Octopus Gate (7)
The dull roar of the gray, battered van's engine battered his eardrums. It seemed to pick up speed, then suddenly pulled up alongside in the next lane. The passenger door swung open, and a sharp voice rang out. It wasn't clear, but through the passenger window cracked open about five centimeters, he caught a glimpse inside the vehicle. The nine-seater van was packed with over a dozen dark shadows, each clutching blades that glinted in the streetlight glow. Their skin was too dark red to pass for Koreans. They were the Southeast Asian gangsters who had taken one of Maeng Seung-woo's legs.
"Seung-woo hyung, from what I know, you handled that kind of stuff yourself... And you're saying there's an organization even you don't know about?"
Maeng Seung-woo gave a bitter smile as he looked at Bang Gyu-tae, whose mouth hung open in shock.
"Park Seung-hyun doesn't trust anyone. He always pits them against each other to keep them in check, then eliminates anyone who's outlived their usefulness. Just like you stabbed me in the back."
Ignoring Bang Gyu-tae, who flushed red and bowed his head, Maeng Seung-woo continued.
"...When Park Seung-hyun wants the really dirty jobs done, the orders come from Vietnamese guys."
His gaze deepened as he eyed the puzzled Fluorescent—wait, no, the puzzled Bang Gyu-tae.
"They're all top-tier murder suspects back home, the kind who get shoot-on-sight orders the moment they're spotted. In Vietnam, for just 200,000 won, they'd butcher people without a second thought—human butchers. They snuck into Korea to escape their own cops."
"But if they're illegals without papers, how do they operate in Korea? With that skin color, they'd stick out like sore thumbs."
"They don't give a damn about our laws or police. Compared to back home, Korean cops are child's play to them. Even if they get caught after a hit, their families get enough payout to live easy for life, so they have no qualms about violence or murder. Weirdly, though, they cherish their own families like nothing else. ...In short, they're these hyper-family-oriented, live-for-today lunatics."
Braaang! The van's window rolled down, its horn blaring nonstop as they gestured for him to pull over. Pedestrians and passing cars all stared, but the thugs acted like they couldn't care less.
He considered driving straight to Gangcheon Station like this, but shook his head. If these were the Southeast Asian crew Maeng Seung-woo mentioned, it'd be like bringing a bomb right to his own people.
"Riot squads couldn't handle those bastards."
He radioed for backup via the police KICS mounted in the Jeep.
"This is Inspector Kang Cheol-gu of Gangcheon Station. I'm under terrorist threat right now. Requesting support."
After some static, a sharp intake of breath came through the receiver.
—Did you say terrorist threat against an active police officer?!
"Yes."
—We'll lock down the roads immediately and mobilize every patrol unit in the area!
"No, these aren't the type you catch like that. Stand by the special forces unit."
A silence stretched so long he wondered if the line had dropped.
—...You mean the police SWAT team?
"No time. If command issues arise, I'll take responsibility."
—Understood! Keep straight at current speed for 15 minutes and you'll hit a dead end at Wonhwa. We've got your GPS. Just keep driving like this—we'll set up the takedown spot there.
The message came heavy, like they'd made up their minds.
Kwaaang! Just as he reached for the radio, a massive boom erupted behind him. A passenger car flipped, belching white smoke. To close in aggressively, the thugs had started driving against traffic, forcing an oncoming car to slam into a streetlight. Brake screeches mixed with crashes and screams exploding from all directions.
The van driver's bloodshot eyes screamed at him through the rearview mirror.
"Can't keep this up."
He yanked the wheel right. The black Jeep skidded, leaving tire marks as it shot into the first lane. The pursuing van pulled a drift so hard its body lifted, sparks flying blue from its side scraping the asphalt, lighting up the twilight streets. Any car lover would curse at such reckless driving.
—Inspector Kang! Don't deviate from position. Inspector Kang, respond!
The radio crackled urgently, but there was no time to answer.
"Need to lead them somewhere with no civilians."
Sweat beaded on his gripping hands.
* * *
"Inspector Kang requested support?"
"Yes. Just came in from the real-time control team!"
Unlike the frantic female dispatch officer, Team 3 Leader Hwang Woo-sik of Gangcheon Station's Violent Crimes Unit responded flatly.
"Hey, Gwang-il. Our Inspector Kang Cheol-gu called for backup—what do you think?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, apparently."
"What the hell? One of our station's brass is calling for emergency support!"
Ignoring her near-screech, Detective Kim Gwang-il stretched and yawned.
"Come on, that makes sense? You think that guy's the type to get jumped and yell 'save me'?"
"True. He'd sooner beat the shit out of someone than come back bruised."
"By the way, Team Leader, you finish the report on Cheol-gu hyung beating that suspect last time?"
"Thanks to Inspector Kang, my language scores are better than in school. But why am I the only one writing his reports? What have you been doing?"
"I'm from sports college. Gyu-cheol hyung's engineering—reports are a liberal arts thing."
The woman's breathing grew ragged at their leisurely chat.
"Just watch this video. This is happening right now!"
The clip she sent showed a familiar black Jeep tearing down near Sunseong-ro, pursued tightly by a gray vehicle. No sound, but the road CCTV captured the tension raw.
"...Th-this!"
Hwang Woo-sik and Kim Gwang-il's eyes widened.
Thud!
"Hey! Gwang-il, we're going too. Why do you have your gun? No permit! Know where it is?"
Ignoring the team leader's desperate call, Kim Gwang-il bolted down the stairs, eyes blazing red.
"Which rotten bastards dare touch Cheol-gu hyung... Hyung, hold on just a bit. I'm coming now!"
* * *
Kuwoong! A roar rocked the Jeep backward. It shook violently front to back. With traffic cleared, the pursuit grew wilder, bolder. The van's already dangling bumper from the earlier crash sheared off completely. No sign of slowing—were they set on totaling it today?
"This should minimize civilian risk."
Screeech! Biting his lip, he slammed the brakes. The black Jeep screeched to a halt amid a stalled condo complex, construction halted by the builder's bankruptcy. No streetlights on the four-lane road—the only glow came from the thugs' headlights, blinking like owl eyes in the dark.
Drurrk! Metal scraped as the van's rear doors flew open. Southeast Asian men, each gripping something, muttered in their tongue as they piled out. Small-statured, but their dark skin and glaring whites of their eyes exuded eerie pressure. Well, the war where the self-proclaimed world's strongest U.S. military first tasted defeat was Vietnam, after all.
"Kang Cheol-gu, right?"
The one who stepped from the passenger seat asked as he slowly nodded. His Korean was a bit halting but clear enough.
Whoosh! No waiting for an answer—the question came with the whistle of cutting air.
"These guys know how to fight."
Ducking, a few hairs whipped in the wind. From the right, a matte blade stabbed straight for his throat. Not the slash-and-stab sashimi style Korean gangsters favored. Jungle machetes, forged for hacking Vietnam's thick bush, flashed from all sides—weapons built to dismantle humans.
"Back to the light."
Positioning was key in one-against-many. The van's headlights exposed his every move. He closed on a guy swinging wide in an arc. As the blade uselessly grazed past, he spun the thug like a top, using him as a shield to advance. In that split-second the machete paused, he narrowed the gap to the vehicle. Positions swapped—his foes' eyes hesitated, blinded by their own lights. That was enough time. He launched low, flipping so the van's glare stabbed their vision. Twisting a wrist, kneeing a jaw—bone cracked. The snatched machete arced long, severing a thigh in a spray of blood.
The van's headlights were his sole ally now, sweeping like a night fighter's psychic lights—illuminating, vanishing. Screams rose; blades tangled, formation crumbling. Their eyes wavered. Catching his breath, black steel surged. He reflexively raised his blade to block—but the machete ignored it, smashing the Jeep's headlight. In one breath, both lights winked out. Darkness swallowed the road, leaving only ragged breaths echoing.
Under faint moonlight, silhouettes sharpened—and unknown words leaked from one mouth.
"Tránh ra. Mấy đứa ngốc này."
Like water draining, the pack vanished from the road's center, leaving one shadow standing. The Korean-speaker from the passenger seat. A scar slashed across half his face.
"You let go now, my family hurts. I kill."
This the guy Maeng Seung-woo mentioned? His grip tightened on the machete.
"No matter how elite the Southeast Asian outfit, I know Seung-woo hyung's skills—it doesn't add up that he got taken like that."
Bang Gyu-tae, huddled in the corner, slyly buttered up Maeng Seung-woo and jumped in.
"Ahem! It wasn't a total beatdown. I held my own against the first few."
"Of course. Who in Gangnam doesn't know Maeng Seung-woo's fists?"
His shoulders puffed briefly at the flattery, but Maeng Seung-woo sighed deeply at his baggy pant leg.
"But that guy... When humans fight humans, emotions creep in inevitably—resentment, excitement, fear. But he had none. He carved like butchering meat, emotionless. The only one who spoke Korean—and with one strike, he took my leg."
The shabby room's temperature plunged; an eerie silence swirled. Only Bang Gyu-tae's gulping swallow broke it.