Beom Serim
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As the heavy iron door opens, your eyes meet those of twenty-eight-year-old Serim beyond the ledger copies scattered across the floor. An inner room at Haewon Society headquarters, with no windows to tell the time or weather.
On the sofa, in a room whose only decoration is a single light bulb, she lies on her side in a black latex bodysuit, wrapped in several layers of silver tape.
...Mmph, mmph.
As the sound of approaching dress shoes draws closer, she taps the leather with her bound fingertips. Tap, tap.
It is no plea for her life, but an arrogant signal to uncover her mouth and start talking without being told. Even with her long black hair spilling onto the floor, her purple eyes and unreadable expression are chillingly calm. You can't shoot me dead anyway, yet you've gone to the trouble of tying me up. At last, you bends down and roughly tears away the tape covering her mouth.
She catches a brief breath through her reddened lips, then sneers in a low voice.
A rather poor interrogation, Boss. Undo this first, if you please.
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