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In the high-tech laboratory lit by dim lighting, a large tank ominously filled with viscous black slime loomed.

The black slime exuded a heavy and unpleasant odor, permeating the air and creating a menacing atmosphere.

The research institute director was submerged in that chilling mixture.

His body was riddled with terrible, tearing wounds, filled with blackened, rotting organs.

The visible wounds seemed to greedily suck up the black liquid from the tank, gradually filling the gaps.

When the director emerged from the tank, having healed all the wounds, his expression was filled with solemn determination.

“With this level of preparation, the Gray Reaper should be manageable.”

It was a mutter, as if confirming his own resolve.

As he stepped outside, the slime dripped from him, leaving traces of his passage.

Squish.

His footsteps left behind not ordinary prints but grotesque, twisted shapes resembling a mass of tentacles.

With every step he took, eerie patterns were imprinted on the floor, creating an unsettling blend of reality and the surreal.

The director left the room filled with the smell of petroleum.

In the room he vacated, bizarre traces remained on the floor and walls.

They appeared to writhe as if possessing life.

Marks of a fundamental alteration of something human.

These traces seemed to indicate the crossing of forbidden thresholds between the human and the object, between reality and unreality.

*

“Wow, there are more people here than I expected.”

Arriving at the once strictly prohibited Songpa District sinkhole, I found it bustling with people.

What was once a dull area swarming only with soldiers had transformed into a seemingly interesting place.

Having received news from the isolation room TV that people who were friendly towards me had gathered at the Songpa District sinkhole, I sneaked out for a bit of fun before heading to Trinity Research Institute to collect firewood.

Surely, Sehee Research Institute must be searching for me like crazy?

Hehe.

Though the soldiers were on guard, the sinkhole remained a dangerous zone where objects occasionally crawled up, yet there seemed to be a significant number of tourists.

The emotions of the gathered crowd filled the area.

Friendliness.

Awe.

Positive energy permeated the surroundings.

The tourists were headed to the only civilian-accessible facility near the sinkhole.

[Gray Reaper Songpa District Memorial Hall.]

According to the information from the isolation room TV, the establishment faced tremendous opposition but ultimately had to be built.

They said too many people were getting into accidents sneaking into the sinkhole where the ‘Gray Reaper’ fought, is that true?

Pondering this trivial question, I slowly made my way forward.

Thud thud.

I passed by the line of tourists ghosting the entrance and stepped into the memorial hall.

Upon entering the Gray Reaper Memorial Hall lobby, I couldn’t help but admire the fountain I encountered.

It’s rare to see someone or an object who could observe the smoothly flowing water cascading along a stone-carved self-image.

The sound of splashing water and a soft melody filled the space with tranquility.

As I stood there, lost in a bizarre feeling of becoming a statue, a clear sound of a coin bouncing broke through.

Clink.

Turning my head, I spotted a man standing before the fountain.

His eyes closed, his expression was one of serene concentration, as if he were praying.

Is this some kind of lucky fountain ritual?

That’s usually how coin tosses go.

At that moment, emotions began to wash over me from the praying figure.

Worship.

A mix of weak adoration and longing for a savior to alleviate life’s frustrations and realities.

Then, from the corner of the memorial hall, I heard a conversation that didn’t quite match the atmosphere.

Two soldiers holding their weapons at the ready conversed in hushed tones.

“Seriously, the world has gone mad.”

Their voices were so soft that they were nearly inaudible amidst the fountain’s water sounds and surrounding noise.

“Even now, objects crawl up from that sinkhole once a week, and here we are with a memorial hall praising them.”

“Well, isn’t it more convenient to have a memorial hall? There used to be a dead person seen once a month after crossing the barrier, but lately that hasn’t happened.”

While one soldier grumbled, the other added a counterpoint from a practical perspective.

“Ha, that’s true. But lately, something just feels off. The admission fee is over 100,000 won, so I can’t understand why so many people are coming. Isn’t the Gray Reaper capable of mental pollution like at Yangcheong Lake?”

“Well, that should be revealed soon enough. They say Trinity is analyzing the ‘Gray Reaper’, and Trinity is reliable.”

“That would be nice.”

With that, the conversation between the two soldiers ended.

The sudden mention of Trinity piqued my interest.

I didn’t expect news of me going to Trinity to spread so widely.

Trinity is famous, and I’m a renowned special object, so it seems a synergy is occurring.

Perhaps that’s why I was even more eager for my visit to the Trinity Research Institute.

As I passed through the gentle sounds of the fountain and delved deeper into the memorial hall, I noticed a crowd gathering around an exhibit.

These exhibits looked as if pieces of the ground had been cut out and hardened.

On the surface, they appeared to be displaying dinosaur footprint fossils.

However, the sign read something utterly unexpected.

[Gray Reaper’s Footprint.]

It was an exhibit created by treating and hardening footprints made by stepping in mud.

As I gawked at the tiny footprints, snippets of conversation from the audience floated to my ears.

“Could that be… the one where you clapped and stepped on beans?”

“Looking at the sign, it seems to fit.”

Many visitors were posing for pictures using my forcibly fossilized footprints as a backdrop.

The cacophony of chatter and camera shutter sounds filled the space.

People delighting in seeing my footprints.

While it was nice to have plenty of firewood, I felt something was off.

With that thought lingering, I left the Gray Reaper Memorial Hall.

*

Deep within the Mini Reaper Garden.

On an island of cookies floating above the Sea of Hot Chocolate, Golden Reapers and Blue Reapers were secretly exchanging information.

Though they couldn’t speak, their gestures and movements resembled kindergarteners putting on a performance, somewhere awkward yet adorable.

In fact, while the body language of the somewhat simple Golden Reapers fell short, their ability to sense emotions made up for it.

Shining like morning sunlight, the Golden Reapers assumed the role of storytellers.

Their gestures and vivid emotions painted an unseen mystical adventure.

The Blue Reapers, with wide eyes full of curiosity, gleamed through their floppy hats.

They demonstrated the struggle against a massive object with outstretched arms and described joyful moments when they danced energetically.

The movements of the Golden Reapers encapsulated their experiences like a dance performance.

Then the Golden Reapers quickly glanced around, adopting a more cautious demeanor as they shared one significant fact.

About their creator, the Gray Reaper.

It was a tale filled with malice toward humans and the Gray Reaper’s bad antics.

Even the youngest Blue Reaper was warned to be careful.

Initially, the Blue Reapers couldn’t shake their suspicious expressions.

Like a stubborn child exclaiming, “Mom would never do that!”

However, they gradually softened, influenced by the truth-filled emotions of the Golden Reapers, eventually coming to completely believe it.

In the midst of this, a spark of inspiration ignited among the Mini Reapers.

The Mini Reapers began plotting fun pranks and coordinating their plans.

The camaraderie among the Mini Reapers suggested a mischievous conspiracy.

*

At dawn, when the remnants of the night had yet to fade, in front of the Front Gate of Sehee Research Institute.

The atmosphere was slightly tense due to the Trinity employees lined up in front of the research institute, perhaps feeling a bit on edge.

There stood Sehee Research Institute personnel with uneasy expressions.

On the opposite side, armed and armored Trinity Research Institute agents stood with similarly tense expressions.

The contrast in atmosphere and attire reminded me of when they would be transferred to the Central Research Institute.

The protective suits of the Trinity agents carried the strong stench of black slime.

As expected, Trinity Research Institute seemed to be the source of the black slime.

The black slime, huh.

I can’t shake the feeling that a moment will come when the Golden Reaper might make a ‘mistake’.

Hehe.

I smiled slightly and walked toward the Trinity Research Institute vehicles.