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It approached with a terrifying and bizarre sound that sent chills down my spine.

The sound was akin to gently sweeping the floor with a brush densely packed with bristles, or perhaps the rustling of fabric dragged from afar.

Accompanied by an undeniably alien sound, he appeared.

He wasn’t particularly tall.

His face was so ordinary that it left little impression.

He had the aura of someone you would immediately think was Chinese.

He seemed painfully unremarkable.

It was hard to believe he had set foot in such a place.

Ssssss.

The stench of filth pierced my nose.

Slime filled the ground, with rat droppings scattered about.

Was that moss or muck clinging to the walls of the passage that let no light through?

Or perhaps it was mold or something like a mushroom?

The passage felt as if it were the esophagus or intestines of a living being.

A place filled with filth and stench.

Walking through that place made me feel like I was nothing more than excrement, and the thought that I could lose consciousness there evoked a true sense of crisis.

This was the sewage.

The large intestine of the city.

A passage where leftovers and waste flow.

The seemingly ordinary man walked through it.

With every breath he took, the adverse effects crept into his body, and if he inhaled any longer, he could easily faint from lack of oxygen. He walked without any protective gear or oxygen tank, almost as though he were not a person, but rather a doll or robot.

And he finally reached his destination.

A weakness that could only be accessed through the sewage.

One of the many facilities scattered across the vast land of China.

Ssssss.

The sound of insect legs moving.

Despite the man walking on two legs, the sound was not that of human steps but of insect legs.

Could the man in front of me be an insect mimicking a person? Or a person imitating an insect?

He slid in without even picking the locked door, a bizarre sight as he melted into the interior, despite its obvious confinement. If anyone saw this man, they might suspect he was a phantom or an evil spirit…

Thus, the man entered “some facility” connected to the sewage.

However, as an unwelcome guest, there was no one to receive him; there was no one to welcome the uninvited guest. So, without even a light to turn on or sounds of hospitality to guide him, he could only weave through the silent darkness, moving forward and onward.

Not long after, what caught the man’s eye was a metal drum.

It seemed to be something placed to store waste or toxic substances.

There were danger signs marked all over, and it was heavy, suggesting it was filled with something.

Was it near the sewage passage so they could discard it straight into the sewers?

The man passed it by and continued onward.

Making sounds like a bug moving.

Even without dragging anything, it created a small noise that seemed to scrape along the floor.

“…Secret and important project….”

How much further had he gone?

After a time that could neither be classified as short nor long, a sound reached the man’s ears.

It resembled the voice of an old man, or perhaps a middle-aged man, or even that of a younger man with a slightly hoarse tone. It was an echoing voice as if it had passed through a cave, carrying an unusual emphasis that made it hard to comprehend.

That voice was coming from afar.

“The underground is a space filled with mysteries…. We revered the sky, while fearing the sea and the underground…. It is the fear born from not knowing what lies below…. The fact that there are unknowns where one cannot step, that one cannot venture…. It is a defense mechanism to avert one’s eyes from this reality….”

A sound that felt like grasping at air.

The distant unknown man was speaking strange words to someone.

“Thus paradoxically, the underground becomes a vault…. Truly ironic… Fear and the unknown transform into a space that hides secrets…. The greed for that vault draws people in…. The force that drives one to explore the unknown….”

Ah… The precious ones buried in the earth…. The power holders who sought to adorn their resting places with gold and jewels…. The treasure hunters after their burial goods, and countless individuals who bless their peace from the afterlife…. Shadows cast, filled with shadows, wet and dank in darkness. Some say there’s a blazing sulfur flame, while others claim there’s a cold so intense it freezes souls, and some even say there’s a torture chamber where the souls torment the living….

Ah… To be uncovered… Thus secrets paradoxically have a fate of being discovered….”

Could it be that a phlegm was rising?

A voice grating at the throat echoed.

“And if two or more people know, it can no longer be called a secret… Once the subtle concept of secrecy begins to unravel, two becoming three, and three becoming more, is therefore not strange….”

As he went further, that voice became clearer.

And finally, the two men face each other.

“The thrill of uncovering a hidden secret, the pleasure of erasing shadows to confirm the original… Secrets and taboos are intertwined, and thus we tread upon what we know we shouldn’t, embracing the danger….”

A space filled with glass tubes.

In that place, a man adorned with strips of facial skin welcomes the intruder.

He apologizes for not being there to greet him at the door, welcoming the uninvited guest who had made it this far.

“Welcome…. Mirage….”

* * *

A silent space.

Once, it housed many researchers.

Now, only two beings remain.

The man wearing layers of facial skin, disguising himself as an ordinary person but possessing a form contrary to his own.

Despite being face to face, it was hardly different from a phantasm. They could form shapes and see each other, yet there was no truth in their appearances. They were like mirages or phantoms, devoid of meaning, and aside from the fact they existed there, there was no way to ascertain the roots of their existence through sight.

Even if it existed, if there was no truth, what difference could it make?

If it’s tangible and materially existing but filled with lies, what difference is there from a hologram?

That is how the two souls present here were.

Like shadows reflected in a cave, they were.

“Mirrors and shadows share many similarities…. They are generated by light and can be observed…. They reflect the original but differ from it…. Thus, we know it’s an illusion yet understand that it’s linked to the essence…. So, we live our lives feeling the differences while making clear distinctions between the real and the fake….”

The voice of the man adorned with facial skin began to speak in a voice that was grating to the ears.

Though his face was covered by a mask, it was evident he wore a smile.

Was that smile a sign of familiarity?

Or perhaps, like the man said, just as a mirror resembles a shadow, it was a smile born from the kinship felt by similarly situated beings?

“Is it a coincidence that those similar reached the same secret? Fate? Destiny? Ah…. What is the boundary that distinguishes truth from lies, real from fake…? In a place devoid of secrets and shadows, where light yields….”

As I watched the man babble nonsensically, leading the insects, Park Jinseong opened his mouth to speak.

“Similar to similar. If we widen the difference that creates ‘similarity’ and repeatedly emphasize it, can we truly call it similar? If light passes through a prism, separating into various colors, and if those colors are cut and shaped into differences, then while the essence of light remains the same, if the colors and wavelengths diverge, can we truly claim that’s the truth of similarity?”

Park Jinseong gazed at the man adorned with facial skin.

No, he was staring at the sorcerer known as a Shaman.

The terror of the African continent.

One who handles magic related to shadows, exploring the nature of shadows.

“Pierre Martin.”

Huu.

Hehehe.

The name that escaped Park Jinseong’s lips.

And then came the sound of a sobbing laugh.

The sorcerer Pierre Martin laughed, wearing layers of facial skin.

“Ah, illusion, illusion…. Did the dream-walker tell you that name…? Did the one who manipulates the concept of secrets give you a hint…?”

Pierre Martin gazed at Park Jinseong with eyes that seemed far from human.

“Presence, the smell of existence, the scent of life. It feels like it will vanish like an illusion. Ah…. Dreams and secrets, illusions and reality…. Things that exist yet are hidden, things that aren’t hidden yet are an illusion….”

It felt like blood surged in the eyes of a rot-eyed fish.

In his glistening gaze, madness swam.

“Welcome, Monsieur….”

Pierre Martin smiled.

 

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