Vanguard of the void

The interview began like any normal conversation between serious professionals—at least, on the surface. In-su sat across from three impeccably dressed panelists, their faces a perfect balance of warmth and authority. He clasped his hands tightly on his lap, projecting what he hoped was an aura of composure.

"So, Mr. Hwang," the woman in the center began, her voice calm yet commanding, "what motivated you to apply for this position?"

In-su nodded thoughtfully, tilting his head as if he were deep in contemplation. "Thank you for the question," he began, his voice smooth and professional. "I've always been passionate about problem-solving and working in dynamic environments. I believe my skills in organization and analytical thinking make me a perfect fit for this role."

In his head, however...

"Motivated? Lady, I thought I was signing up to crunch numbers and maybe get free coffee in a break room with a view, not sit in front of you trying to justify my existence. My real motivation? Paying rent and finally affording those overpriced sneakers I've been eyeing for six months. But sure, let's go with 'passionate about problem-solving.'"

The panelist nodded approvingly, jotting something down on her clipboard. The man to her right leaned forward, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And how do you handle high-pressure situations, Mr. Hwang?"

In-su straightened his posture, his face a picture of confidence. "I thrive in high-pressure situations. I believe in maintaining a calm demeanor and approaching challenges methodically, ensuring the best possible outcomes."

Meanwhile, in his brain...

"Handle high-pressure? Oh, you mean like trying not to pass out in the middle of this room because I accidentally skipped breakfast and downed two espressos on an empty stomach? Or maybe the time I almost fainted in gym class because I wore jeans instead of workout clothes? Sure, I handle it—by sweating through my shirt and praying no one notices."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, and scribbled a note. The third panelist, a younger woman with a no-nonsense expression, asked, "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

In-su smiled as though the question was a welcome challenge. "In five years, I envision myself growing within the company, contributing to meaningful projects, and taking on leadership roles to help drive success."

But deep inside...

"Five years? Lady, I barely know where I see myself five minutes from now! Ideally, in a bigger apartment with functioning plumbing, not waking up to my upstairs neighbor clog dancing at 3 a.m. But let's pretend I have my life together for your benefit."

As the panel nodded and exchanged glances, In-su felt a fleeting sense of triumph. Nailed it, he thought. But then, that strange, suffocating energy began creeping into the room. At first, it was subtle—a faint pressure in the air, like being too close to a speaker emitting a low-frequency hum. But within seconds, it grew unbearable.

His chest tightened, and his vision blurred at the edges. It felt as though invisible hands were squeezing his lungs, and a sharp, searing pain ripped through his core, as if his heart were trying to claw its way out of his body.

"Mr. Hwang? Are you alright?" the woman in the center asked, her voice tinged with concern.

In-su's head spun. "I don't think I feel too—BLLEEERRGGHHH!"

Before he could finish his sentence, he vomited spectacularly all over the man with the glasses. The room fell into stunned silence, save for the wet splatter of liquid hitting the floor and the man's horrified gasp. The other two panelists froze, mouths agape.

In-su's thoughts, mid-panic…

"Oh. My. God. I just threw up on this man. I've literally just projectile-vomited my chances of employment all over his expensive suit. Is this how I die? Do I just lay down here and fade into obscurity? Maybe if I run now, they'll forget my name. Nope, they have my resume. Dammit!"

The man with the glasses staggered back, his arms outstretched as if trying to avoid further damage. "What...what on earth—"

"I am so sorry!" In-su blurted, his voice cracking. "I don't know what came over me!"

"Actually, I do know. It was probably the three-day-old street food I had last night because I can't cook to save my life. But sure, let's just blame the air or fate or whatever cruel cosmic force decided to ruin my day."

One of the panelists handed the man a tissue while glaring daggers at In-su. The younger woman whispered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Unbelievable."

"Maybe...maybe I should step out," In-su offered weakly, trying to stand, only for his knees to wobble and send him crashing back into the chair.

The interviewers exchanged awkward glances, clearly unsure how to proceed. The man wiped at his suit, now an unfortunate blend of pinstripes and stomach contents. "Perhaps we should take a short break."

"Break? Break from what? Watching my dignity implode in real-time? Oh, this is it. I'm going to be a meme. My face is going to be plastered on some 'When you fail at life' compilation video on the internet. Why didn't I just stay home today?"

He sat there, mortified and drenched in cold sweat, wishing more than anything that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Little did he know, his day was about to get even stranger.

In-su stumbled into his apartment like a man defeated by life itself. He barely managed to kick the door shut behind him before slumping against it, peeling off his shoes and tossing them into the void of the living room. One shoe hit the wall with a dull thud; the other landed somewhere he wouldn't find for weeks. He didn't care. The weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders as he dragged his feet to his bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

His muffled voice groaned into the pillow, "My life is a total failure."

In his head, the pity party began in full swing.

"Seriously, what is wrong with me? Everyone else from school is thriving. Ji-hoon's posting pictures of his new car every other week, Hye-jin's buying apartments like she's collecting Pokémon cards, and me? I'm here, begging my mom for extra allowance so I can afford instant noodles with the good seasoning packets. Pathetic!"

He flipped onto his back, kicking his feet in frustration like a child throwing a tantrum. His inner monologue grew louder.

"At this rate, I'll be fifty and still asking my mom for bus fare. 'Oh, no, In-su, don't worry about paying rent; just focus on eating three meals a day,' she says. But even she's probably wondering how her son turned out to be such a disappointment. Ughhh, why is my life like this?"

Lost in his spiral of self-loathing, he nearly missed the sound of a ding echoing from his laptop across the room. His eyes snapped open, and he froze.

"What now?" he muttered, lifting his head just enough to squint at the glowing notification light. After a long sigh, he groaned and shuffled over to his desk, snatching up the laptop like it owed him an explanation.

The notification was from Quora.

"Quora? Really? What, did someone just answer my question from 2018 about how to fix a broken toaster?" he muttered, opening the message. But what greeted him wasn't a follow-up to his ancient appliance woes. Instead, it was a job posting.

From The Scourge Unit.

"What the... The Scourge Unit? That sounds...cool?" he said aloud, tilting his head as he read the notification. "Wait, is this some sort of sci-fi gaming guild or...oh, no. It's a real job!"

His heart raced a little as he clicked on the link, curiosity piqued. The page loaded with dramatic flair—a sleek logo, a bold headline, and an ominous tagline: "Join The Scourge Unit: Defenders of Humanity, Protectors of Tomorrow."

The description was vague, but it promised adventure, purpose, and—most importantly—a paycheck.

"Is this heaven's sign?" In-su whispered, wide-eyed. He reread the tagline. "Protectors of Tomorrow? That sounds...epic! Maybe it's like cleaning offices for some government agency or, I don't know, guarding parking lots. I don't care. At this point, I'll clean monster guts off the floor if it means I'm not stuck here doing nothing."

With renewed determination, he clicked the Apply Now button. The application was short, almost suspiciously so. Name, age, skills (he laughed at that part), and availability. He filled it out in record time, hands flying across the keyboard as if he were auditioning for a typing competition.

When he hit submit, a confirmation message popped up immediately: "Your application is under review. Expect a response within 24 hours."

"Wow, that was fast," In-su said, raising an eyebrow. "They're either desperate for employees or running some scam, but honestly? I'm too broke to care."

His inner thoughts raced.

"What if this is it? What if this is the opportunity that turns my life around? Imagine me, In-su, with a real job, earning real money, buying real ramen instead of the budget packs. No more borrowing money from Mom or avoiding Ji-hoon's Instagram posts. I could actually show up to reunions without dying of shame!"

The excitement surged for a moment, but then a yawn escaped him, reminding him of the exhaustion that clung to his bones. He shut the laptop with a soft click and tossed it back onto the desk.

"Please, universe," he murmured, staring at the ceiling as he sank back onto the bed. "Let me get this job. I don't even care if it's scrubbing toilets for aliens or delivering coffee to secret agents. Just...anything."

As his body melted into the mattress, sleep began to pull him under. His last conscious thought was a jumble of wishful daydreams and his typical sarcastic self-criticism.

"Watch this be some multi-level marketing scheme or a cult. Knowing my luck, I'll end up selling alien vitamins door-to-door. Whatever. I just hope they at least have health insurance."

And with that, he drifted off, blissfully unaware that he had just applied for the most dangerous job of the 22nd century.