Woo-Yi took Yeung-Sung on a tour of the colony, heading first through the residential areas which coated the south western side. Rather than following the street around into the main town, she brought him in through a hole in the wall to experience the winding cul-de sacs, the arteries of the colony. Interspersed between rows of the derelict cottages, the odd colony apartments loomed over, white-new and filled with the light of inhabitation, like still-growing giants.

The couple were strolling by estates during late in the spring afternoon, yet the falling sun still burned strong, turning the air into a sea of semi-breathable cotton. It cast long, deep shadows which from far out, as they passed the houses, made it look as if they traversed over the back of humongous tortoises, ones that lay still in the coming evening, not caring that they were being trekked upon. And along with the tortoise, the whole town was lying against it, dozing off in its own siesta; the streets empty; the coal roads steaming silently. A breeze swam carefully through the thick wetness that surrounded the couple.

Yet, as still and relaxed as the day lay, Yeung-Sung was feverish inside. He was cracked all over, dry with nervous energy. His trousers stuck and chafed. His pace was this stalling motion, stopping and starting, pretending to look around and exasperating himself with the effort of displaying non-chalance.

“Hmm… that’s interesting”.

“Oh, yeah, the construction on these houses were weird, I tell you,” Woo-Yi rambled.

Yeung-Sung, satisfied with the distraction pulled himself in. He locked his molars tight. He sealed off his pores that were aching to be itched all over. He felt that one sudden twitch could spring him loose and send him sprawling on the ground. How was he to keep his demeanour while he was being casually escorted by a popstar? This is so wrong!

But Woo-Yi didn’t seem to notice any of his discomfort. She was enveloped in his left arm, pressing against it with her arm, neck and shoulders, the other arm free to give directions and point out the various features of the town.

“I’ve been in a pretty privileged position for most of my life,” she said, talking idly about her past. “Not that I didn’t work hard to be where I am, but I never had to pay rent. Not… not in the same way most people would have to. I just did my shows and came back to my hotel room, or our trailer, it was never my job to worry about those kinds of things.”

Yeung-Sung felt her looking to him but he kept his eyes straight, not daring to get so close to her.

“You know?” she finished; with that same way she always did.

Closing his eyes, he gave a soft nod. Apparently, it was enough because she continued.

“Rent only became a part of my life since the Depression,” Woo-Yi twirled her finger on the inside of his jumper’s arm. “So I may not be the best person to be saying this, but even by providing a rent-free life, GLI will already make the world a hell of a lot less stressful than before.”

Yeung-Sung looked up, thinking on her claim. They had just entered under the shadow of one of the complexes. If she’s right, then she may have a point. He nodded at the dipping balconies that stretched all the tens of storeys up. “They have been pretty generous with the rooms they have given me.” He remained staring at the folded, concave windows, spotting tiny flickers of motion. “No sharing. Plenty of space,” he listed. It just seems too good to be true. He looked down at the smattering of houses beneath. They appeared insignificant in comparison, like ashes. He asked, “Do people live in the old houses?”

Woo-Yi pulled away from him, his arm hung loose without the pressure. “It’s rude to stare,” she said sternly.

“Sorry.”

“But no, in answer to your question. Nobody lives in any of them, as far as I know. And why would you?” She went up to a garden wall and tapped it. Dust billowed out like the stone had coughed. “There were plans,” she remembered, “some idea to allow property to be leased according to Airgead rankings, but I think after the Player’s Market setup as the largest faction, there were far too many communist sentiments going around, so they abandoned the idea.”

She was being too complicated, and her ramblings went over his head. Yeung-Sung took a last look at the housing before leaving the estate via the front gate. Woo-Yi trailed behind him in faltering steps as she thought. “I was never sure how they would have implemented it during the trial stages -I have no idea how owning private property would work under this system. Maybe, maybe that’s the point.”

“What is?”

She took up his arm again and replied, “That we shouldn’t worry about it. Or, rather shouldn’t need to worry about it.”

He shook his head. So naïve, she’s just like Simon, in a way.

The abandoned houses behind them, arrested by shadow, still gave him an unsettling feeling. They reminded him of that saturated phase in cinema; all of those apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic movies constantly ripping-off each other. Whether the cause was zombies, the environment or a freak astronomical phenomenon, it didn’t matter. We’d always survive. Maybe that was the problem, he chuckled to himself. But for North Korea, that’s precisely what this is. Their homes waited for their owners. Their chimneys and bricks wagging as they fell apart like the tails of unwashed dogs.

“Homes for a thousand people is one thing,” Yeung-Sung said suddenly, too late for it to be a proper retort, “But free housing for the entire world is something else.” As he said it, he realised that he had been wiping his face with the sleeve of his chequered shirt, popping out from under the jumper, and Woo-Yi had clearly seen. Dreading, bracing for her incoming mockery he finally looked over to see her lips bowed, her brows rounded in a face of concern.

“You really are apprehensive of the colony.” She squeezed him tighter. “I promise you, things work just fine here, she said, dipping her head into the soft muscle of his chest. Nervousness returned as a shock to his system. You’re a popstar, so… let go of me? Yeung-Sung went as far as trying to shake her off but she gripped on -he could feel her nails- and he quickly lost the heart to deny her.

They followed the narrow road outside the estates, the ramshackle country buildings still sleeping on the other side. Forgetting her melancholy, Woo-Yi immediately skipped as they approached what she called the ‘heart’ of the colony: A long forked road with businesses huddled together at both sides.

“There’s more there than you expect, “she was explaining, “Pubs, newspapers, a pharmacy -we have ten coffee shops for some reason- most anything you’d find in a regular town. Since the buildings exist already and any materials are subsidized by GLI, as well as the production bonuses awarded in Airgead for simply having a job; there’s plenty of incentives to start a business.”

“I…wasn’t expecting that,” Yeung-Sung exclaimed, as they came upon a building that looked as if it was once a pizzeria, except now it was a café called ‘The Harvest’. On the other side, a tall domed building stood in a courtyard, with squares of yellowed fields padding it like doormats. Yeung-Sung was confused. “I didn’t think they’d have churches here.”

“Oh, that’s more of a community centre. It was a Chondoist building, I think, pretty lucky to not be torn down during the regimes, honestly. A few groups meet there, sports, fitness clubs and the like. A few classes are taught too, GLI is really supportive of most of our requests.”

“Classes?” Yeung-Sung was taken aback. “You don’t have a school for that?”

Woo-Yi grunted and took hold of his wrist, pulling him along. “There was one, if I recall, but it got caught in a fire and was too damaged, so they moved it to here.”

“That’s weird,” Yeung-Seung said, pondering.

“What? Thought GLI had arranged an outstanding fire-service?” she panted. Her feet slid against the pavement as she tried to pull him forward.

“No. I mean, why do they use the old buildings at all?”

Woo-Yi let go, taking a wide stance and frowned up at him. “I don’t know, It’s, uh… respectful?” She uncrossed an arm and invited him to take it.

Yeung-Sung was noticing the lack of any purposely constructed buildings apart from the apartments that still columned the horizon from behind. Chewing his lip, he swivelled around, wondering how different the colony would have looked if it was built from the ground up. He tenderly took her hand in his, causing Woo-Yi to draw a wicked, celebratory smile.

“You’d think that they, -GLI, would’ve just built their own buildings for this purpose. Why even build the apartments, but leave the rest of the homes uninhabited?”

Are they that short-sighted, or is there something that I’m missing?

She curled up an eyebrow in frustration. “They probably have better things to do than make a school for a couple dozen residents,” she said, and led the way from that street, away from the topic. “Besides, we don’t have that much use for it. Not like there’s any children here.”

“Huh?” He nearly stopped again, but Woo-Yi’s tone had gotten a lot sharper, so Yeung-Sung allowed himself to stutter along behind her. “Not one?”

He earrings rang out in front of him as she shook her head. She didn’t look back and he didn’t elaborate.

They passed an upscale looking pub called The Grapeyard which had a fashion outlet attached to its side. Like what you would expect in a regular store, it had mannequins (all female) posing in the storefront. Yeung-Sung recognised the tepee cut top from the couple on the stairs, and a flowered dress looked cut in a manner similar to Woo-Yi.

“Do you shop here?” he giggled.

Looking back, she stared at him sternly. “I model,” she replied, swinging her arm to leash Yeung-Sung forward.

Further up, the lane that they were on merged into a fork shape, giving them a peninsula in the middle to view the triangular hub around them. English signs for stores filled the walls like a compromised website. These old country shops had been remodelled by the coloners to look like Legos slapped together by a colour-blind child. There were garish pinks and limes, yellows and blues painted side by side with no care for consistency. But the area where the two stood was a little square, with benches against stone-walled gardens. White abelia bloomed in shrubs, thier petals slipping out as far out as the curb. In the middle of the plot a tremendous yew leaned over, its cinched trunk warped throughout the generations of its growth.

Woo-Yi paused here, with her torso puffed out in pride at the projection of the colony’s hard work.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she said, her hands swivelling at the hem of her skirt, her elbows flapping behind her like dog-ears, “So they told me, anyway. When I arrived, the project to literally paint over the memories of the regime was almost completed but,” she stopped, taking a deep breath, “I can still say that I was a part of it. That makes me truly happy.”

Yeung-Sung leaned back against the wall, hands down on top of its stone. “It’s a lot of effort,” he agreed, “a lot of work for the upkeep of this fake life. The colony is only temporary.”

Isn’t it?

“Yeung-Sung,” Woo-Yi whispered, “Whether you’d like to believe it or not, this is my home. Give it time, it will become yours too.” Her posture had steeled itself, her tensed muscles jutting out from under the shoulder of her blouse.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,”, Yeung-Seung said softly, slowly pushing off the wall. However much he tried, the environment around him was still too fresh, too new to feel real. He watched Woo-Yi as she waited for an explanation, impatiently, waving a finger around the rim of a post-box painted purple that was engraved with the word Suggestions.

“You weren’t joking, Woo-Yi. I wasn’t expecting this” he noted. Despite the clear signs of life all around him -the bits of litter on the street; dated signs and posters; egg-shaped streamers along the streetlights from Easter just gone- despite all that the streets were empty and Yeung-Sung couldn’t shake the feeling that this colony thing was something that Woo-Yi was trying to sell to him. That, once he accepted, the shops around him would be wheeled up into the sky, the sun would pivot away, revealed as the floodlight it always and hundreds of prop men clad in black would emerge from underneath and chide him for believing such a lie, for even daring to believe that change was ever possible. Caught in this paranoia, he muttered, “Is this place real?”

“I don’t understand how any of this can work”.

With a step between them, Woo-Yi was again leading the way forward and Yeung-Sung followed along in short, uncertain steps. There was a pause before Woo-Yi answered. Her comebacks were usually snappy, and always equipped with a smile. She didn’t face him this time, and, he noticed a tightness in the back her neck; she was staring down at the ground, despondent.

“You haven’t even been shown the tutorial yet, have you?” she asked. There was an acceptance in the way she asked the question that belied the answer.

“I haven’t.”

Yeung-Sung heard a loud, extended sigh. Her shoulders rose and fell as if she was adjusting a great weight on her back. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you. I’m not the best at explaining the game side –“

“No,” Yeung-Sung sweeping his hand across, cutting her off with a motion.

“-But I can show, “ It took a moment for Woo-Yi to process, but then she stood, shocked. “No? What do you mean No?”

“If it’s not required then I’m not doing it,” he told her. “I won’t play Airgead. I won’t play these games.

Woo-Yi wracked her face. Her skin wrinkled, she hunched over as if she had been dealt a winding blow. It was clear to Yeung-Sung that she was simply unable to respond.

Yeung-Sung shrugged, turning away from her. Regardless of their ideologies, he didn’t want to see her like this. He tried to justify himself.

“All the basic needs are taken care of, right? Food, clothes, housing.” He punctuated the last statement, “I don’t need to take part. When it fails, I don’t want to have anything to do with it”.

Yeung-Sung thought he heard a crack -maybe of bone, maybe a mental spasm so significant that it ruptured Woo-Yi’s skull. “That- That’s not the point, Yeung-Sung!” she screamed.

She swivelled around in a wide stance, flailing her arms around as if she could point to something that would defeat his argument. Anything that would support her point.

“Have you no urge to help the world? To try, at least?”

In her anger, her words were spun like helicopter blades. Yeung-Sung then realised that the earlier crack was her voice, thinking then that if she could channel this moment into a future song, then it would become an instant classic. He began to plan his way back to his apartment. This was a mistake.

“I don’t. Not like this.”

Yeung-Sung felt that familiar sense that he was about to be hit by this popstar. Except this time, instead of flinching he calmly kept his pace and continued, hoping that Woo-Yi -hyperventilating at this point- could restrain her grip. He heard her earrings too, swinging like radars gone wild. Clack clack clack clack.

“You haven’t even tried it yet. You haven’t opened the app. How can you say you can be certain of anything?” she shouted down the forked street at him.

Yeung-Sung closed his eyes and tried to ignore her. He didn’t want to waste any more effort on this discussion. There was absolutely no incentive, in his mind, to even look at Airgead. Just because he was forced to live here didn’t mean he was going to help with GLI’s hopeless experiment. There were Nine-hundred and ninety-nine other morons here already; What difference would he make? They probably didn’t even mind. He opened his eyes. Without thinking, he looked back.

Woo-Yi face bloomed red, tears running along her eyes and nose. Who am I to her?

“Have you?” she asked through sobs. “Have you even opened the app?”

“I don’t need to open the app to know it’s stupid. You’re all stupid for obliging them in this!”

Woo-Yi looked around as if the colony would burst out in rage and back her up, but the streets remained as they were. She went to cross her arms, vying instead to wipe her face. “So,” she said, “You think I’m stupid?”

“What? No, not, not…directly.”

Clap. She stomped through the distance between them.

“Let’s see how far you get with that attitude.” She turned her nose up, but sniffled, wiping it again with a quick swipe of the back of her hand. “I could’ve helped you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Woo-Yi turned her feet to go. “How dare you judge all of us off of your pre-conception. Not giving it a chance.” A snide laugh snuck through her, striking him like a dissonant chord. “Like you’ve already forgotten the absolute shit-fest occurring back home. As if anything at all wouldn’t be better than that life.”

She held herself as she ran way. Yeung-Sung watched her with a clamped mouth. A storm followed her. She turned back once, but he saw only dark patches in the ensuing night, and heard her final denouncement; “You’re wrong, Pak Yeung-Sung!”