One Against a Hundred

One against a hundred.

Mirae Building.

A twenty-story structure that had once been a respectable office building. Now its windows were shattered everywhere, and the entrance had been fortified into a fortress of razor wire and rotten tires. The stench rolling off the whole structure, together with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere, was enough to make a man's skin crawl.

Sang-goo walked toward the entrance with only Little Dog at his side. Helmet on his head, a bulletproof vest across his chest, pistol, axe, katana, and longsword slung around him. With his rifle hanging diagonally across his back and Little Dog cradled in one arm, he strolled forward without a care in the world.

"What the…? Who are you?"

"Did you come from up top, by any chance…?"

Clean clothes and sheer confidence made for quite a show. Sang-goo said nothing, simply sweeping his gaze over them from head to toe. Ten hulking men armed with iron pipes and assorted blunt weapons. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Apparently, they'd taken him for someone belonging to the Crows.

Then one of the goons' eyes went wide.

"Huh? Boss! It's that bastard! That doctor from earlier!"

It was the one who'd been swinging a jackknife when he'd fought the raiders in the alley and then bolted. So he'd been hiding somewhere nearby, watching the whole time. Sang-goo snorted.

"So you were holed up here. Like a rat."

"Y-you crazy son of a bitch, walking into the tiger's den on your own two feet…."

"Wait, then he's *not* with Black Guard?"

"The hell you say? Then who the hell are you?"

"Is he one of those nerds from the school crowd?"

Their reaction flipped in an instant. Sang-goo answered flatly.

"I'm here to see your boss."

At that, the rat who'd run away faltered for a moment before breaking into a slimy grin.

"I already reported it to the Big Boss anyway. Told him some big doctor punk showed up carrying a gun. Works out nice, huh. Wait right there."

The man radioed somewhere. A moment later—

"Follow me."

Five stayed at the entrance; five led the way. Sang-goo trailed after them in silence. Instead of the building lobby, they guided him toward the underground parking garage entrance—a ramp descending into pitch darkness, damp mold and motor oil thickening the air as it rose.

'Figures.'

It was a trap to anyone with eyes. But Sang-goo paid it no mind and clomped down the ramp without breaking stride. Little Dog followed behind, the sensor in its tail glowing red. He had never once imagined these people would settle anything in one clean conversation. Genuine dialogue only worked when overwhelming force stood behind it—that was simply how the world worked now.

Basement level three, the parking garage. In the wide, empty space, only a few figures flickered in and out of view. Then, the moment Sang-goo stepped into the center, countless presences surfaced from the darkness. The scrape of dragging iron pipes. Snickering laughter. One, two, three… a hundred, give or take.

'That's a lot. Good. No… hmm.'

It seemed a grudge had settled into his heart without him noticing. A grudge against these men—because the moment you slapped the label "gangster" on yourself, you became the kind of vermin who deserved to get beaten half to death. Legally(?) speaking, anyway.

Whether or not they sensed what was in his heart, men armed with every kind of tool filled the garage and closed around him in a ring.

KUUUUNG—!

Behind him, a fire shutter crashed down with a deafening roar. His escape route was sealed. A rat in a perfectly sealed cage. He'd expected as much, so it didn't even surprise him.

"Who the hell is this? Look at this idiot. He actually came? Do we look like a damn joke to you, or what?"

Only after every piece was set on stage did a man finally emerge, parting the crowd. Showing up once the whole scene was arranged—you could size a man up without ever living through it. A first-class piece of trash.

Sang-goo stared at the hulking figure, late to arrive and scratching his neck, striking every pose of swagger a man could strike. A red long coat, a black turtleneck, thick gold chains hanging in a jangling mess. In each hand he carried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a honed sashimi blade and a Chinese cleaver. This had to be the boss of the Sinsegi Gang. Greasy hair swept back into a pompadour, he wore the classic face of a third-rate villain.

"Word is you're one of those Yeongdo-gu bastards. Met Ji Seong-gyu of the Iron Corps, didn't you? You're pretty famous across the river. So what's your deal, huh?"

Sang-goo clicked his tongue inwardly. 'So they're working as informants for the Crows, too.'

Unshaken, he answered evenly.

"I came from the Yeongdo-gu camp. I want to talk to the boss of Geumji New City. I'd like you to show me the way."

"Talk?"

The man cackled. That laugh was all the signal his men needed—they burst out roaring, the sound reverberating through the underground garage.

"Sure, sure. By the way, what's that thing in your arms? That hunk of junk—your guard dog, is it?"

"Spare me the theatrics. Just tell me what you want. Make the connection and I'll compensate you properly."

"Ha… not scared at all, are you. What, you got a spec-ops team waiting outside or something?"

At that, one of the hulking goons beside him muttered quietly.

"Boss, there's nothing like that outside."

"I know that… you idiot…."

"Can't even hold a conversation like a boss. Did you skip elementary school? Never learned talking and listening? Quit running your mouth and set up a meeting with whoever's above you."

Sang-goo's weighty counterattack drew curses from all directions. Then the boss licked his lips with his tongue and smiled sourly.

"Ooh, look at that mouth. Fine… so you want a conversation, and you came to the right address—you need to go through me. But here's the thing…."

His expression turned vicious in a heartbeat.

"Where in this world is anything free? Put down everything you've got. The gun, the bag, and that robot mutt too. Oh, and strip off all your clothes. Every last stitch, down to your drawers."

"………"

"Then, after I kick your ass in, get on your knees and beg me to help you—just once. Beg nicely enough, and depending on my mood, maybe I'll only break one of your legs before I let you go."

Sang-goo scoffed.

"You're not your average lunatic, are you."

"What? Can't read the room, you little shit?"

At the man's gesture, a hundred underlings surged forward all at once, weapons scraping the floor. The ring tightened.

"You think one gun's enough to take us all on? Which do you figure runs out first—your bullets or our numbers, huh?! ANSWER ME, you piece of trash!!"

The man bellowed his ultimatum.

"Listen up. If even one of my boys dies, that little meeting you're begging for is off. I'll radio the Crows right away—tell them a mad dog from Yeongdo-gu is on the loose. Then you'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never set foot inside that place as long as you live."

But what he didn't know was this: Sang-goo knew exactly how to subdue men without killing them.

Calm as still water, Sang-goo lowered his helmet's visor. Clack. With a soft hiss of pressurization, the helmet's air filtration mode kicked on.

"I won't kill any of you. So keep your promise."

"…What?"

The moment the man repeated the word, a low command dropped from Sang-goo's lips.

"CS rounds."

THOOM—! Fump! Fump!

Three micro-grenades launched twice from Little Dog's back. The rounds struck the garage ceiling and burst, and thick, acrid white smoke swallowed the underground space in seconds. Highly concentrated tear gas. Within mere seconds, it was hell's own breath—choking lungs and inflicting searing, blinding pain.

"Hack—! Kgh! Wh-what is this stuff!"

"Gas! GAS, damn it!"

"My eyes! I'm screwed!"

"Kehek! Help… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠khh!"

A hundred men screamed and writhed across the floor, faces smeared with tears and snot, hacking up their lungs. They couldn't even stand, let alone swing a weapon. Only Sang-goo, sealed inside his gas-mask helmet, and Little Dog, a machine to the bone, were free of the white hell.

"AAAAGH!!"

A few of the nearest ones bolted for the fire shutter behind him. Sang-goo had no intention of letting them through.

Crack! Squelch!

One man's jaw shattered. The next one's nose bone caved in. With gas particles like thousands of fishhooks tormenting skin, throat, and mucous membrane, the wailing came from every direction.

Let them wail.

Crack—!

"AAAAGH!!"

He caught another charging man's low kick and his shin snapped the wrong way. WHAM! A jab-like body hook into the ribs of one loitering up front made him buckle and roll across the concrete.

Only four so far. Doing all of them by hand seemed like it would dirty his hands. So Sang-goo pulled out the axe. Sure enough, Little Dog's infrared sensor painted the enemies flailing in the smoke in glowing red.

Sang-goo hammered them down with the axe's heavy blunt face. His heart wanted to crack every last skull like a watermelon, but killing a hundred men was a heavier job than it sounded. So he settled for shattering elbows and knees.

What if there's nowhere to treat the breaks? Not my problem. Those who'd piled up good karma would live; the rest would die in agony.

Hadn't he learned that lesson, bone-deep, from honoring his father? There are people in this world who should be saved, and people who should not. And the only standard was Sang-goo's own judgment.

WHAM! Squelch! CRACK-CRACK!

"UUUAAAAGH!!"

"P-please…! Kek! Hack! Hack!"

Deaf amid the shrieking, Sang-goo went on methodically breaking bones.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

"Seventy-one, seventy-two…"

Sang-goo swung the axe, counting in a dead monotone. The space was roomy enough that the gas thinned quickly, so visibility was fine. But the residue already inhaled into their lungs kept tormenting them mercilessly. Naturally, Sang-goo had no intention of stopping here either. Fair was fair—every last member of the organization was getting his bones treated equally.

Thud—! CRUNCH!

"GUAAAAGH! My leg!"

The man whose knee had bent backwards collapsed foaming at the mouth, his throat so ravaged by tear gas that he couldn't even scream properly—he just wheezed. A hundred-odd men crawled across the floor, vomiting, rubbing their eyes, begging for their lives. Some had already succumbed to the vicious gas, unconscious or spiraling into shock.

Through it all Sang-goo drifted like a ghost, picking out only the ones still standing or still holding weapons, and demolished their joints. Little Dog's infrared sensor glowed red, marking the fallen. The little thing was helping too—biting the ankles of anyone still upright to drag them down, or searing them with its electric shocker.

"…One's missing."

That was when it happened.

"You son of a bitch…!"

The red coat burst out from behind a pillar in the corner. The boss of the Sinsegi Gang. Clamping his sleeve over his nose and mouth, tears streaming down his face, he swung the sashimi blade in his fist.

"DIE! Kkeluk!"

Shff— shff—

The keen blade sliced through empty air. Quick and vicious, sure—but slashes swung by a blind man never came close to touching Sang-goo.

"What exactly are you planning, when you can't even open your eyes?"

Sang-goo spotted the opening and drove a combat boot into the man's solar plexus.

WHAM—!

"Kuhak!"

The man's breath stopped dead and he crumpled backwards, the sashimi blade ringing off the floor as it fell from his hand. Sang-goo planted a foot on the fallen man's chest and raised the axe.

"Now then. Talk."

"S-spare me… please spare me…!"

The man rubbed his hands together and begged. His face, caked in tears and snot, was a sight to behold—every trace of his earlier arrogance gone without a trace.

"Connect me to the Crows. Right now."

Sang-goo pressed the axe blade to the man's throat and growled.

"O-okay! Just spare my life—!"

With trembling hands, the man fished a radio out of his coat. Slipping with blood and snot, he barely gripped it and pressed the button.

Kssht—

A dry, brittle voice. Not the answer anyone expected. Whoever it was seemed to already know everything about the situation here.

'Cameras?'

Security cameras dotted the ceiling here and there. He'd assumed they were original fixtures and hadn't given them a second thought. Apparently the upper contractors were monitoring how their subcontracted thugs did business. Well, in that case, the gangster had officially outlived his usefulness.

CRACK—! SQUASH!

"AAAAGH—!!"

Sang-goo ground the man's knee and pelvis to pulp under his boot. Then he spoke flatly into the radio.

"Seems we both know the situation. Where do I go?"

"I said he's arrived—drive him here."

Click.

The transmission cut off. So they were sending someone to pick him up.

Sang-goo stroked Little Dog's head.

"Good work."

[^ o ^]

For the first time, an emoticon flickered across Sang-goo's display. Proof of the upgrade, perhaps. Seeing the little thing so happy made him happy too.

A short while later—

VROOOM—! KRA-KRASH—!

A black van smashed through the fire shutter and rolled inside. Fresh air flooded in, driving the gas out.

Grind—

Four fully armed operatives climbed out of the vehicle. 'The Crows.' Just as Ji Seong-gyu had said. BLACK GUARD was printed across their bulletproof vests, with crow patches on their shoulders and chests. They surveyed the Sinsegi Gang members sprawled across the floor and clicked their tongues.

"…There's no hell but this one."

"Khmm… Let's go."

Sang-goo spread his arms, and Little Dog leaped neatly into the crook of them.