Dayeng lived alone in a luxurious one bedroom apartment on the twelfth floor of the village suites in San Francisco. From his balcony, he could see the bay and he would often sit on his balcony watching the ships pass beneath the bay bridge through the fog. 

Dayeng was 27 years old and worked as a software engineer for a relatively large company in the city. He was good at his job, though not the best at it, and he was well-respected by his colleagues. 

Dayeng was originally from China, though he had not lived there since he was a young child. His parents had moved, along with his younger sister, to America when he was very young. His English was excellent, he was well educated, and American by all accounts. 

Dayeng had been working in the city for the past two years, having moved from a smaller town in Arizona where he had gone to college. 

Dayeng had never had a lot of money, though he was never wanting, but with this new job in the city, he was making more than he had ever imagined. 

Dayeng, being a software engineer, absolutely loved tech—everyone who knew him would say it was his passion—and he was adamant about acquiring the latest and best gadgets to improve every aspect of his life. His apartment was a pride point when it came to this—for it was equipped with every smart gadget you could imagine—with all of the latest and fanciest features—and it was quite a little slice of paradise to live in because of this. 

It was a Friday, the night of February 13th, in fact, and Dayeng had just finished work. Although he was not currently seeing anyone special, because tomorrow was Valentines Day, he had made plans to go out with coworkers tonight at a bar in the city. 

“We’re going to find you someone tonight,” Matt said, playfully, giving Dayeng a pat on the back. 

Matt was an engineer too, but unlike Dayeng, he came from a very wealthy family and a prestigious school. He was much more extroverted than Dayeng, and much more well-connected, but the two had become friends due to their passion for technology and shared sensibilities. 

Dayeng always felt a bit out of place when he would go out with Matt and the others, but he was happy to go along, and so he mostly stayed by Matt. The extrovert/introvert friendship is always a rare one, but when it happens it usually is quite strong. 

“No way,” Dayeng said, smiling—embarrassed. “I just want to get a few drinks, maybe listen to some good music.”

“I don’t think there will be a band at the bar,” Matt said. “It’s in the Tenderloin—remember, the one we went to last month for Claire’s birthday.”

“Oh that place?” Dayeng said. “It’s super small, though. Why there?”

Matt paused, glancing around at the other coworkers who were talking amongst themselves on the crowded subway. Then he leaned in close and said quietly:

“Claire wants to go,” he said, glancing back to make sure she wasn’t listening. “She wants to see the bartender. Remember?”

Dayeng did remember. Though it was vague, as he had been quite drunk. 

“The homeless-looking guy?” He whispered to Matt. “The crazy guy?”

Matt nodded, almost solemnly. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Dayeng asked, again quietly as he could. 

“What am I going to say to her?” Matt said, a bit flustered. “She already knows I like her, and if I tell her he’s a creep then she’s just going to think I’m jealous—which I’m not,” he said, adding the last bit with self-consciousness. 

But Dayeng just nodded. He glanced around at the subway crowd. It was thicker than usual—probably because of the holiday weekend. 

The arrived at the bar at about 6:30 in the evening. It was almost completely dark and the group—which consisted of Dayeng and Matt, Claire from HR, Donna and Lee from software too, and then Gare from sales. Dayeng loved Gare—he was loud and hilarious, and though they were not close, he was glad the man had come out with them. 

They took the small table in the back and ordered the first round of drinks. 

“To Saint Valentine!” Gare said, raising his glass. 

The others laughed and cheered—though Gare had already removed his glass and began drinking. 

“I wonder how the ‘Cheers’ thing started?” Claire asked, in her curious and innocent way. 

“It was probably during the Renaissance, or like, Medieval times, “ Matt said, trying to sound smarter than he was. “Like during big feasts or something.”

“Fascinating.” Lee said, feigning a yawn. Donna laughed. 

The two were quite close, and both were quite snarky and sarcastic. 

“Oh my god…” Claire said, suddenly, slouching down in her seat. 

The group turned to see what she was looking at. The bartender from the last visit had just come into the bar from the back patio. 

Dayeng could see why Claire had a crush on him—though he did not like the man. He had long hair—black—and walked with a cool, long stride that was effortless yet intense. But the man was filthy—he looked homeless, Dayeng thought—his clothes were torn and loose, but not in the stylish way you see the college kids dressed like in Haight—Ashbury. His clothes were genuinely dirty, as if he had been rolling around in the street or something. 

But the bartender had no look of weariness about him. Quite the contrary. He was animated and quick and full of energy. Unusual and quite charismatic, Dayeng thought. 

“Go talk to him,” Lee said, giving Claire a nudge. “He’s just a person, after all.”

“She needs a wingman,” Donna said, shoving Lee. “Go on, Queen.” 

“He looks homeless,” Gare blurted out, louder than Claire would have liked. She winced and gave him a “shh,” though he had said what they were all thinking. 

“Maybe he is.” Lee said, “just go talk to him, girl.”

“Come with me!” Claire said, grabbing Lee’s arm. 

“No way, girl. Not until I’ve had two more drinks at least. Matt, you go with her,” he said, giving him a sly little sadistic smile.

“Fine,” Matt said flatly. “Claire, if you want to meet him I’ll come with. Dayeng will come too.” 

He glanced at Dayeng, desperately wanting the emotional support, and Dayeng, in spite of himself, nodded in agreement. 

The three of them stood up and approached the bar. 

“Hi,” Claire said, waving the bartender over shyly. “It’s Cliff, right? Do you remember me?”

The bartender met her gaze with a swift turn and stared at her blankly for a moment. Dayeng felt as though the man was looking straight through her, and thought he might not even have understood her, but then he spoke—clearly and harshly:

“Claire, the human resource, yeh?” Cliff said, turning to Matt and laughing. Matt did not join in the laughter, though Dayeng secretly thought it was a but funny. 

“I’m more than a job title,” Claire said hotly. “Anyway, is there a bartender back there who can get us drinks?”

“Hey, I was only playin’,” Cliff said, looking annoyed. “What are you all having?”

“What do you recommend?” Matt said, taking the tense moment to insert himself into the conversation. It was clear from his tone that his politeness was feigned.

“For you lot?” Cliff said, leaning against the bar and eyeing them and the others in the back. “Maybe something craft-like. We got some good breweries that stock us—“

“—what would you drink?” Claire blurted out, louder than she intended, a note of anger still in her voice despite her interest in the man. 

“Me?” He said, a bit surprised. “Rum and coke, maybe. Or a lost coast—“

“—We’ll take seven rum and cokes,” she interjected sharply, with a bossiness that Dayeng could tell made Matt uncomfortable. She pulled her designer wallet out of her purse and laid her black credit card on the counter. “One of those is for you if you want it,” she added, turning away haughtily. Matt winced. 

The bartender stared at her again, with that same, glassy expression, then spoke:

“Sure, why not,” he said cheerily. “Place is slow right now, anyway.”

Dayeng, Claire, and Matt sat back down at their table and within a few minutes Cliff came out with the drinks and pulled up a chair. He flipped it around and sat backwards with an agility and confident precision that took Dayeng by surprise, though the rest seemed only to notice his dirty clothes. 

“What’s up, bro—loving the vibe in here,” Gare said, welcoming the man into the group. Gare was already quite tipsy and enjoying himself. 

Donna and Lee were texting each other, and then Lee spoke:

“How do you like working here?” He said with a tone that Dayeng thought was quite condescending. 

“I do it for the booze,” He said, laughing. “They don’t even pay me.”

“Wait, what?” Claire interjected sharply. “They don’t pay you?”

“Isn’t that, like, illegal?” Lee said, his expression as condescending as his tone, as he glanced at Donna, mouthing, “Oh my God.”

“Well, I don’t need it,” He responded, glancing back at the bar to see if it was busy. 

“You look like you need it,” Claire said, giving him a disapproving look. 

Cliff just stared at her blankly again. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said flatly. “You know the first people had a story about that. The acorn maidens.”

Dayeng leaned in and so did Matt. Claire was listening but with a strong look of disapproval and Lee and Donna were quietly laughing at the man. Gare was still focused on his drink. 

“You haven’t heard it?” He said, his glassy eyes sparkling a bit. 

Claire and Matt shook their heads. 

“You see, there were three sisters, and the chief in the sky told them that winter was coming soon, and they were each to make themselves a hat. One of them finished it in time but the other two failed and then winter came and the chief in the sky turned them into acorns. But surprisingly to the first people, the acorn with the full cap is the last one you’d ever eat.”

“So it sounds like the one who finished it was the smartest, because now she won’t be eaten,” Claire said, intrigued by the story, but clearly taking the opposite point of view as Cliff.

“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” he said blankly. “But there are other ways too.”

“What do you mean?” Claire responded hotly. “The God or whatever told them that the hat would protect them from winter and it did—from being eaten by savages,” she added the last part harshly, then clearly regretted it instantly, and added: “I mean, not savages, like you know, Indians—native people.”

Cliff stared at her blankly. Dayeng was fascinated by the man. He clearly must have some personal ancestry that was Indian, or something similar, but he was not phased at all by Claire’s harsh words.  In fact, he almost seemed to look on her with pity.

“Food is a gift,” he said, calmly. “It was, and is, something you honor before you take it. So no, I think that the story shows that beauty and taste, I suppose, are not on the surface.”

Claire just stared at him. “I guess,” she said. “But you might have got that wrong.”

“I think I get it,” Matt interjected. “It’s like, you’d think the more protected acorn would taste better but it’s the opposite.” 

Claire turned at him, giving him an angry look.

“I mean, but I can also see Claire’s point. From the acorns perspective.”

Cliff smiled, the first time he had really done so with authenticity. “Yes, there’s always more than one perspective.”

He paused and lifted his drink, staring towards the bar door as a large crowd came in. He finished his drink then stood and spoke, spinning the chair around and placing it lightly back at the other table.

“Thanks for the drink,” he winked at Claire. “Hope you all have a good night—duty calls code 333.” 

As he said this last bit he stared at Dayeng, for some reason, who he had not spoken to once, and Dayeng was overwhelmed by the urgency in his gaze. Not about work, no. About something else that unsettled Dayeng deeply though he did not understand what it was.

He strode back to the bar and, animated and friendly, greeted the newcomers. 

“What a strange King,” Lee said, laughing. “Glad he’s gone.”

Dayeng leaned over to Matt, who was sipping his drink lost in thought. 

“Hey—what do you think he meant by code 333?” Dayeng asked quietly, picking up his rum and coke for the first time.

Distractedly, Matt replied: 

“Huh? Oh, I didn’t hear that. Wait, is that Jaxon!?” 

Another one of their coworkers had just come into the bar. Matt leaped up and headed to greet him, though Dayeng stayed seated. He only knew the man by name, and was not well acquainted enough to drunkenly greet him on a happenstance meeting. 

“Dayeng,” Lee said, taking down the last small sip of his drink.

“Yeah?” He responded, leaning in towards the drunken, whispering Lee.

“Do you have your bug bag?”

Dayeng eyed Lee, then squinted reluctantly, the man was clearly exactly what he thought he was. 

“I do,” Dayeng said. 

“Well, can we give that bartender some bed bugs?”

Dayeng leaned back putting his hand up to his head. He kind of liked the guy, though he didn’t say this, and only said:

“I don’t know if I want to waste another one,” he said, sighing. 

“Come on, I’ll buy it from you,” Lee said, smiling his little sadistic smile.

Dayeng sighed again. “Fine, just give me a second.”

He stood up and made his way into the bar restroom where he entered the stall in the back and locked it. He opened his backpack and took out one of the little black bugs—he’d bought ten of them about six months ago for about a thousand a piece. Which was a great deal for the power and accuracy of the sound from such a miniscule piece of tech. 

All you had to do was stick one somewhere, and you could pick up any sound crystal clear within about 100 yards. You could even isolate certain areas. They had figured, after he had shown Matt and Lee, that if they stuck them on a person, somewhere that they wouldn’t notice, you could essentially listen to them wherever they were. The hard part was finding a spot that they wouldn’t notice. Strangely enough they had found that the back of the head, beneath their hair, kept the gadget secure and—because of it’s miniscule size—most people would run their hand right past it. And of course, the gadget was water proof, pressure proof, shock proof, you name it. Even geo located.

Dayeng slipped his backpack back on and exited the restroom and sat down next to Lee at the table. 

“Here you go,” he said quickly, slipping Lee the bug under the table. 

Lee had his phone out and ready and sent Dayeng the money. Then he stood up quickly and headed for the bar. 

Dayeng watched as he waited to get the attention of Cliff, who was busy chatting with some newcomers, and when Lee finally got his attention, Dayeng watched his animated and friendly performance as he chatted and subtly flirted the man up until he had a drink in hand and he leaned it to give the man a hug—ending with a well-timed pat on the back and then back of Cliff’s head.

When Lee got back to the table, he took his phone out, and put in his headphone. 

“It’s working,” he said, smiling. 

Dayeng had finished his second drink and Claire had already ordered another round and before they knew it they were all sloshed and in a ride share heading home. Dayeng forgot all about the bug. 

He woke up the next morning to the blinding sunlight of a hangover as his smart curtains slid open on their own at around 9 am.

“Damn,” he said then scrambled for his phone to shut the curtains. The smell of his timed coffee maker only made him sick, and he shut that off too. 

He laid in bed, scrolling on his phone, exhausted and hungover, until he remembered about the bug and the bartender. 

He texted Lee, who immediately responded with the link, and Dayeng opened it. 

It was quite. Dayeng searched for voices, but the man must have been asleep still. The suddenly, a loud voice rang out throughout his entire apartment. Dayeng had not realized that his phone was connected to his speaker system and suddenly, the audio from the bartender’s bug was playing in his apartment. 

He tried to lower the volume, but he couldn’t. So he laid there, frightened, listening. The voice was dry and coarse, old and wiry, and Dayeng could think of no other word than evil to describe it. 

“Yu’bui ni ya’m min ya’miim—yu’bui ni ya’m min ya’miim—yu’bui ni ya’m min ya’miim.”

The terrifying voice spoke this unknown phrase three times, loud and with vitriol. Dayeng, lay there, frozen—listening. Then all was quiet. He checked the app and saw that the bug had disappeared. It was no longer connected or accessible to him. 

He texted Lee: what the hell was that???

Lee did not reply. 

The suddenly, all of the electronics, including the enormous flat screen TV in the main room turned on. The volume blared, the TV changed channels, fluctuating between static and violent images. 

Dayeng rushed to turn them off but couldn’t until finally he pulled this plug. His tea kettle was boiling, his coffee maker overflowing, the curtains sliding back and forth, and then his vacuum began crashing into the walls and knocking books and vases off his shelves. 

“What the fuck is going on,” he yelled. 

Overwhelmed and terrified, he scrambled to his front door. But the digital lock wouldn’t budge. He tore out his phone and desperately tried to unlock it but even his phone was malfunctioning, moving and deleting and sending messages of its own. 

With no thought of what else to do, trapped inside his malfunctioning tech paradise, that had so quickly become a hell, he ran to the balcony, opened the glass door, and slid it shut. 

He let out a sigh. It was quiet out here. He glanced at the midmorning sun rising over the fog on the bay. 

But then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye below him. He leaned over the balcony. 

There were three dark shadows gliding up the building towards him. Slowly but quickening. They looked like cloaked figures, but were moving at a pace that was not of this world. 

His heart dropped into his stomach and his face turned gray and he turned quickly to open the sliding glass door but it wouldn’t budge.