Nothing Special After a Normal Station Exit
I stepped out of the station pretty normally, and surprisingly, there wasn't much to it. Just the sky was a bit overcast with thick clouds streaked in red and black, and every building looked half-collapsed or rusted to hell—nothing major. It wasn't all that different from the imperfect world we live in. Sure, you might get some dark crimson clouds hanging over your head, or your real estate scam could go tits up overnight. Right?
The one thing I couldn't deny was that I'd gotten off at the wrong damn station, so I needed to grab a taxi or a bus or whatever. No point going back down to that abandoned subway platform. As I wandered the empty boulevard for a while, scanning around, I spotted what looked like a bus stop with a decent crowd gathered. They were lined up in a neat row, standing stock-still like they were desperately waiting for the bus without so much as a twitch.
I slipped in line behind them. Up close, their faces were pitch black, just like that station attendant at the turnstile—blacker than if you'd slathered on layers of ink. I suddenly had this urge to touch their skin, where faint black vapors were rising like steam. Would it feel squishy like jelly? Or just normal human skin? Either way, it piqued my curiosity, no denying that.
But touching without permission might piss them off, so I went for a polite, civilized approach.
"If you don't mind, could I grope your body a bit?"
Unfortunately, it was a huge offense to them—they didn't even respond. I was dying to poke that steaming black skin with my finger, but what could I do? Non-consensual 'groping' is strictly illegal these days.
I was seriously debating sneaking a jab when, way off in the distance, the only thing giving off light approached—a bus. Bigger than a city bus, more like an intercity one, its headlights glowing with a soft blue hue that stood out sharp against the blood-red and black world.
As expected, it pulled up to the stop, the massive doors hissed open, and the folks at the front started shuffling aboard slow as molasses. The weird part? Everyone pulled something out from their pockets before boarding. Gold coins for some, wads of cash for others, jewels. The black-uniformed driver at the door had a big leather bag open, collecting 'fares' before letting them in.
The guy right in front of me offered a single crappy 100-won coin. The driver shook his head—no dice. Fair enough; after gold bars, cash stacks, and gems, why settle for pocket change?
The problem was doing that shit right in front of me.
"You fucking prick!"
I lunged, grabbed his collar, and slammed him to the ground. His leather bag spilled open, coins, bills, jewels, artifacts—priceless shit everywhere. He'd clearly been raking it in hard before getting here.
I pounced, mounted him, and pinned him down.
"Your mom popped you out for free, and here you are discriminating against customers? You've stuffed your face with all that loot—can't you just comp one ride? What's the big loss in one extra passenger? Or do beggars cramp your style since they don't pay up?"
I yanked his collar and smashed his face a few times with my fist. Finally, I got to grope that black-vapor face firsthand. Just like I figured—squishy as jelly.
"You fucked up picking on me. I'm about to legally grope the shit out of you, and it ain't gonna end pretty."
Groping plain would feel too gay, so I packed my fists with real power. Gut punches, solar plexus, throat, and a final boot to the balls that sent him flying to the edge of the stop.
I scooped up the bag and the spilled loot, slung it over my shoulder, and waved the last guy—who still hadn't boarded—inside.
"You, sit tight and reflect today. Say a prayer to Jesus. Then you might make it to heaven."
Leaving the twitching driver at the stop, I hopped in, slid into the driver's seat like I owned it, and grabbed the mic linked to the onboard speakers.
"This bus is under my command now. Any complaints? Duel me."
Luckily, no one was brave enough to risk their neck; they all accepted me as the new boss. Destination: Gwanak-gu. The ride wouldn't be long with these passengers, but I'd do the job responsibly.
Bus driving wasn't my forte—clipped a crosswalk here, grazed a building there—but I got the hang of it quick. You gotta learn by doing, right?
But that lasted only a moment. Heading south, a massive river blocked the road. For a split second, I thought Han River?—scanned for a bridge, but nada. Big and small boats dotted the crimson-glowing water ahead, but that was their problem. Crossing a river like that on those rusty tubs? No thanks.
Then the passengers started mashing the stop bell like crazy. Guess they wanted those old boats.
"Hit that bell one more time, and I'll take it as a duel challenge."
The ringing stopped dead.
I'd just found my bus-driver responsibility; no way I'd lose customers to those relics.
"We're crossing the river now."
How the hell does a giant metal bus cross water? Didn't matter. Faith—that's the key. Jesus didn't give a fuck about Peter's fishing boat; he walked on water. When Peter sank trying the same, Jesus fished him out. Faith in him is what lets you stroll on waves.
I grabbed the mic and announced departure prep. No outdated boats for us, I declared. The passengers went apeshit like monkeys, fumbling for seatbelts to bolt—but I remotely locked 'em in place.
I control their emotions now!
"You don't gotta believe in me or yourselves. Believe in the me who believes in Jesus!"
No faith, no heaven. United in belief, we could float this bus easy.
I floored it. The bus rocketed straight ahead. Dock owners scrambled, waving arms to block us—I ignored 'em.
River-by-boat dogma? Double-dipping capitalism—bus tolls then boat tolls? I'd smash it all.
Gripping the mic from the bucking cab, I bellowed:
"Everyone, hands above your heads!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The bus launched off the dock, smashing through blocking boats in a flash. We all felt that massive lift, arms thrust skyward. In that moment, we were one body.
Hell, in a way, we'd fucked.
"Our goal: south of the Han—Gwanak-gu!"
Plunging through raging currents southward, I honked wildly. Cocky rafts and boats ahead pissed me off. I cranked the window and yelled at some raft-paddling schmuck:
"Don't bring your shitbox onto the highway! You're blocking traffic!!!"
Passed close, revved to spray him with wake. No exceptions for bigger boats either—if one blocked, I'd ram its side in a bus-vs-boat brawl. They tilted and listed; I kept charging.
The rich-boat crowd paid top dollar, took top dollar—screwing rafts and skiffs. No way "Bus THE Han Daeri" would stand for that.
Then, black-winged traffic cops flapped down from the crimson sky. I punched max speed—no tickets for these bastards.
I feel it—the engine's beat! It throbs—the accelerator's heat! It pounds—the horn's heart!
"Unstoppable impulse!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"