Volume One: Girl in the City

  Part 1: The Slums

  As much as Ahrisu needed her senses for survival, she wished she was deaf.

  She huddled in the corner of the dark shipping container, squeezing her ears with her arms to drown out the churning of ocean waves. Her back was pressed against the metal wall, and her shoulders and hands tingled from nerve compression.

  The moment the doors closed with a bone-rattling thud, Ahrisu drew her knees to her chest to make herself as small as possible. Eager shoes snatched up the leg space she yielded. The air was thick with body odor and sweat and the hot exhalations of unease and restlessness.

  The smugglers warned they wouldn’t open the container until they reached land because the voyage “only” took two to three hours. It could also be longer, depending on weather conditions. Anything was fine, as long as the voyage wasn’t cut short.

  Considering they didn’t capsize, yet, the Dragon King of the West Sea was still debating on whether or not to claim the ship. If he took this long to decide, they weren’t going to sink. It was going to be alright.

  Or only five minutes have passed since they set sail. The numbers on Ahrisu's cheap, water-resistant watch were smudges, and time was impossible to tell.

  The stuffy feeling in her chest wasn't helped by the cases of seasickness cropping up around her. Coughs and gags changed from sporadic to frequent. So the smell permeated. Decency shouldn’t be expected from smugglers, but if everyone here paid the same “ferry” fee as Ahrisu, they could've spared a measly bucket.

  Ahrisu had chosen the greater evil and blocked her ears, not her nose, though she held her breath before exhaling and inhaling quickly. Like she was swimming. It didn’t help.

  But the smells were a single grain of sand compared to the boulder that was her choice to be on the ocean.

  All because she didn't listen to the warning signs earlier. Doubt gnawed at her while she shuffled along in the line headed towards the container. By the time she rushed past others to claim this corner first, fear trampled over her.

  But it was too late. If she wormed her way out before the doors shut, she was disembarking from the ship without the money she already paid. So fear morphed into regret.

  Maybe she should’ve bought a train ticket instead. It would’ve been cheaper. Or hitched a ride on the back of a pickup truck. But there were too many security checkpoints on train rides and highways leading to Neo Seoul, even though she wasn’t going to the megacity itself. IDs were required, and she didn’t have one to show.

  Traveling by ship, on the other hand, was so risky that authorities deferred the consequences to the sea itself.

  ‘Go onboard at your own risk,’ according to the broker who gave her the smugglers’ details. She overheard enough over the years to know each seafaring voyage reaching its destination safely was a 50/50 chance. Those were the best odds she ever had in her life.

  So Ahrisu took it. And tried to justify her choice in order to smother her regrets before they consumed her.

  A ship was faster, anyways, than going around the wasteland of what was once the southern half of Gyeonggido. And circumventing the province ate up too much time, time where she could feel free and be free before she was on the run again. That had to be worth being trapped in a metal box on the ocean.

  No, it really wasn’t, and Ahrisu clasped her hands over her ears. But the more she tried to keep out the sound of waves, the more it swelled and expanded beyond noise.

  Water swallowing her whole, hands reaching for the sunlit surface growing smaller and smaller, darkness dragging her by the ankle into the abyss. Whether it was a dream or a memory or her brain scaring her with a worst-case scenario, one thing was for certain: she should’ve stayed on land.

  Grumbling, muttering. The person beside her was a woman burying her face in her knees. But it wasn’t her voice. The source was next to her.

  With the woman between them, the man’s long, bony fingers stuck out, like tree branches at night. He rambled into his clawed hands, which dug into his cheeks and jaw. Ahrisu would end up doing the same if she was stuck in here any longer.

  “Dragons . . .” his voice rasped. “Song . . . one, whole . . . again . . . reborn . . . family . . .” His laughter was a wheeze, as if his throat was dusty, and those skeletal fingers shook as much as his voice.

  There were going to be even more people like him where she was headed. She focused on the shamanistic scriptures he recited without pause before lowering her arms. More than her hands could, his voice silenced the waves.

  Other prayers and pleas were whispered. In so many languages she couldn’t differentiate between them. As for knowing they were prayers, it was the distress in their voices.

  With her arms freed, Ahrisu blocked her nose with one sleeve and patted the slight bump of Dalnim’s head protruding through her backpack. Feeling her rabbit doll calmed her further.

  The catalyst for her current situation occurred more than a year ago in Busan. Her doubts and fears had overpowered the temptation to smuggle herself, at the last second, on a ship to Fukuoka.

  The fear of being caught, the fear of crossing the sea, the doubt she could be free from this cycle of running and fleeing, not even in a different country.

  All these outweighed the small hope that glinted in her chest, just for a moment.

  Since then, she couldn’t help but imagine herself in a different—better—situation, if only she had faced her fears then. So when a second chance presented itself four days ago, she seized it after a moment’s hesitation.

  A horn bellowed. Which meant they were close to land. More ship horns blared, clothing rustled and crinkled, and rubber soles squeaked.

  The coin flip landed in their favor today, and Ahrisu sighed and rested her head against the wall. She survived. The tide receded, leaving her soaked, but alive.

  And she survived so she needed to plan. How she spent her time here would decide if this was a second chance or the wrong choice. It couldn’t be too bad.

  For starters, she needed to fill up her water bottle and restock her food supplies. And wash up, if water was cheap or, better, for free. Once she felt human again, she also had to find—

  “No!”

  The man shot to his feet and paced back and forth. He scratched at bone through his sunken cheeks. The container was his cage, and, for all he knew, he was alone and marched like it.

  Some people yelped, and most climbed over each other to avoid being stepped on, too. The woman jostled Ahrisu, who pinned her backpack between her stomach and knees. She sank deeper into the corner and elbowed the woman to push her away. The pressure was going to spat her out of the container.

  The man screamed in between bouts of shouting. “Save us! Spare us! Be merciful! Are we not your children? Your creation? You cannot abandon us! You cannot des—”

  The walls and floor trembled, and Ahrisu fell forward, slamming her hand on the floor to stay upright. Others cried out. Did they crash into the port? The man, on his knees, rubbed his hands at the ceiling.

  “Spare us. Save us. I-I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

  A loud clang reverberated against the walls, shaking the man’s voice out of Ahrisu’s ears. But not his words. The both of them just had to speak the same language.

  No more horns sounded. The container didn’t topple over so the ship likely didn’t crash. Still, no one moved. Silence crept back in, amplifying the sound of weeping. The man was curled on the floor.

  After several heartbeats of stillness, everyone else sat up or stood. Ahrisu did the latter, but stumbled because of her sore knees. Re-supply, then wash up if water is free or cheap, she reminded herself while wincing and putting her backpack on. If there’s time, find work to do or, otherwise, find shelter for the night . . .

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Muted footsteps struck steel. The latch clanked, and the doors opened, screeching with labored creaks. Light burst inside.

  Ahrisu raised her arm over her head, though her eyes still stung. When her vision adjusted, she squinted at Jwichi and his lackeys barricading the entrance. Their fishing bibs swished with every movement, little or large. Water droplets coated their tall, rubber boots.

  While the lackeys dressed in dark or neutral colors, Jwichi alone wore a bright yellow raincoat, oversized for an already sizable man. And, while they dry-heaved and blocked their noses with their arms, he took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled deeply. The cloud of smoke obscured his scruffy face and protected his nostrils, a stench fending off another stench.

  “Hey.” Jwichi’s voice was low and guttural, like an anchor scraping against the seafloor. “Who let this nutjob onto my ship?”

  He jerked his head to the side, the universal sign for everyone else to scram before they became collateral damage.

  The first of the stowaways, glancing back and forth at each other, staggered forward. While the lackeys stepped back, Jwichi remained a roadblock and fixated on getting his money’s worth out of the cigarette.

  People eyed him, like he was a leashed dog. But when the open air of Wolmido ruffled their hair and clothes, they dashed towards the right without hesitation. Their collective feet and weight stampeded across the rooftops of containers.

  The woman darted past the kneeling man. Ahrisu grimaced at her aching knees and avoided suspicious stains and bits and pieces on the floor.

  But the man whirled around, and she reeled backwards, unable to evade his hands grasping her arms.

  Experience held back instinct. Even as he shook her and threatened to break her bones with such skeletal fingers, she didn’t struggle. People calmed down after a while and acted as if nothing happened. Bruises were worth not escalating a temporary episode into full-blown panic. But it sure hurt a lot.

  A faded tattoo, the ink staining veins and bones, crawled up his neck to his jawline before an unshaven face concealed it. Peeking out from greasy, black hair with gray strands were hints of cauliflower ears.

  Wads of spit flew out of his babbling mouth, and Ahrisu flinched. As long as they didn’t land near her eyes or mouth. His watery eyes peered past her head, unblinking.

  "Please," he whispered. "Please spare me. Please be merciful. You're just like me—"

  The man was hauled away by lackeys, one built like a ssireum wrestler and the other appearing older than his boss. He writhed in their clutches, but didn’t resist or struggle for long. He only screamed. Ahrisu glanced behind her. Nothing.

  The lackeys forced a dirty rag into the man’s mouth, muffling his screams, wails. A red blotch spread near his cracked lips. He was dragged out of sight, and Jwichi stepped to the side, scratching his forehead with his thumb.

  Ahrisu wiped her face and shuddered at the wetness before rubbing her arms to ease the pulsating pain. Not the best start to her stay in Wolmido. But her knees functioned again, and she strode forward.

  Only to stop at the brink, as a net was cast across the sky. The stainless steel mesh blanketed the topmost shipping containers, which were stacked high until they blocked out the sea and horizon. Ample space was left empty in front of the entrance.

  A thudding noise in the distance. Garbled, screeching cries joined the mix. Louder, from above, muffled by the ceiling.

  Seagulls. It was her first time hearing them in real life, never mind seeing them, too. Ahrisu stepped out, freed from the container.

  But the ground fell away.

  Her durumagi hoodie choked her neck, and she wriggled and kicked. Jwichi grabbed a fistful of her hood and held her up, as a mother cat grasped the scruff of her kitten’s neck. He smoked with his other hand.

  Ahrisu squeezed her fingers between her neck and hoodie to breathe. What was he doing, why her, she paid the fee, she didn’t cause any trouble—

  Lackeys wrestled her backpack off. The force wrenched her hands away from her neck, and her hoodie suffocated her.

  Jwichi tossed her aside, and she landed on her arm. Swallowing air and ignoring the shock of pain, she leapt to her feet to wrest her belongings back.

  One of the lackeys, hair dyed blond, raised his foot. He stretched out his leg and shoved her backwards.

  She fell, her stomach twisting and throbbing. Another lackey, wearing a black beanie, flipped her over and stepped on her back. Her ribs were going to crack from the pressure. She gasped for air. Hateful tears stung her eyes.

  Jwichi strolled around so Ahrisu could see him, his boots thumping in her ear. The lackeys opened her backpack. One, wearing a surgical mask, grabbed Dalnim by the head. She froze. No, no. The wires in its ears were bent, and glossy, black eyes bulged out in his meaty, ignorant grip.

  He threw her rabbit doll away. Dalnim bounced along the grooves of the container and landed tummy up.

  Next to spill out were her elastomeric respirator, water bottle, and pouch of hygiene products. But the lackeys recoiled at her dirty clothes and shook them out, sifting through her belongings with their boots.

  Inner pockets were opened, too, and they crushed the last of her food before dropping it. She didn’t squeeze out more tears, but the hatred within them grew. Why her, when they didn’t mess with anyone else—

  A lackey wearing red motorcycle glasses picked up the worn envelope mixed in with her clothes, no, not that.

  Ahrisu tried to get up, but the foot pressed down on her harder. Jwichi dropped his cigarette and smothered it with his boot before taking the envelope. He counted every banknote inside, all ?2 million. She glared at him, her eyes drying.

  Clicking his tongue, he tucked the cash back into the envelope and crouched in front of her. He stunk of tobacco jumbled with salt and soured air. She no longer had the strength to raise her head, or glare, and lowered her cheek to the rooftop.

  “Where’d you get this money?” Jwichi asked. “After paying the ferry fee, it should be impossible to have this much left. You stole this, didn’t you? As an adult, I have no choice but to take responsibility for your wrongdoing. Kids these days.”

  No, he was stealing from her, and Ahrisu bent her fingers against the grooves to free herself, but yelped. The lackey had to be standing on her now. Each shallow breath stabbed at her lungs.

  She craned her neck to scowl at Jwichi, who slipped her hard-earned money deep into the pocket of his raincoat and dropped the envelope. It fluttered and floated to the ground, a dead leaf.

  Before the envelope landed, it crumpled into itself, devoured by fire.

  Because Jwichi burned.

  Ahrisu squeezed her eyes shut and urged the flames flaring in her mind to spread to her limbs instead. To circulate all over her body.

  “I’ll take this as my reward,” he said, “for doing a good deed today.”

  When Jwichi erupted into flames again, she clenched her jaw and forced the heat into one hand, diminishing a wildfire to a single, burning candle. Stop, she thought. You have to stop. Don’t do it. Please.

  Her fingertips burrowed into the steel, as if it were soft sand.

  “Don’t steal anymore, kid.”

  At the sound of Jwichi’s footsteps, Ahrisu opened her eyes, but his back was already turned. Dalnim was in his path. She sucked in a breath. He squashed her rabbit doll, leaving his dirty shoe print on its face and tummy.

  The heat in her mind blazed, to burn Jwichi into ashes, but the weight on top of her was lifted. A hand grasped the back of her head.

  Orange rushed towards her, and her face smashed into steel. Her facial bones were crushed into splinters. Pain and dizziness extinguished the flames. Everywhere hurt, from her chin to her forehead.

  Footsteps marched across the containers. They landed on the ship’s deck with heavy thuds. Something clattered against the floor.

  Ahrisu let the pain throb in waves until it dulled into aches. Dalnim stared back at her with its round eyes. The fear it’d be permanently stained and flattened if she did nothing soon spurred her to move.

  Crawling to her rabbit doll, she propped herself up on her elbows, but warmth surged out of her nose. She staunched the blood with the inner part of her sleeve and sat up on her knees. Even grazing her nose felt as if it was going to fall off.

  She wiped her hand on her clothes before picking up Dalnim. Splotches of water darkened dirt, and the stink of tobacco was adhered to the stains. It just had to be the boot Jwichi used to stamp out his cigarette.

  Ahrisu lowered her rabbit doll to her lap. Most of her money taken, them closing in on her at any moment, any time.

  A hollowness expanded in her chest. Why did she try so hard in the first place?

  The envelope skidded across the rooftop, and Ahrisu lunged to smack it down before it flew off. Dalnim tumbled onto the steel. Her water bottle rolled around in the coastal breeze sharpening the ends of her short hair into needles.

  She didn’t know why, but she did try. She couldn’t live, and she couldn’t die either so she gathered her belongings. It was a slow process with one hand, and she gingerly pulled the zipper over Dalnim to close her backpack.

  Ahrisu dabbed at her nose, wincing at every touch, to make sure the bleeding stopped. At least her black hoodie hid the bloodstains.

  The salty air of Wolmido pricked at her nose, as she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

  Her money. Without the ?2 million Jwichi stole, her plan of progressing northwards at a steady, sustainable rate was as likely as money falling onto her lap this instant. How many more nights would she have to spend listening to her growling stomach? She had to get her money back.

  Confronting Jwichi and his lackeys had the added risk of provoking their acquaintances or whoever it was they worked for. But was that something she needed to worry about? All she should care about was getting her money back. Consequences were inconsequential, as long as she had the money to flee.

  Threads of smoke snaked up from little holes in the steel.

  No, the consequences were real, and Ahrisu imagined the flames in her mind circulating her body, as another bloodstream. When the visualization was stable, she checked that nothing fell out of her clothes and shoes before standing. She hooked her backpack's straps over her shoulders.

  Ahrisu wouldn't go that far. Never again. But she had to do something so she stalked towards the direction where Jwichi and his lackeys went.

  She should’ve stayed on land.

  Cyberpunk 2077); the greater emphasis is on "punk," not "cyber;" you'll see additional solarpunk and cli-fi (climate fiction) elements, too