‘…What is this?’
A woman once known as “Junghee” watched the scene unfolding before her with a strange feeling.
In the dimly lit room floated several holograms, resembling picture frames hovering in mid-air.
The images within showed figures wearing ridiculous masks, sitting across from her.
Each one concealed their true identity behind these masks.
Perhaps someone she knew might also be hiding beneath one of these masks.
As she gazed at them, a peculiar thought crossed her mind.
‘…If I just disappeared like this, they might not notice.’
She wondered why everyone, herself included, was hiding behind masks while supposedly united under the banner of “Call of Twilight.”
Were they even united?
She was grateful for their help in her vengeance, but this situation didn’t seem promising for the future.
‘…Maybe this is why I’ve kept hiding until now.’
Indeed, she too harbored hidden intentions behind her mask.
Suddenly, an absurd voice echoed through the room.
The content captured her attention, and she strained her ears to listen.
“Did we decide to release the Sky Whale this time?”
“It has to be something of that magnitude to avoid drawing attention, right? Hehehe.”
…Sky Whale.
It was believed to have disappeared years ago due to lost observations, but could it have been secretly secured here?
Moreover, the fact that they spoke of “releasing” something called the Sky Whale made her feel uneasy.
She had heard that “Call of Twilight” was a group advocating for the liberation and freedom of Singularities, but their words seemed contradictory.
Why would they try to use Singularities as they pleased?
If the rumors were true… it wasn’t about suppressing or exploiting the Sky Whale—
…Yes, it might make more sense that they were trying to protect it from being suppressed elsewhere.
But…
“Still, is that girl with the jelly really that important? Doesn’t seem worth it to me.”
“Hmm… Haven’t you seen the data I sent? That jelly holds infinite potential. Plus, it’s adorable.”
“Really… Even if that’s true, it’s still speculative, isn’t it?”
Their way of treating Singularities like mere objects baffled her.
The place she had originally belonged to wasn’t much different, but at least they didn’t treat them like tools in a game of chess.
Capture, isolate, protect, observe.
But what were these people?
“Can we wrap this up? This one seems to have been very well hidden.”
“Their greedy ones shutting down was quite satisfying, huh. Heheh.”
“Almost makes me wish I wasn’t there.”
Were these people really any different from the director of the lab she used to be in?
If the director had acted out of selfish greed, these people seemed to be driven by some abstract malevolence.
Perhaps they were even worse than the director.
As the woman once called Junghee listened to their conversation, she felt an odd sense of kinship.
They seemed to align when discussing her old organization, despite their otherwise divergent views.
…Almost like herself.
The woman, who sensed an atmosphere steeped in deep resentment, realized then why “Call of Twilight” had approached her.
They might not be the liberationists she thought they were.
Perhaps they were merely driven by the desire for vengeance—
Her thoughts deepened when—
Their meeting seemed to conclude as the holograms disappeared, plunging the room into darkness.
Creeeek.
Finally, the “someone” across from her, who’d been wearing a mask, approached her with a sly grin.
The masked figure spoke to Junghee.
“Does this feel different from what you expected? Are you disappointed?”
“…”
“Hmm, I suppose you could see it that way. We are indeed currently using the Singularities, after all.”
The masked person gently took Junghee’s hand.
“Ultimately, the end justifies the means, doesn’t it? Though our, or at least my ultimate goal, is the liberation of Singularities, right? Of course… there are others who are fulfilling their own desires while furthering that goal.”
The voice behind the mask exhaled sharply.
As if excited.
“The sight of humans and Singularities coexisting harmoniously—doesn’t that sound truly beautiful? Oh, there’s no need to reply. Naturally, the answer would be… ‘yes.'”
He’s insane.
The woman shivered with a chill down her spine.
Did this person truly believe in the coexistence of Singularities and humanity?
Or was he masking his own sticky desire for revenge and deceiving her as well?
Without the ability to read minds, Junghee could only wonder.
The masked figure, noticing her cold sweat, tapped her shoulder and whispered.
“Soon, I’ll tell you what we need to do next. Rest well until then.”
“…”
“Okay.”
But Junghee had no other options.
She had nowhere to return to, for she was already as good as dead.
Though she didn’t know what awaited her at the end of this path, it didn’t seem likely to be pleasant.
Just looking at how she had used them for her own vengeance gave her the answer.
As she watched the masked figure walk away, she slowly closed her eyes.
In the isolation chamber of 7496 – KR, Han Seori saw a strange broadcast and immediately convened an emergency meeting, just like before.
Yoo Gang-jik was also present this time, having recovered from the effects of the last event. He too bore a serious expression, having witnessed the footage.
It seemed the broadcast had only been sent to local laboratories and branches.
If it had aired nationwide—or worldwide—it would have certainly caused a stir.
The silence indicated this was likely the case.
Still, something was amiss.
Given their known objectives, there was no apparent reason for them to do this.
There were far more effective ways to make a statement.
Thus—
“…They must be planning something.”
Though they recognized it as odd, no one could figure out their true intentions.
Because of this, Han Seori and Yoo Gang-jik had few options at their disposal.
“…Everyone’s here?”
“What is this about?”
“I’d like to know too…”
Han Seori rubbed her temples and sighed.
Too many incidents were happening recently.
There was the containment breach at the lab.
Then the incident with the transported Singularity.
And the kidnapping of a Singularity.
The disappearance of the lab director involved.
And the quarantine of a new Singularity.
An incident where a supposedly safe Singularity went berserk, causing calamity.
Somehow, they had resolved it—but still.
…It was all far too much.
She missed the days when her job was purely research.
“Will they ever send us a new director?”
Surely they wouldn’t place someone like her in such a position?
Feeling uneasy, Han Seori cleared her throat and spoke.
“…Call of Twilight… Excuse me… Their talk of secrecy must be referring to the recent incident with Soylent Purple Co., right?”
“Seems so. It’s the only major event that’s happened recently.”
This is yet another issue related to our branch lab.
…Is this a festival or something?
Suppressing another headache, Han Seori softly asked,
“…Does anyone know what they might be planning?”
“If we did, we wouldn’t be standing here like this.”
“Let’s root them out and exterminate them once and for all.”
We wouldn’t be stuck like this if we could, would we?
Ultimately, the meeting brought no significant conclusions.
More theoretical exchanges took place, with little practical solutions proposed.
It was clear they were plotting something, judging from their recent behavior.
Yet, no one understood what.
They also couldn’t ignore the ticking timer.
“At least it’s after the incident, so it’s good timing. Let’s have the agents search for any clues.”
“The chances are slim, but better than doing nothing.”
“Why have they suddenly started acting this way?”
They agreed.
Their newfound visibility likely stemmed from their prior discretion.
No doubt, everyone in every agency and lab would be talking about “Call of Twilight” for a while.
Why were they behaving this way?
What did they truly desire?
Han Seori’s deliberations came to no conclusion as the meeting ended with an empty echo.
Silently watching Yoo Gang-jik leave, she spoke to him.
“…For now, let’s focus our efforts on internal investigations.”
“That seems wise.”
Watching Yoo Gang-jik leave, Han Seori sat back in her chair and manipulated the control panel.
On the monitor appeared the Jelly Girl, watching TV leisurely.
Envious of her carefree demeanor, Han Seori sighed.
“…I envy her.”
If she could live just as carefree, it would be nice.
Looking at the Jelly’s cute image, she gave a dry smile.
“It seems I’m quite tired… me too.”
Han Seori left the image of the Jelly Girl in isolation on her monitor and leaned back in her chair, feeling weary.
Each day passed like the calm before the storm.
