It is year 28, and downtown is bustling with crowds. People carry on with their lives, making money, hanging out, and having fun—just a normal day like before those people with numbers emerged.
As lives go on, a teen boy in his 15th spending time with his classmates, a group of six making their way toward an arcade machine store.
"Hey!
"That's true", the other boys chime in with an agreement nod.
"Also, your registration number is 0. Are you perhaps one of those numbers?" asks the number 23-2-848276.
He replies, "If I were numbered, wouldn't I have a superpower? But if I had a superpower, it would be fun. I could become a hero or something. "
"Also, numbers can go around the country freely instead of being trapped in their district.", he sighs.
"I wonder what the other provinces look like. I want to see them," says Number 21-1-847382. He sighs. "Ahh, if only we had access to the social network."
"3 more years, huh?" number 2-1-0 says, dejected.
They arrived at the arcade machine store, still caught up in their conversation.
As they step into the store, a large hand suddenly appears and grips 2-1-0's shoulder from behind, stopping him. Just as he's about to turn around, he catches sight of his friends—frozen in shock, unable to move.
Someone else is approaching, someone other than the man holding him. His body locks up, fear rooting him in place. His brain was wrecking, desperately trying to recall any mistake he might have made.
Cold sweat drips from his forehead. Flashes of his family flicker through his mind.
He knows—he's going to die if he does something now.
He tries to move his lips, to say something—anything—but they feel heavy.
As everything was happening in his head, he heard a voice
"2-1-0."Calm, yet laced with authority.
It's a woman's voice.
He knows this city falls under the jurisdiction of Number 1—a woman infamously nicknamed the "Neighborhood Murderer."
His thoughts spiral faster, desperately searching for a way out. He's just a student—just an average boy. What could she possibly want with him?
"Turn him this way. Let me see him," she orders the man holding him.
The man grabs him by the armpits, effortlessly lifting him as if he were nothing more than a cat. With ease, he turns 2-1-0 to face the woman.
He catches a glimpse of the man—big, muscular, with dark skin. His presence alone is overwhelming, exuding strength that makes escape feel impossible.
She smirks. "I'm sure I don't need an introduction, right, 2-1-0?"
Her voice carries a quiet confidence, dripping with amusement.
"And you don't need to introduce yourself either," she continues, her eyes locking onto his. "Because I already know who you are... and what you are."
She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle.
"It's such a tragedy for your family. But I'll be taking you back to my office." A chilling smile. "You might never see them again."
Now he understands where her nickname came from.
As the man drags him toward the car, a sudden explosion erupts from the direction they were supposed to leave. The ground shakes, and smoke puff up into the air.
From the smoke, a group of masked figures on bikes emerges, weapons in hand.
One of them speeds toward 1, screaming, "BITCH!!! TODAY, I'LL DRAG YOU TO HELL WITH ME!"
Unfazed, 1 calmly chants, "
The area around her light up, and the aura she emits transforms into something overwhelming, suffocating.
She raises an arm, taking a firm stance, waiting. The biker charges straight at her.
The moment he crosses into her range—she moves. A single, fluid motion, her arm slicing through the air in a horizontal sweep.
The biker shoots past her.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, his bike wobbles violently before crashing. The masked man is sent tumbling to the ground.
The bike crumbles into dust, and the biker collapses, his body riddled with a thousand tiny slashes.
While 1 deals with him, the other bikers make their move—rushing toward 2-1-0 and the massive man holding him.
Sensing the attack, the big man shifts into a defensive stance, releasing 2-1-0 and raising his arms to shield his head as the gang swarms him.
For a brief moment, 2-1-0 is free.
But before he can react, another biker swoops in—grabbing him and speeding off toward the escape.
1 sees 2-1-0 being taken and immediately shouts at the big man, "YOU DEAL WITH THEM! I'M TAKING BACK WHAT THEY STOLE FROM ME!"
She immediately takes off after the biker.
The roar of the engine fills the air, but it doesn't matter—she's faster.
Step by step, she closes the distance, the gap shrinking rapidly as she gains on them.
"2-1-0, you have it—"
Before he can finish his sentence, a hand bursts through his chest from behind.
Blood splatters across his mask.
The biker's body trembles, his voice dying in his throat. The hand piercing through him—dripping with blood—belongs to Number 1.
With a sharp pull, she withdraws her arm. The sickening sound of flesh tearing fills the air as blood sprays outward, splashing against 2-1-0's face.
The thick, metallic scent of blood lingers, suffocating.
2-1-0 is frozen in shock, his body refusing to move.
Terror grips him, squeezing the air from his lungs. His mind is blank, unable to process what just happened.
But his eyes—his eyes betray him.
Tears well up, blurring his vision, mixing with the blood splattered across his face.
Just moments ago, he had said —"Wouldn't it be fun to be a Number?"
Now, those words felt distant, almost laughable.
That day, he truly understood.
The terror of the Numbers.