The corridor echoed with footsteps under the harsh fluorescent lights. Two uniformed correctional officers, wearing grayish-green Korean prison uniforms, escorted a young prisoner, his wrists tightly cuffed in front of him. Each officer held him firmly by the arm as they walked.
All around them, inmates in single white-walled cells pressed against their bars, shouting and banging fists on the metal.
"Come here, pretty boy!"
"You're dead meat!"
"Chief Curtain! Chief Curtain!"
Ryu-jin Kimshin kept his head bowed, eyes locked on the concrete floor. He dared not make eye contact with any of the screaming men. His blue prison jumpsuit hung loosely on his slender frame. On his back, a large white patch bore the number 1000 in bold black lettering.
They reached a narrow white stairwell. Each footstep clanged sharply as they climbed five flights up to the fifth floor. At the top, the officers stopped in front of a cell where another inmate already sat on a bunk, watching silently.
One of the officers reached into his pocket for a ring of keys, cold metal jingling. He unlocked the barred door and swung it open. The second officer turned Ryu-jin around, pressing his shoulder lightly so he faced away from the cell.
The officer spoke in a low voice.
"Stand still."
With precise clicks, the officer released the cuffs from Ryu-jin's wrists. The young man's hands fell to his sides, red marks around his wrists from how tightly the cuffs had been fastened. He flexed his fingers as if trying to regain circulation.
The other officer pulled a folded paper from his pocket and read in an official tone:
SEOUL DAILY NEWS — March 18, 2024
Young man sentenced to life imprisonment for family massacre.
Seoul Central District Court has sentenced Kimshin Ryu-jin, 22, to life in prison for the brutal murder of his parents and younger sister in January. Investigators found evidence including fingerprints and DNA at the crime scene. Neighbors reported hearing loud arguments days before the murders. Kimshin claims he blacked out and has no memory of the killings. Despite his plea of innocence, the court ruled the evidence overwhelmingly pointed to his guilt.
The officer folded the paper back into his pocket, inhaled, and exhaled heavily.
"Prisoner number 1000, Kimshin Ryu-jin… From today, you'll serve a life sentence in this cell. Guilty of massacring your entire family. Good luck."
He and his colleague turned and left, the bars slamming shut behind them.
Ryu-jin stood frozen, trembling slightly. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he stared at his few belongings clutched to his chest.
From the lower bunk, the other inmate spoke up, voice surprisingly gentle.
"Crying won't change a damn thing."
Ryu-jin glanced at him through blurry eyes.
"You should've known the consequences when you committed a crime," the man continued. Then his tone softened. "You seem young. How old are you?"
"Tw… twenty-two," Ryu-jin stammered, wiping snot on the sleeve of his jumpsuit.
The man extended a hand. "Ken Kimsura. I've been here five months. Money laundering. Stupid mistake."
Ken gave a low chuckle. "So… you killed your whole family, huh? That's tough."
"I… I didn't do it…" Ryu-jin's voice cracked. He scrubbed his face, trying to steady himself. "When I woke up, they were… they were already dead. But all the fingerprints… the blood… the CCTV… everything shows me there. I can't prove I'm innocent."
Ken gave a resigned sigh. "Tch. That's tough. I'm no lawyer, but if you're really innocent… you'd better keep believing it. Even if it's right up until your execution date."
Ryu-jin was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded faintly. "Y… you're right…"
The tears finally stopped flowing. Ryu-jin climbed to the top bunk, laying his few possessions beside him: two prison-issue T-shirts and shorts, a plastic toothbrush, a plastic comb, and a small photo of his family, now gone.
He lay on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. His left arm rested over his forehead. Memories of blood, screaming, and flashing police lights haunted his mind until exhaustion finally dragged him into a restless sleep.
BZZZZ
BZZZZ
BZZZZ
The loud alarm buzzed from the speakers mounted on each corner of the ceiling — one on each wall of the cell block. The shrill noise jolted Ryu-jin from a deep, dreamless sleep.
He groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes. Outside the bars of his cell, he saw Ken leaning casually against the gate, arms dangling through the bars.
"It's time for breakfast," Ken said flatly.
As the final buzz echoed across the block, the heavy iron doors clicked and opened with a metallic groan, releasing the prisoners from their cells.
Ryu-jin blinked.
"It's my first day here..." he thought.
He reached for his plastic comb and ran it quickly through his bed-flattened hair. Then, jumping down from the top bunk, he approached the tiny stainless steel sink. Cold water gushed from the tap as he splashed his face to wake up.
"I'll brush later… It's just breakfast anyway."
For the first time, Ryu-jin stepped out of his cell. The cold air hit him differently than yesterday — heavier, thicker, charged with a strange weight. The air was dense with the scent of soap, sweat, and something darker.
As he descended the stairs, he glanced around. Dozens of inmates shuffled out of their cells. Many were older. Some looked like foreigners. Others had scars, tattoos, or expressions so hollow, it was hard to imagine they were ever human.
Each of them was here for something unforgivable.
Then, a female voice came through the speaker system — mechanical, but clear.
"All inmates, please follow the guards holding colored signs. They will lead you to the cafeteria."
Looking around, Ryu-jin noticed guards standing at each hallway intersection, holding color-coded batons pointing toward different wings.
That must be the way to the cafeteria.
He followed the others, walking quietly.
Eventually, they arrived. The cafeteria was a large, echoey space lined with long metal tables. The hum of hundreds of voices mixed with the clattering of trays. It smelled like boiled rice and rusted steel.
Ryu-jin looked around.
To his left, a huge man sat hunched over a tray, his arms as thick as tree trunks.
Damn, that guy's massive…
To his right, a clean-cut, sharp-jawed man with model looks quietly stirred his soup.
That guy's handsome… What crime did he commit?
After a few minutes of standing in line, it was finally Ryu-jin's turn at the counter. He held his tray out, but the woman behind the food station didn't move. She just stared at him—eyes wide and unblinking.
"You… will lose someone important to you," she said in a cold, quiet voice.
"Huh?" Ryu-jin blinked, confused.
Suddenly—
"THAT'S HER! GET HER!" a voice yelled behind him.
Three correctional officers stormed into the cafeteria. One pointed directly at the woman.
The other two guards tackled her across the counter.
"Ugh, fuck! Don't resist!" one shouted as they grabbed her arms.
"How the hell did she even get in here? Where's the actual kitchen staff?!" another barked.
As they dragged the woman away, her wild eyes stayed locked on Ryu-jin.
"You have a curse…" she snarled. "Only by ending yourself will you be freed from it!"
Ryu-jin stood frozen, tray in hand.
What the hell was that…?
"HEY! Are you deaf or just stupid?" the guy behind him snapped. "I've been calling you for a while now. Hand that tray over, little shit."
"Uh—here," Ryu-jin mumbled, passing his tray forward.
The cafeteria worker—this one normal—scooped a portion of rice, a bowl of watery soup, and three kinds of side dishes onto it, along with a small cup of chi-chi.
"Next."
Ryu-jin took his tray and stepped aside.
"Can you move any slower?" a prisoner behind him grumbled, his jumpsuit stitched with the number 659. "You're not the only one starving here."
"Sorry," Ryu-jin muttered, nodding as he picked up the pace.
His eyes scanned the cafeteria, searching for an empty seat—any place where he could sit and eat in peace.
But the woman's voice still echoed in his head.
You have a curse… Only by ending yourself…
He shake he's head.
Ryu-jin quickened his pace, eyes scanning the crowded cafeteria.
That one's free.
He moved toward a small empty table near the corner and sat down. Setting his tray down carefully, he clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and whispered a short prayer under his breath — a habit from the life he no longer had.
Then, quietly, he began to eat.
Just a few bites in, a loud voice cut through the hum of the cafeteria.
"Ugh! What the fuck is this shit again?!"
Everyone turned toward the commotion near the food line.
"You're seriously serving us this again?!" the inmate shouted, slamming his tray on the counter. "This rice tastes like fucking cardboard and this so-called beef—if you can even call it that—has zero seasoning! What is this, cow leather stew?!"
The cafeteria guards tensed, but stayed still. It wasn't the first time this guy had caused a scene.
Another inmate stepped forward. He was slim, wearing glasses, and spoke in a firm voice.
"Hey, asshole, shut up already. You always do this," he said coolly. "If you keep making trouble, none of us will get breakfast."
"Right!" multiple prisoners chimed in, annoyed.
"Ugh… Tsk." The loud inmate clicked his tongue, snatched his tray back, and walked off, grumbling.
As he turned, the number stitched on the back of his jumpsuit became visible:
666
Ryu-jin narrowed his eyes.
Number 666… fitting.
The man with the glasses adjusted his frames calmly and sat back down, the number 456 on his back catching Ryu-jin's attention.
"Good thing he didn't push it further," the glasses-wearing inmate muttered, tilting his lenses with one finger.
The cafeteria returned to its tense rhythm of quiet eating, the atmosphere still heavy from the brief outburst. Ryu-jin kept his head low and continued his meal, but he couldn't help but glance once more at 666's back as the man disappeared into the corner of the room.
There was something dangerous about him… like a bomb waiting to go off.