Using the pained sound as his power source, he carefully moved his joints, which had become completely rusted by the dampness of the basement over the past few days.

‘It doesn’t seem to be locked. Is it okay to go and open it?’

Turning the doorknob was not as easy as he thought. He had no idea what might be on the other side. There could be a sheer cliff, or a huge beast waiting with its jaws open.

Besides, hadn’t he rashly opened a red door last time and met ‘that man’? It was by no means a good memory.

Putting his ear to the door and holding his breath to check for any signs of movement outside, Isaac, having finally made up his mind, turned the round, flower-bud-shaped doorknob to the right. Click. At the same time, the door opened without resistance, and beyond it, a new world he had never seen before unfolded like a ray of light.

A window with a clear view of the Public Security Bureau’s training grounds and surrounding area, a spacious bed that looked plush just by looking at it, a velvet sofa that felt like it would slip through his fingers if he touched it, and the cozy warmth radiating from a fireplace that crackled and burned with a steady sound even in broad daylight…

Isaac rubbed his eyelids repeatedly with the back of his hand and forced them open again and again, doubting whether his eyes were correctly capturing the scene before him. Not that it changed anything.

Forcibly covering his agape mouth, he took a step forward to get a better look out the window as if bewitched by the scenery, but the shackle on his ankle did not allow it. Before he could even get close to the window, tang, the sound of the chain hitting the pipe rang out loudly, and he ended up tumbling forward.

Thump. As the noise broke the silence of the space, the heavy door in front of him opened and a familiar face entered, holding a silver tray.

“I brought your meal.”

The one who approached with a graceful gait was Sarah, the head of public relations for the Public Security Bureau and the Neighborhood Watch’s superior.

On the tray she held was not the dry bread that could only be chewed and swallowed with a side of water, but a soft-looking golden omelet and warm bread that smelled faintly of butter.

“…?”

Sarah came right up to the bewildered, face-down Isaac, set the food down on the floor, tray and all, and advised with a bright smile.

“Don’t get any funny ideas. It would be best to eat while you can. Before the Commissioner General changes his mind, that is.”

Was it because of her beaming smile? Her words held no threat whatsoever. It just felt like she was having a light chat with a friend she had met in passing.

Isaac sat up and mustered the courage to ask Sarah, who was squatting in front of him.

“Where is this? Why am I…”

“Well, there are only a few things I can answer. Why don’t you ask the Commissioner General?”

As if that were her entire answer to his question, Sarah brushed off the few specks of dust on her black uniform as she straightened her knees and stood up.

“Whatever the case, I hope you do a good job of proving you’re worth keeping alive.”

“…”

“When I have to face the corpse of someone I knew, I have nightmares, you see.”

At first glance, it sounded like a threat, but in that it told him how to conduct himself, it was more than kind. After that, Sarah let out a few small chuckles and left the room with a final, “Enjoy your meal.”

Isaac sat awkwardly on the floor with a fork and knife in his hands, facing the food Sarah had left behind.

He had never in his life seen such an appetizing and properly prepared meal. Gulp. Saliva filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and his empty stomach rumbled, urging him to quickly put food in it.

‘Can I eat this?’

Even as he hesitated, the food was cooling rapidly. He did not know the intentions of the person who had brought him such a decent meal, but in the end, Isaac decided to surrender to his instincts, to the hunger that clung to his stomach wall and chirped like a cicada.

“Mmm…!”

The omelet didn’t just break apart in his mouth, it melted, and the buttery bread crumbled softly on the tip of his tongue.