An acute, high-pitched sound rattled in my ears as I awakened The sort of clamour you associate with a concussion, or perhaps ruptured eardrums. I blinked, several times, before the weight of my predicament fully dawned on me. My head throbbed, and flashbacks came flooding in, chaotic and disorienting. There was blood on the floor, some smeared on my hand. A woman was there; stunning, her beauty surpassed everything else in the world. For a moment, I was transfixed by her high cheekbones, maroon lips and penetrating gaze, her hair, silky and wind-tousled.
But then, my perception shifted, her beauty dissolving into something horrific. A seething, raging entity lurked behind her eyes, as if she bore the epitome of destruction within her. The intense hostility she projected kick-started my adrenaline; I began hyperventilating, an unfamiliar reaction. The sensation brought me face to face with a familiar concept—death.
Staring into her eyes, I felt as if death was but a breath away, as though merely existing in her presence was a transgression. It was an overwhelming terror, yet tinged with a strange euphoria. I yearned to experience death, to earn it, solely for her.
Then everything went dark. My memory feels disjointed, incomplete. A recollection bubbles to the surface—a syringe, lodged deep within my arm, its contents spent. I must have been drugged.
My surroundings came into view—a room, sparsely lit by a lone bulb. The walls, cloaked in faded grey paint, were chipped in places, revealing rusted steel underneath. Moss had sprouted in the dim recesses of the ceiling, areas the light had abandoned.
But wait… How could I see that clearly? I blinked, yet the moss remained in sharp focus. And there was something else, beyond the moss, hovering. It tracked my movements, shadowing me as I turned my head right, left, up, down, round and round.
Holy shit! What the fuck is going on! I’m seeing text.
System Initialisation.
Please enter your name:
Why the fuck do you want my name?
To start the initialisation process.
Fuck off, it’s talking to me! I paused, awaiting a response. Yet it didn’t come, but an idea sparked in my head. Can you shit?
No, it’s not possible, as I am not alive, nor do I consume food or drink.
I think am going mad.
Brain scans suggest that you don’t posses symptoms of mental disorders.
Alright, this is getting trippy. Thoughts began forming in my mind as my confusion mounted. This may very well be some sort of experiment, like those run by the CIA or any other spy organisation. I recall reading leaked files some years ago about the CIA abducting random folks to give them psychic abilities back in the '60s. Could it be that I’ve been snatched by the CIA? No..nothing indicates that they would be the culprits. I sifted through my memories. An empty syringe jabbed into my arm, blood on my hands. That was the glaring clue. I've been dosed up, and whoever did it has me pegged for a twisted science experiment.
I attempted to move, but I was restrained. I managed to dip my head forward. Bloody hell! They've buckled me down to the bed. I clocked three of them. I tested their tension to gauge their tightness, to discern if I could potentially wriggle my way free. But the more I squirmed, the more they cinched. I couldn’t make heads or tails of how the damned things worked.
Please enter your name:
This bloody…alright I’ll give you my name. It’s Josh, Josh Sanders.
Welcome to the Nexus System, Josh. Would you like a tutorial on how this works?
The door burst open and in she walked – the same woman haunting my memories. She donned a form-fitting black dress intricately laced with straps. Hidden within, knives sat securely. Her black coat mostly concealed them, providing just enough mystery. The wind flirted with her silky hair, dancing it to the side as she made her entrance. The sight of her high cheekbones and those luscious maroon lips... they stirred something within me that defied explanation.
Casually, she fetched a chair I had overlooked, placed by the wall adjacent to my bed. With a swift movement, she opened it and took her seat beside me. A sweet aroma, reminiscent of summer fruits on an October morning, followed her. Her piercing gaze bore into me, assessing my worth.
By all rights, I should’ve been filled with anger, despair, embarrassment, anything but the sentiment washing over me now. Love. To my own disbelief, I think I'm in love with this woman. But I just met her!
"Who are you?" she inquired, curiosity lacing her voice.
"The better question might be, who are you, and why have you kept me here?" I responded, struggling to keep my voice steady.
She sized me up, scrutinizing my every movement, as if reading me like an open book. But I wasn't exactly playing coy.
"I'm someone whose identity would bring you nothing but trouble," she intoned.
I blurted out, "Somehow, that only makes you more appealing."
"Excuse me?" she asked, taken aback.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"Uh, nothing," I quickly backtracked.
She paused, letting an awkward silence grow, her gaze still locked onto me. I could tell she was deep in thought. Then she shattered the quiet.
"But I know you, Josh Sanders. Age 21. British. You live with your single mother and two siblings.
You're a student here at Seoul University, and you have a best friend named Hanul," she declared.
I was stunned. She knew far more about me than I'd expected. My situation, already precarious, just intensified. Even if I managed a miracle and escaped, they would know where to find me - or worse, they might threaten those close to me. My theory that she might be CIA was slowly gaining ground, but there was only one way to confirm.
"Are you with the CIA?" I questioned, my voice trembling. It was clear her revelations had unnerved me.
Her eyes widened in shock. I assumed I'd caught her red-handed. However, she suddenly erupted into a boisterous laughter, echoes reverberating off the small room's walls. I was taken aback, to say the least, she didn't seem the sort to let loose such hearty laughter.
“Man, it's been ages since I laughed that hard," she said, catching her breath.
"Why did you laugh?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice.
"Well, we've been misconstrued as many things, but the CIA tops the comedic list. To clarify, we are not the CIA, we're much more," she explained. She leaned forward, her face nearing mine, her breath warm and steady on my skin, oddly disciplined.
"Ever heard of Murim?"
Confusion furrowed my brow. "Is that a boy band, like One Direction?"
Her smile widened before she leaned back, seemingly satisfied. "That Supreme sure is a piece of work, isn't he?"
"Who the hell is the Supreme?" I retorted, utterly lost.
“Fuck Murim, Murimins, clans, patriarchs," she cursed.
Befuddled, I could only stammer, "what on earth is a Murimin?"
She chuckled, a laughter of relief this time. "You might need a trip to a mental institution."
"Good, you passed the test."
"What test?"
"The one we just conducted."
"And why test me?"
"To verify if you were a Murimin."
I paused, trying to process the situation. "And if I didn't pass, if I were a Murimin, then what?"
"Then, I would have had to kill you."
Her threat hung in the air, a silent, palpable tension. Her hand moved towards me, causing me to flinch, but all she did was release the straps restraining me.
I was slow to move, feeling a bit disoriented after being restrained for such a long time. I shook my head, slapped my cheeks, anything to regain my bearings.
"Do you often do that?" she queried.
"Do what?"
"Slap your cheeks."
I gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah, it's something I picked up from a cartoon I watched as a kid. It started as a joke but stuck with me."
She smiled, "anyway," she clapped her hands to draw my attention, "let's discuss why you're here."
I nodded, signifying my readiness to listen.
"Do you recall what happened the last time you were awake?"
"Yes. Blood and an empty syringe in my arm."
She paused to think. "Hmm, this might be easier to explain than I anticipated." She took a deep breath, "You have something inside you that we need."
"Did you inject me with something?"
"It was accidental. We didn't realize until it was too late."
I realized that despite my disadvantage, they needed me for something. That gave me a tiny bit of leverage, perhaps enough to escape unharmed if I played my cards right.
"Okay, how do you plan on extracting the information then?" I posed the question.
Raising an eyebrow, she responded, "I expected you to be irate, causing a scene."
"No use crying over spilt milk," I retorted.
"Spilt... what?"
"Spilt milk. It's an idiom. In my culture, it means not being overly concerned about past events," I clarified. "I'm aware that most people would be fuming, demanding to see a lawyer, or something similar, but I'm adaptable. I comprehend my predicament completely and make use of the resources I have. That's how I managed to get into one of the top Universities in the world, starting from nothing. That and hard work from an early age.
She scrutinized me suspiciously, not quite convinced. Well, tough luck for her, because it was nothing but the truth.
"I'm aware of your background, where you come from. I have a semblance of understanding about your struggles. Whether you believe it or not, I respect your resilience and fortitude in making it this far in life, as it reflects my own journey."
Her words almost made me blush. Keep your emotions in check, dammit! My heart accelerated, thoughts whirling around my head. Did she just compliment me? Is she attracted to me? Is she in love with me?
I sincerely hoped she couldn't hear my internal monologue.
I glanced at her, noticing a slight smile gracing her lips, causing my chest to constrict even more. My breathing turned slightly ragged. Could this be love? Did I fall for her in a matter of seconds? This can't be love. It almost feels li-
Warning! Detected mental intrusions to users mind!
Upon glimpsing the message, I instinctively slapped my own face. She responded by raising her left eyebrow. So I slapped myself again, alternating between cheeks, until I resembled someone possessed. Once I stopped, my flushed red cheeks stood out against my pale skin.
The door swung open once more, ushering in two men. The first appeared as a young Asian man adorned in a black silk shirt, matching black trousers, and chord shoes. His shirt, unbuttoned at the midriff, revealed chiseled pecs and a hint of upper abs. The second was a middle-aged Russian, a scar tracing down his left eye, donned in a black suit with a matching tie. Their collective affinity for the color black was something I mentally noted down.
"Seems like your charm failed, Boss," the Asian man remarked.
"His willpower is abnormally strong," the Russian responded in a thick accent. "Escaping the influence of a Martial Gold 2nd Stage requires an exceptional resolve. For a foreigner to achieve this is unprecedented and exceptional. It shouldn't even be possible."
He then addressed the lady, Kira, "Are you certain of your measurements? He could be a covert Martial Gold or a Silver”
Kira cast a sideways glance at the man, "If he was a hidden Martial Gold, we wouldn't be exchanging words peacefully right now. He wouldn't have permitted me to employ my mental technique."
"Hold on, mental technique? Did you do something to me? Is that why my heart was racing?"
Her expression became stoic, and whatever emotion I perceived earlier vanished. This was her true countenance.
"Yes, I did. But bear in mind, I utilised merely a fraction of my power. Had I exerted my full force, you wouldn't have stood a chance."
"Why? I was prepared to comply.”
She flicked her hair back, "I didn't trust you. Your honesty seemed too suspicious. When faced with peril, no one is as forthcoming as you appeared to be. Usually, people in your situation are plotting an escape, misleading their captors, or spinning a web of lies."
She wasn't entirely wrong; escape was indeed on my mind. But I desired a peaceful exit, one where no one, including myself, would be harmed.
"So, I tested my mental technique on you, attempting control. It's the most reliable method to ensure no double-crossing. It's the only sensible way to survive in my world," she concluded, her gaze locked onto mine.
I thought staying calm and doing the necessary would offer an escape route. But man, am I in deep waters. These folks are on a whole different level. They're harnessing powers you'd only catch in superhero flicks. I'm in way over my head here, and this mess? It's not even my doing. Panic's setting in. I gotta find my cool.
“Your case is puzzling," she says, her eyes gleaming with suspicion. "You're not a Murimin, but your willpower is extraordinary. Doesn't add up. You'd fit better in Murim. Growing up in a broken home doesn't typically cultivate such mental fortitude. Believe me, I'd know.”
“Maybe it’s the pain he’s causing himself, maybe that’s what triggers the break from charm,” proposed Yeonju.
“Hmm, pain can cause you to break from mental techniques, but not mine. It was a high level charm, it can’t be broken by simple slapping yourself, there’s much more to this than we know. We’ll need to run experiments on this one to know the exact reason.”
Her words fuelled my rage. “And how can I trust you, especially after the stunt you just pulled?”
She held up a finger and pointed it towards me. Suddenly, I was flung against the wall, hands splayed wide.
“You're not calling the shots here, I am," she retorts, locking me into her intense stare. "And don't ever raise your voice at me.”
She curled her finger, and the force against me magnified. I was struggling to speak, gasping for breath. She had some sort of telekinesis on me.
The Russian man stepped in, touching her shoulder. She released me and I crumpled onto the bed, drawing in ragged breaths. I felt like I'd just survived a near-death experience, everything around me seeming almost surreal.
“Hand me the slave collar, Viktor,” she commanded.
Viktor retrieved a leather collar, inscriptions etched inside, from under his coat. She picked me up by the throat, unclasped the collar with her free hand, and fastened it around my neck with a firm click. Drawing a dagger, she pricked her finger, let the blood drip onto the collar, and the inscriptions started to glow as they absorbed it.
“As of now, until this situation is resolved, you're my slave. You will follow my commands.
“Disobedience will cause the collar to constrict, causing you immense pain. I'd advise against testing it.”
She stood up, gesturing to an Asian man. “Yeonju, make sure he's taken care of.”
“Okay boss,” Yeonju nodded, looking me up and down. “Might be worth it to get him do some chores. I'll provide some cleaning equipment for our weapons. Then get Ashley or Hector on how to do it.”
As they prepared to leave, I called out. “Wait, just one more thing. Where are we?”
She smirked. “We're not in Korea.”
The sound of a ship's horn echoed in the hallway, confirming her words.