Chapter 111

The dim lighting illuminated the advanced laboratory, where a large tank filled with viscous black goo ominously dominated the room.

The black liquid emitted a heavy, unpleasant odor that seeped into the air, creating an eerie atmosphere.

The director of the research institute was submerged in that sinister mixture.

The director’s body was covered in mercilessly torn and punctured wounds, with visibly rotten organs inside.

These wounds, which exposed their inner contents, greedily absorbed the black liquid from the tank, gradually filling the gaps.

When the director emerged from the tank, fully healed, their expression was brimming with solemn determination.

“With this level of preparation, taking down a Gray Reaper should be no problem.”

It was a muttered soliloquy, as if reaffirming their own resolve.

As they stepped out, trails of slime dripped down, leaving marks wherever they passed.

Squelch squelch.

Footprints followed behind like imprints of distorted tentacle blobs rather than normal human feet—strange, abnormal tracks remained.

With every step, unsettling patterns etched onto the floor, blending reality with surrealism for an uneasy vibe.

The director left the room filled with petroleum-like smells, leaving grotesque traces on the walls and floor behind them.

These traces twisted as if alive, symbolizing some fundamental corruption of humanity—a forbidden crossing between humans, objects, and realities.

***

Wow, there are more people here than I thought!

When I visited Songpa District Sinkhole, once strictly off-limits, it was bustling with crowds.

What used to be a dull place patrolled only by soldiers had somehow transformed into something lively.

I heard through the isolation room TV that people who liked me were gathering near the sinkhole, so I sneaked out to collect firewood before heading to Trinity Research Institute.

They’re probably searching frantically for me back at Sehee Research Institute right now.

Hehe.

Despite soldiers guarding the area—it’s still a dangerous zone where objects occasionally crawl out of the sinkhole—there were tons of tourists.

The emotions of the gathered crowd filled the air: goodwill, reverence, positive energy everywhere.

Tourists headed toward the only civilian-accessible facility nearby: the “Gray Reaper Songpa District Memorial Hall.”

Apparently, its establishment faced massive opposition but eventually went ahead anyway due to frequent accidents involving people sneaking past barriers.

While pondering this quietly, I ghosted past the tourist line and entered the memorial hall.

Upon entering the lobby, I marveled at the fountain carved with my likeness, water flowing gently along its contours.

Few people or objects get such artistic treatment.

The sound of splashing water mixed with soft melodies filled the space with calmness.

Lost in the strange sensation of seeing myself immortalized in stone, I snapped back when a coin clinked into the fountain.

Clang.

A man stood before the fountain, eyes closed, praying reverently.

Is this some kind of wishing well?

Typical for fountains where coins are thrown.

Then waves of emotion came from him: faint admiration mingled with desperation for salvation.

From a corner of the museum, two soldiers chatting quietly caught my attention.

“The world’s gone crazy,” one muttered, voice too low for normal humans to hear over the fountain noise.

“Nowadays, objects still emerge weekly from that sinkhole, yet we have a memorial hall celebrating them.”

“True, but isn’t it better this way? Before, someone died trespassing monthly; now it rarely happens.”

“Hmph, yeah. Still, something feels off. Why do so many come despite entrance fees exceeding 100,000 won? Isn’t the Gray Reaper supposed to cause mental pollution like Yangcheon Lake?”

“Guess we’ll find out soon. Trinity’s analyzing the Gray Reaper. They’re trustworthy.”

“Hope so.”

Their conversation ended there.

Mention of Trinity intrigued me.

Seems news of my visit spread far.

Trinity’s fame plus mine creates quite the synergy.

Looking forward to visiting Trinity even more now.

Past the tranquil fountain sounds, deeper inside the memorial hall, a cluster of people surrounded exhibits.

These were sections of the floor cut and hardened like dinosaur footprints.

But the plaque read something absurd: “Gray Reaper’s Footprints.”

Fossils made from processing muddy footprints showcased small impressions.

Overheard conversations among visitors amused me.

“Could this really be from when they slapped hands and stomped around?”

“Looks like it according to the sign.”

Crowds took photos using these forced fossils as backgrounds amidst chatter and camera clicks.

Though stocked with plenty of firewood, I felt oddly unsettled leaving the memorial hall.

***

Deep within the Mini Reaper Garden, atop Cookie Island floating in the Sea of Hot Chocolate, secret exchanges occurred between Golden Reapers and Blue Reapers.

Using gestures instead of words, their explanations resembled clumsy yet adorable kindergarten performances.

Though limited by Goldens’ short thinking spans, their emotional perception compensated splendidly.

Golden Reapers acted as storytellers, bringing invisible adventures vividly to life with movements and feelings.

Blue Reapers listened wide-eyed under their hats, captivated.

Demonstrating battles against giant objects, joyful dances, they taught much to the youngest Blue Reaper.

Golden Reapers’ motions danced mesmerizingly, then cautiously revealed something major after scanning surroundings.

Stories about their creator—the Gray Reaper—filled with malicious black sludge pranks served as warnings for the young Blue Reaper.

Initially skeptical, Blues doubted like stubborn kids refusing mom could do such things.

But overwhelmed by Goldens’ truthful emotions, they eventually believed completely.

Inspiration sparked among mini reapers, leading to conspiratorial mischief planning.

Opinions exchanged revealed mischievous schemes brewing.

***

At dawn, still tinged with night’s remnants, front gate of Sehee Research Institute.

Tension hung thickly at the entrance due to Trinity employees standing rigidly nearby.

Sehee staff lined up anxiously while across stood heavily armed Trinity agents in protective suits.

This contrast recalled previous transfers to Central Research Institute.

The stench of black sludge emanated strongly from Trinity’s gear.

Black sludge…

Feels like it’s only a matter of time before Golden Reaper makes another ‘mistake.’

Hehe.

With a sly smile, I walked casually toward the Trinity vehicle.