The City Where Gray Rain Falls Chapter 12

Prisoners brought in for interrogation invariably had black cloths draped over their heads.

No siren sounds that could be heard anywhere in the city reached there, and there wasn’t even a clock to tell the time. They could only guess how long had passed by relying on things like their stomach clocks or the need to relieve themselves.

The prisoners didn’t even know they were in the basement of the Public Security Bureau. They had to sit on cold iron chairs and wait for someone to give them a proper explanation, or for death to release them from the pain of reality.

So far, no one had ever escaped from this basement. There were cases where a prisoner was lucky enough to get through the door of their room, but they never made it past the iron bars layered all the way up to the surface.

Rescue attempts were the same. Rooms of identical size were packed closely together in the center, with corridors looped around the outside, and even the room numbers weren’t attached. Without a floor plan or precise information, it was utterly impossible to find out who was where.

Of course, no such blueprint or structural diagram existed anywhere. Most of the internal data of the Public Security Bureau was like that. It was known to exist externally, but in reality, it only resided in the heads of a select few.

Only a handful of people knew this place like the back of their hand. Currently, that included a few high-ranking Party officials, the Chief Commissioner, and his astute adjutant.

There were high-ranking Public Security officials and laborers who frequented the basement for prisoner interrogations and body disposal, but they typically complained about the convoluted security procedures that changed every time, or struggled to remember the order of the rooms.

Since his days as a low-ranking officer, Samuel had spent two or three hours a day here. Those filling the rooms varied: rebel spies who had successfully infiltrated the city, citizens captured on some suspicion, and sometimes even high-ranking officials who needed to be eliminated discreetly.

“Your friend told me something interesting.”

Swoosh. Samuel, who had been washing his hands with a splashing sound in the simple washbasin attached to each room, casually dropped the news, left like a dying wish by the prisoner in the next room who had become a corpse as of yesterday, to a man who was himself on the verge of death.

“I hear there’s someone in this city your leader is particularly fond of.”

“…?”

“They say that person acts as the captain in the city.”

“…!”

“Ah, wait. Do you guys call him the ‘Head’?”

Dangling, the man, whose head had been drooping powerlessly, barely managed to lift his swaying head and glare at the back of Samuel’s head, but Samuel didn’t even show the courtesy of turning around, merely engrossed in continuously wiping his hands.

“Ah, no, that, uh….”

The man murmured something in a dying voice, but it was buried by the sound of the water running even harder, screech, and nothing was properly conveyed.

Seeing Samuel even check his face in the small mirror on the wall for any splattered blood, it was safe to say he had no intention of listening at all.

That level of reaction was enough. He had known about the existence of the ‘Head’ the rebels had planted in the city for some time, and the information he’d gathered was more than sufficient. All that remained was cross-verification.

He’d had that suspicion for a while: that there might be one person who served as a common point of contact for all rebels and spies within the city.

Otherwise, it would have been impossible for the rebels to infiltrate even the heavily guarded Public Security Bureau organization. An inside helper who knew the full situation, or someone with the authority to give additional instructions and make judgments from within, had to exist.

Not long ago, in this very room, a spy who had infiltrated as a Public Security officer spilled everything he knew.

Just spare his life, no. Begging pathetically to at least spare his wife and children, who knew nothing, he personally confirmed that Samuel’s hypothesis was correct.

In doing so, he completely handed over the personal details of the rebel comrades who now filled this room and others to the brim. Though upon capture, they all turned out to be greenhorns who had only heard of the ‘Head’ and never actually met him.

“Hng, huh, uh….”

“Ahaha. What a pity.”

Desperately clinging to denial, the young man, who had no idea the comrade he trusted had sold him out and whose lips had been so tightly sealed, was frantic to refute Samuel’s words.

It was clear that the rebel leadership, from their safe haven far from the city, listened to news brought by those risking their lives, spoke of retribution, distribution, justice, and the cause, and considered their duty done by devising so-called operations while gulping down food and alcohol stolen from the city. The city’s rulers were no different.

Even if someone died here in such a gruesome state, protecting the secrets of comrades they barely knew and carrying out their mission, no one outside would mourn or take responsibility. Only young people newly granted the title of ‘comrade,’ enamored with the rebels’ ideals and values, would take their place.

“…Still, dying to keep your loyalty is a pretty admirable thing. Don’t you think?”

Huff, huff. Not even a short answer escaped the lips of the gasping man. He seemed to barely lift his eyes and part his lips slightly, but his head soon drooped down with a thud.

Was there a sliver of hope? Did he expect those he called his leader or comrades to come and save him? It would have been better to just spit out everything he knew and beg for mercy, turning a blind eye to what was happening outside.

The only person who could save them was Samuel. Yet, in the face of overwhelming despair and literally bone-chilling terror, the rebel pawns brought here clung to silence with a strange persistence. They seemed to be under the grand delusion that the more they kept their mouths shut, the safer their comrades elsewhere would be.

“Foolish.”

Who could it be? The person the noble rebel leader had left behind in the city. The great figure who planted countless spies in every stratum of society while meticulously concealing his own identity.

The flickering ceiling lamp in the room made a crackling sound and went out completely. In the pitch-black darkness, Samuel didn’t flinch. He pulled on gloves over his clean hands. Then, leaving his tangled thoughts locked inside, he opened the door and walked out.

The corridor light that slipped through the open door briefly touched the cooling body of the young man before being pushed back by the thick darkness and vanishing forever.

∞ ∞ ∞

The unemployed and the poorest citizens of the past had become today’s neighborhood watch members. With their heads held high, they carried out their assigned tasks with almost excessive diligence.

Though initially everyone had seemed unconvinced. Now, like model citizens of the city trained never to voice complaints to their superiors, they patrolled their designated areas daily and strove to promote what a wonderful place the Public Security Bureau was, in their capacity as watch members.

Some thought the neighborhood watch were parasites who did nothing but leech off the city’s resources. Others felt they were far better than encountering officers on the street who conducted random ID checks or habitually used violence.

One couldn’t be sure how much the new Chief Commissioner had expected, but seeing that many people viewed them positively, as the latter did, the watch’s performance could be deemed largely successful.

‘It’s already been a week…’

Amid all this, Isaac hadn’t forgotten his purpose for joining the neighborhood watch. He had been looking for Asel diligently, eyes wide open.

Though the city center and the sectors 1 through 4 surrounding it were excluded from patrols. From Sector 5 to Sector 28, he could now scout around under the pretext of patrol, so he thought he might run into someone at least with a similar build or figure from behind. But the face he hoped for was nowhere to be found.

“…Shua.”

“…”

“Joshua!”

“Yes?”

“Let’s rest a bit before we go on.”

“Ah! I’m sorry.”

His anxious heart had hurried his steps, so Isaac hadn’t even realized his partner, well past fifty, was calling out his fake name and falling further and further behind.

“Ahh, I can live now.”

In a deserted back alley, out of sight of any officers. Vincent, slumped against the wall, tapped his right knee and let out a refreshed groan.