Eun-woo had been locked up for four thousand seven hundred and thirty-one days.
Time in which he had not been allowed to have direct contact with another human being.
The screams of the other Specimens and the voices on the other side of the door did not fit into the definition of "contact" in his personal dictionary.
The cell he was in was no larger than five square meters. In the center of one wall was a metal plate that Eun-woo used as a bed, and near the ceiling there was a tiny window with glass at least three centimeters thick.
Perfect to prevent any escape attempt that might arise in his weak mind.
Eun-woo didn't know the reasons he'd been taken there, and knowing them didn't make much of a difference. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been confined to a room. First, the basement of his house. Then, the prison cell.
He never celebrated his birthday, nor did he have the opportunity to go to school, or at least hug his parents or have a pet to keep him company. He was alone. Always.
To compensate for the lack of affection, his parents gave him picture books and some recreational games to keep his mind occupied. Thanks to the gifts, Eun-woo was able to cope with the confinement, and he even grew fond of his parents.
When the masked men burst into his home and tore him from his mother's arms, Eun-woo screamed at the top of his lungs. He cried, kicked, and clutched the door frame as if he could stop his captors.
He begged them not to take him away through sobs, shouting that he wanted to stay with his mom and dad. He even promised to be a good boy if they would just give him a chance.
His voice broke between desperate cries as he begged someone to save him, but no one came.
Not even his parents helped him.
They watched silently from the doorway, motionless, as if the scene didn't matter to them. There were no tears or pleas, not a single gesture of grief at their son's departure.
On the contrary, an almost imperceptible smile spread across their faces, and their empty eyes held no trace of love. Only relief.
Four thousand seven hundred and thirty-one days had passed since then.
Eun-woo couldn't remember how old he was when his parents took him away. Over time, the details of his own appearance faded, his reflection trapped in a forgotten corner of the past.
Even the meaning of certain words had become blurred to him… like what the Guides were.
But if there was something he hadn't been able to forget, something his body still remembered better than his mind, it was fear.
He knew the Guides were dangerous.
Three of them tried to harm him when they took him to the cell. Although he managed to escape, the struggle left visible scars on his arms, as well as deeper ones that didn't heal over time.
He only knew his name was Jeon Eun-woo because, when he arrived at the cell, the men in white coats had carved it into his wrist. When he was bored, he liked to run his fingers over the black ink that read "Jeon Eun-woo."
On one of the walls there was also an engraving:
GENESIS PROJECT
Eun-woo wasn't sure what those words meant either.
If they had taken him out of his cell to run tests on him, prick him with needles, or fill him with pills, at least he would know he existed for something.
The Men in White, as he called them, simply watched him from the other side of the door, their faces hidden behind glasses and face masks.
They murmured to each other in hushed voices, jotted things down on papers he couldn't read, and then disappeared. As if he were just another wall and not worth touching.
Eun-woo didn't know whether to be grateful for the distance or feel like something whose value was less than that of a guinea pig.
That night, the gate opened. Eun-woo expected the Men in White to mutter things he never understood, as they usually did—but they didn't.
This time one of them spoke to him.
"No more isolation. Tomorrow you'll get a roommate".
Cellmate, Eun-woo mentally corrected him.
That announcement made his stomach clench and his head ache. Having a cellmate felt more like torture than a blessing.
He hadn't spoken a word in a while, not sure if he remembered how to speak or if he could do it right.
"H-hello..." he said. His voice sounded broken and very soft, like a whisper. "Hello..." he repeated, this time in a firm voice.
Eun-woo smiled.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another soul locked up in that hell.
***
Eun-woo opened his eyes in the middle of the night.
There was something different in the room, he felt it, something had changed in his monotonous routine.
Eun-woo fell to the ground as he discovered a pair of glowing eyes shimmering in the darkness. They were a deep, almost hypnotic green, staring at him so intently that his blood ran cold.
He felt that gaze sink into his chest, sharp as two blades, seeking to pierce his heart.
Fearful, Eun-woo huddled in a corner of the room, just opposite the emerald glow.
The silhouette of a man appeared in the shadows, subtly illuminated by the diffuse night light that filtered through the window.
The intruder had pale skin, and his blond hair was ruffled and draped over his forehead. His gaze, deep and fierce, challenged without saying a word.
He was young, perhaps the same age as Eun-woo, but unlike him he had broad shoulders and a strong build.
He was a Guide.
Goodness.
They had locked him up with a Guide.
They wanted to kill him.
Eun-woo must have done something wrong for the Men in White to torture and torment him with a Guide.
One look was enough to know that the Guide wanted to drain every last drop of life from him and then use his corpse as compost.
It was a dangerous, terrifying and horrible beast.
The imposing Guide smiled emotionlessly, his expression void of humanity. He examined the metal plate on which Eun-woo was sleeping, then looked behind him, where a blanket and pillow lay. His bed.
The Guide grabbed both items with a swift motion and tossed them onto the metal plate. He rose easily onto the surface, settled himself naturally, and, after adjusting them slightly, placed both pillows under his neck.
He took over Eun-woo's bed.
Stole my bed.
Eun-woo remained petrified in the corner, his hands shaking so much that he had to clasp them together to stop the awkward movement.
All he could think about was the hell he would live next to the Guide, it would be a complete miracle if his new executioner granted him a quick death.
"So... Are you...?," said the Guide.
His voice… God… His voice.
Until that moment, Eun-woo had only heard the voices of the Men in white. Distant, monotonous, and empty. The voice of a Guide was nothing like them; it was firmer and more authoritative, imbuing the atmosphere with respect and fear.
Eun-woo looked down.
He didn't want to answer
What if he ripped out his tongue for talking to him?
"I'm not gonna hurt you," the Guide said. "What's your name?"
Eun-woo closed his eyes tightly, wrapped his arms around his legs, and curled up.
I wanted to believe, believe the Guide, that he wouldn't end up torn to pieces, with all his blood painting the room crimson, and dying a slow, painful death. But he couldn't.
After a long silence, the Guide sighed in exasperation.
Eun-woo didn't move.
He remained motionless in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes fixed on the darkness, not daring to look directly at the man who shared that narrow space with him.
The room was freezing, the floor beneath him seemed to absorb his heat, and the faint blue glow filtering through the window cast long shadows.
He didn't trust him.
He didn't trust anyone.
The seconds passed, first ten, then sixty, until reaching one hundred, two hundred and three hundred.
Little by little, the Guide's breathing became softer, slower, and deeper. He had stopped moving, talking, and observing.
Eun-woo cautiously looked up, just a little, and saw him lying back on the pillows, his face relaxed and his lips parted.
He had fallen asleep.
The silence returned, but this time it wasn't as heavy.
Eun-woo closed his eyes for a moment, feeling like he could finally let his guard down… but deep down, the unease still burned in his chest.
What had he done so wrong that he ended up locked up with a Guide?
What had he done wrong?
He imagined a thousand ways that man could hurt him later, and although his body tried to rest, his mind kept preparing for the worst.
He didn't want to die.