PITYING THE PRISONER | p.jm

t h r e e - c o r a

As per usual, my alarm wakes me up at 6:30, and Subin and I do our normal daily workout. This particular morning, though, we decide to spend only twenty minutes sparring and fifteen minutes running, as I received a notice this morning stating that 402 has come in. I'm to meet him at 8:00, so my normal morning routine is a little bit sped up today. Just to add to the off-kilterness of my first waking hours today, Subin wants to go to the shooting range to see how much better I've gotten with a gun. If I'm going to be a field agent, I'll need quite a bit of skill with weapons, so I decide to just go with it.

Arriving at the shooting range, we check in and get some guns from Woojin, an older man who's been in this position for as long as I can remember.

"Thank you, Woojin," I say, taking a small pistol from him.

"Of course, Cora. Good luck, don't shoot yourself." He chuckles at his own words before plopping back down in his chair behind the desk. Subin and I enter one of the ranges and promptly don those ridiculous noise-cancelling headphones that people wear in shooting ranges. Though it's rather absurd, it's protocol, and protocol can never be defied. Even I know that much.

Subin and I spend twenty minutes emptying cartridge after cartridge of ammunition and riddling paper targets with bullet holes. In the end, though, Subin does just a little better than I do. She used to be able to win by a landslide, but in this case it was essentially a photo-finish.

"Nice job," Subin congratulates, patting me on the back. "Want to go again?"

"I can't," I say. "I've got my first meeting with 402 at eight, and if I'm late, I'm screwed."

"Then let me take care of these," she says, taking the pistol and headphones from me. "Go get ready, you've only got twenty-five minutes!"

I thank her and bolt from the shooting range, practically sprinting back to my quarters. When I arrive, it's 7:40. I take what is probably the world's fastest shower— not even bothering to take my hair out of its ponytail to wash it— and when I'm done I throw on some torn black jeans and a white t-shirt with a red and black flannel over it. I brush my teeth and throw on my black converse before I leave my quarters, walking to cell Block B. 402 has been moved into the cell right next to 400's old one, but as I pass Cell #606, I notice that it's empty.

Maybe they finally killed him, I think to myself. Probably for the best. There was no use holding him hostage, really.

Looking away from Cell #606, I turn my attention to Cell #607, right next to it. Standing in front of this cell is Taewoo.

"Good morning, Cora," he greets me. "Did you sleep well?"

I salute and then respond. "Yes, sir. Good morning to you too, sir."

"At ease." I relax, falling back into my normal stance and taking a deep breath. "I bet you're wondering why I'm here," he says. I am, but it would be practically sinful to ask.

"Yes, sir," I state.

"Well, I thought I ought to tell you a little bit about prisoner 402. He's rather special, after all."

"How so?"

"From all of the music I bring you, I'm sure you're aware of the fact that idols exist?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what are they?"

"Idol is the name that is given to celebrities. In most cases, in reference to music artists."

"Correct. Well, number 402 here is one of those idols."

"That's very..." I struggle to find the correct word, the only one that comes to mind is "crazy", and it would be crazy to say that. At last, I settle on something that isn't totally disrespectful. "That's very ambitious, sir."