𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
- 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

The air in the high-rise parking lot was thick with the coppery tang of blood, a scent that had become almost commonplace to Mi-Yong. She sat perched on a dark blue chair, its original color obscured by the crimson stains that had seeped into its fabric. In her left hand, she held a cluster of strawberries, each impaled on the tips of her fingers, transforming them into sugary lollipops.

She paused, her gaze fixated on the strawberry impaled on her pinky. It was slightly misshapen, a small dent marring its otherwise smooth surface. "Aw, look at this poor little guy," she murmured, bringing her hand up to display the deformed fruit to her audience.

Three men hung suspended by their ankles, their bodies swaying gently in the breeze. Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs, and rivulets of blood trickled down their faces, staining the concrete floor below. If one were to peer beyond them, they would see that they were not in an ordinary room but rather at the very edge of a high-story parking lot. A low, easily surmountable wall separated them from a dizzying drop, a silent promise of a swift, brutal demise.

Mi-Yong finished the impaled strawberries, her lips stained a vibrant red. With a casual flick of her wrist, she impaled a fresh batch of berries on her fingers, the sharp points piercing the soft flesh with practiced ease. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the parking lot. Yong tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the hanging men. They remained still, their expressions unchanged. She dismissed the scream with a mental shrug, whispering the word disappear in her head. The scream ceased abruptly.

She placed the box of strawberries on the chair's base and strolled towards the suspended men, finishing the last of the strawberries on her fingers. Leaning against the low wall, positioned between two of the men, she sighed. "So," she began, her voice a low, melodic purr, "whoever gives me the best information about Sung, gets to stay here with me and the rest of you..."

She giggled, a chilling sound that echoed through the empty space. With her fingers, she mimicked a tiny figure walking along the top of the wall. "Get ready to fucking fly," she said, her eyes widening with a manic grin as she made the finger-figure leap off the edge.

The scene dissolved, the harsh concrete of the parking lot morphing into the warm, worn wood of a chair. Mi-Yong was no longer a young woman, but a child, her small frame dwarfed by the chair she sat beside. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old wood. She traced the grain of the chair with her pointer finger, her movements slow and deliberate.

A noise startled her, and she whipped her head around, her eyes wide with apprehension. A plate of strawberries and a cup of pinkish water, presumably strawberry water, sat on the floor near a door without a handle. She furrowed her brow, then cautiously rose to her feet and approached the door.

Reaching the door, she knocked twice. "Hello? Can I get something that's not strawberries?" she asked, her voice small and hesitant.

Silence met her question. Biting the inside of her cheek, she glanced at the plate and drink, then back at the door. Suddenly, she heard a scratching sound, making her eyes widen as she turned to look behind her. Finding nothing, she sighed and faced the door again.

Another scratch followed, this time accompanied by a sharp, stinging sensation. She looked down and saw a series of fresh scratches etched into her arm, blood welling up from the wounds. She spun around, frantically searching for the source of the attack. "Who did that?" she cried, pointing at the empty space behind her. "Well, don't do it again!"

She swung her arm down, but another scratch appeared, followed by another, and another. More and more scratches materialized on her arm, blood oozing from the wounds. She began to scream, rubbing her arms in a desperate attempt to stop the pain. "Help!" she screamed, her voice raw with terror, but no one came.

The scratches continued, multiplying, deepening, until her arms were a bloody mess. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that threatened to consume her. She curled into a ball, her body shaking with sobs, the image of the strawberries and the pinkish water now a source of terror rather than comfort.

The flashback ended, the image of the child Mi-Yong fading into the present. The Mi-Yong of the parking lot stared at the hanging men, the scars on her arms a silent reminder of the past. Her gaze was cold, devoid of the childlike fear that had once consumed her. The screams of the men, the smell of blood, the dizzying height - none of it bothered her. She had endured far worse.

"So," she repeated, her voice laced with a dark amusement, "anyone wanna tell me about Sung?"

One of the men, his face contorted in a mask of fear and pain, began to speak, his voice trembling. "He... he's planning something big," he stammered, his eyes darting towards the edge of the parking lot. "Something... something with the docks."

Mi-Yong's eyes gleamed. "The docks, huh?" she murmured, her voice soft and dangerous. "And what, pray tell, is he planning to do at the docks?"

The man hesitated, his gaze shifting towards his companions. "I... I don't know," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "He didn't tell us everything."

Mi-Yong sighed, a sound of mock disappointment. "That's a shame," she said, her smile widening. "I was hoping someone would be more... forthcoming."

She turned to the second man, her eyes glinting with a predatory light. "And what about you?" she asked, her voice a silken threat. "Do you have anything to add?"

The second man, his face pale and clammy, shook his head frantically. "No... please," he begged, his voice choked with fear. "I don't know anything."

Mi-Yong tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "That's not very helpful," she said, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness.

She turned to the third man, her gaze lingering on the blood dripping from his bound hands. "And you?" she asked, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Surely you have something to offer."

The third man, his eyes filled with a desperate plea, began to speak, his voice trembling. "He's... he's been talking about a shipment," he said, his voice barely audible. "A big shipment. Something... something valuable."

Mi-Yong's eyes lit up. "Valuable, you say?" she asked, her voice laced with intrigue. "And what is this valuable shipment?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting towards his companions. "I... I don't know," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "He didn't tell us all the details."

Mi-Yong sighed, a sound of feigned exasperation. "Too bad..." she said, her smile dropping.

She glanced towards the edge of the parking lot, her gaze lingering on the dizzying drop. "Well," she said, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness, "it seems we've reached an impasse."

With a swift, fluid motion, she grabbed the first man by the collar of his shirt, cut his loose from the ceiling and dragged him towards the edge of the parking lot. The man screamed, his voice a raw, primal sound of terror. "Please... no!" he begged, his eyes wide with fear. "I'll tell you anything! Just... please... don't!"

Mi-Yong ignored his pleas, her smile never wavering. With a final, brutal shove, she sent him tumbling over the edge. His screams echoed through the parking lot, fading into a sickening thud as he hit the ground far below.

She turned back to the remaining two men, her eyes glinting with a dark amusement. "Anyone else have anything to add?" she asked, her voice a low, dangerous purr.

╭──╯ . . . . .