Chapter 12

The video displayed a horrifying murder scene that had recently unfolded.

The victim in the footage seemed off from the start. Initially walking fine, they began waving their hands frantically in front of their face and muttering incomprehensibly as time progressed.

“Hey, what are you looking at? Pull yourself together, no matter how tough it is!”

“Snap out of it! Open your eyes properly! What are you staring at?”

A companion walking beside them noticed something was wrong and started shaking the victim’s shoulder while calling out to them.

Then, when the Gray Reaper locked eyes with the victim, the latter extended their hand toward the reaper as if accusing them of being the culprit.

In an instant, the Gray Reaper approached the victim and grabbed their legs.

At that moment, wounds erupted violently across the man’s body, causing his skin to shatter into pieces and scatter everywhere.

The Gray Reaper, now drenched in blood, glanced around briefly before vanishing without a trace.

Witnessing this terrifying event, the companion screamed and fled the scene. The video cut off there, replaced by bright lights illuminating the room.

“This is an absolutely horrific incident. The victim, Jeong Dongjeon, 32 years old, worked in security. When found, all of his skin had been peeled off, and his internal organs were completely missing. The sole witness shown in the video is currently unable to function due to the shock.”

The presenter paused after shutting off the video, maintaining a calm demeanor as they continued their report.

“Based on the video, the victim’s last words appear to have been ‘Gray Reaper…’—clearly indicating some connection. Given that the victim had no prior contact with the Gray Reaper, we classify this as a random attack.”

“The Gray Reaper was previously rated Special-Class Hazardous with a Level 4 Activeness rating. However, considering its aggressive behavior against humans during this random assault, we propose upgrading its Activeness rating by three levels to Level 1.”

“Accordingly, more proactive and comprehensive measures must be taken within the research institute to handle this threat appropriately.”

As the presentation concluded, murmurs of chaos filled the conference room.

“There’s no way Sehee Research Institute didn’t know about this. We need to investigate why they concealed it and hold them accountable.”

“That’s not fair! Are you suggesting Central Research Institute openly admits failure in containment and acknowledges casualties? What about securing proper confidentiality and enforcement regarding this case?”

The presenter smirked confidently in response.

“Ah, rest assured, those involved in this case have long since been reassigned to other private institutes.”

Satisfied grunts echoed throughout the room. Such “reassignments” from Central Research Institute often implied death or imminent demise.

“Isn’t this meeting simply confirming that we need to deploy a Hungry Ghost?”

An elderly man with a long white beard spoke softly. Though his voice was quiet, everyone silenced themselves instantly to hear him clearly.

“Yes, precisely. With the isolation breached, we cannot predict when the Reaper might escape. Once its location is confirmed, we will evacuate key personnel and release the Hungry Ghost inside the special research facility.”

“It seems there’s no other choice. Proceed accordingly.”

This decision was made deep within the confines of the National Object Management Association, far removed from Central Research Institute.

***

A secure email arrived from the Object Association, instructing the deployment of a Hungry Ghost within the facility to eliminate the escaped Gray Reaper.

“Hmph, so it has come to this.”

Eliminating the Gray Reaper would mean losing valuable data needed to study the Seoul Plaza Incident—a significant setback for further research. Within ten seconds, the email automatically deleted itself.

Though excessively cumbersome, such stringent security protocols were understandable.

If word got out that the institute harbored man-eating monsters, it wouldn’t just spark scandal—it’d ignite full-blown outrage.

“We need to clear out the institute. Inform the researchers immediately and prepare them for evacuation. Once the Gray Reaper’s position is pinpointed, we’ll leave.”

After pressing the call button, the deputy director relayed instructions to the summoned secretary. Essential researchers would evacuate, while regular staff members would undergo “reassignment” to other private facilities—a euphemism for termination.

“Director… There’s been an observation regarding Director Cheong.”

“Hm? What happened?”

“Her research journal has started including illustrations of the Gray Reaper. While seemingly minor, coincidence seems unlikely.”

“Indeed, timing is suspicious. I’ll review it later. You may go now.”

With a bow, the secretary exited the office cautiously. This certainly warranted investigation despite the busy preparations for deploying the Hungry Ghost. It wasn’t coincidental for the director to document the Gray Reaper during such a critical period.

Traversing lengthy corridors led to an expansive office lined with countless books. At its center stood a massive desk, chair, and a man clad in a lab coat who repeatedly scribbled on paper only to discard it on the floor.

The National Central Special Research Institute Director—an object turned human or perhaps a human-mimicking object.

“Undeniably, this is the Gray Reaper.”

Scattered across the floor were numerous sketches unmistakably depicting the Gray Reaper. Annotations alongside these drawings consisted of indecipherable characters.

While the journal held significance, decoding Director Cheong’s writings proved impossible. Anyone succeeding in translation mysteriously vanished into thin air.

No one knew where they disappeared to, so attempts at decipherment ceased entirely. Instead, these papers served as padding material for field operatives’ protective suits. Objects inherently resisted other objects, making them superior defense mechanisms compared to any alloy. However, managing leakage remained challenging, restricting usage.

Were these documents leaked into society? They could potentially cause mass disappearances—a highly dangerous situation.

Copying was effortless, yet predicting the impact was uncertain. In some ways, it surpassed military-grade ammunition smuggling in severity.

Fortunately, methods existed to neutralize this endless production of hazardous material: officially dismissing the director via formal documentation. Doing so caused them to vanish entirely from existence.

However, the director’s presence was essential for sustaining the institute, forcing the manager role upon the deputy director.

After placing the Gray Reaper-drawn paper back down, he departed.

“Would eliminating the Hungry Ghost restore the director to normal? That remains unknown…”

***

Scaling the wall revealed an achromatic world. Towering bookshelves dominated the space, while a desolate room contained merely a single table and chair.

“Ah, a rather unusual visitor we have here.”

A neatly bearded man in a lab coat greeted me warmly.

“Typically, researchers visit this place, but an object guest is unprecedented.”

Clapping jovially, the man continued.

“You’re designated ‘KR – 897,’ aren’t you?”

Summoning a file mid-air, he skimmed through its contents. Upon hearing the unfamiliar designation, I tilted my head, prompting his clarification.

“Ah, you’re better known as ‘Gray Reaper,’ correct? Frankly, we find that title hard to pronounce. Doesn’t attaching such names feel odd?”

“Classifying becomes inconvenient, and various issues arise from publicly labeling things this way, don’t you think?”

“Modern humans have lost even the freedom to name objects.”

Smiling wryly, the man added cryptically:

“Anyway, sharing such thoughts with an object like you holds little purpose here. Here, free from worldly constraints, we can name you anything—like KR-897, discovered in Korea.”

Spreading his arms wide, the man gestured welcomingly as he walked toward the door.

“Come, let me guide you around since you’re the first object visitor. Welcome, 897, to the eternal research institute trapped within the Time Gap.”

With dramatic flair, the man grinned knowingly. Gazing into his eyes, I instantly understood he was the “research institute director” referenced in the hints.