Burning the Straw Shack (1)

Near Gangnam Station's nightlife district.

Just a few kilometers away across the Han River, Gangbuk was still crawling with the zombie plague, but south of the river was declared safe by the government, and the streets were slowly regaining their calm. The threat still loomed overhead, but desperate to look away from the horrors right in front of them, people clung even harder to their primal urges.

Yet amid all that, some folks were tormented by a brand-new terror.

Armed guards patrolled the second-floor hallway of the room salon with uneasy eyes. The second floor was structured like a corridor with the center hollowed out, offering a clear view down to the first floor. Due to a recent security breach, they'd emptied the entire second floor and decided to operate only on the ground level.

Business was already down thanks to the zombie plague, so it wasn't an issue. But the owner and guards were plagued by something else entirely.

"Damn it, walking around with these guns strapped on—doesn't that just scare off more customers?"

One guard grumbled as he stood watch. What they carried under their jackets weren't ordinary pistols but military submachine guns, loaded with live rounds. They were the most common weapons on the black market, but the guards knew exactly where these had come from. That knowledge only amplified their anxiety.

"That's why we've got the second floor dark and locked down."

"It's like covering your eyes and pretending there's no tiger. Come on."

Even with the lights off upstairs, customers on the first floor couldn't ignore the feeling of someone—or something—watching from above. A few had already left, complaining the booze tasted sour now. The guard clicked his tongue and shifted position, nearly tripping over another guard's foot in the process.

The dim lighting was bad enough, but with the second floor pitch black, visibility was shit.

"Watch it."

"Fuck, I'm gonna end up in the psych ward at this rate."

One guard muttered under his breath. "No joke. I've seen ghosts a few times already."

"Get your head in the game and stand watch. You hear about the mess at the Cheongdam shop?"

"That ghost story? The surviving employee was totally cracked—ranting about spirits and bullshit. Probably just high on drugs and torched the gas line."

"Idiot, that shit's been happening more than once or twice."

The guard glanced around furtively before whispering harshly. "Two execs got offed, and now our spots are getting hit one after another. You still not buying it?"

"So you're saying a ghost shows up at night and wipes out our whole organization? Fuck that—makes more sense it was the Yanks. US troops showed up right at both hit sites."

"You wanna fight the US military or a ghost?"

"……."

Tough call. The guards stared uneasily at the submachine guns tucked in their jackets. Fat chance these would stop a ghost or GIs. They just prayed they'd never have to find out.

Thud.

A heavy footfall echoed. The guards flinched but relaxed when they saw who it was—a hulking drug slave decked out in full body armor. Only his bloodshot eyes were visible, but the slave trudged past without a hint of fatigue.

One guard spoke up. "Hey, at least we're in better shape than most. Word is the bosses upstairs are on high alert—stuffed this place with armed high-grade slaves like that one. No way the Yanks or whatever come at us first."

"……Yeah, probably?"

"Our job's simple: spot anything and report it straight. Be nice to at least catch a glimpse of the bastard's face."

"Oh yeah, didn't one of the boss's hired hunters find a clue on the guy?"

"Clue? What'd it say?"

"Something like Grim ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Reaper scribbled there?"

The other guard burst out laughing. He shook with mirth for a good while before managing to speak. "What? Grim Reaper? Might as well say the God of Death. What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the hell's a Grim Reaper doing here—hunting ghosts? Ghostbuster Marines?"

He chuckled to himself, clearly amused, but the other guard didn't join in. Feeling awkward, the laughing one was about to snap when he noticed his buddy staring down the opposite hallway.

"What's up with that?"

***

The massive drug slave was staggering backward, trembling. The guards had never seen one retreat like that—they panicked.

As one moved closer to check, a wet splat rang out, and the slave's head split open. A pitch-black shadow burst through the spray of blood, lunging at them.

"Enemy!"

Whoosh, thud.

The guard yanked out his gun and aimed frantically, but the shadow was already gone. He swung the barrel wildly. His shout drew confused stares from the first-floor customers below.

"Fuck, enemy spotted—!"

He whipped his head around to alert the others but realized no one was there. Cold sweat soaked his back.

"Hey, radio it in quick—"

He glanced sideways—his partner was gone too.

"Hic……."

The guy he'd been talking to seconds ago had vanished. He nearly collapsed. Then, in the flickering emergency lights, he spotted something being dragged away—his buddy's shoe.

The foot vanished around the corner without a twitch from the body. Terror-stricken, the guard keyed his radio.

"Center, Center! Shit, shit—enemy breach! Send backup to second floor now!"

Crackle, static.

No response, just eerie noise. Swallowing hard, he noticed the other guards on the hallway were gone too. How had so many disappeared without him noticing?

He crawled toward the corner where his partner had vanished. In the blackout, only the exit emergency light glowed—and beneath it stretched a long trail of blood.

But at the end wasn't his buddy. It was his leg.

Whoosh, crunch.

A sharp pain exploded in his right hand. His trigger finger was severed clean off. He tried to scream, but something rough jammed into his mouth—cold, metallic on his tongue.

"Got some questions."

A man's whisper slithered from behind. The guard pissed himself.

"Ha, haaah……."

"Where's the Shine Sand."

His trembling hand pointed somewhere. Only then did Ju Kang-rim slowly withdraw the blade from the guard's mouth. Even after, the man shook uncontrollably, frozen.

"Smart, not turning around."

The dry voice coiled like a snake around his neck.

"Stay put just like that. Do it, and you live."

The guard nodded frantically without moving. No footsteps followed. But he couldn't shake the certainty the man was still there.

Even breathing felt risky. Heart pounding, then—clunk—the room salon's lights died all at once. Screams and chaos erupted below.

When no lights returned after ages, flashlight-wielding staff started herding customers out.

"Everyone, please follow directions and head outside! Emergency lights are on—just follow them!"

Grumbling patrons filed out. The guard couldn't budge, eyes fixed ahead on the severed leg illuminated by the blinking red emergency light. Red blood trail and chopped limb—an image burned eternal.

His sole world. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Beyond lay inky blackness hiding that man, axe or blade in hand, watching. In his unseen delusions, the presence was GI, ghost, Grim Reaper. Or all fused into a monster.

While the world waited to devour him, all he could do was stare at the feeble emergency glow like a candle.

The man never returned. Eons seemed to pass. But terror held the guard captive. Alone in the dark.

***

Wheeeen.

'Hearing that siren a lot lately.'

A blaring fire truck wailed as water jets blasted out. True to Gangnam, engines arrived fast despite the short blaze—it wouldn't spread much. But the Shine Sand was thoroughly torched, so no issues.

"Even regular guards are packing heat these days."

Yoo Wol-ryeong remarked, reminiscing on the hunt.

"Can't offload the US guns, so they're flooding the market. Zombie hunter demand's loose regs anyway—firepower's always good."

In a world where gates could pop anywhere, more weapons meant better odds. The government turned a blind eye to black market guns. At least Ju Kang-rim's torching of Kangryeong faction warehouses had curbed it some.

Ju Kang-rim opened Biman to check mission progress.

"Poking around like this, and no immortals show their faces."

He eyed the bonus reward line with regret. This room salon was the biggest target left—he'd hoped—but no dice. Yoo Wol-ryeong tagging along for potential immortals made the letdown worse.

"Didn't Kangryeong Daegun have some plan brewing?"

"Yeah. Interrogations say he dispatched an exec called Ttakkachi……."

Ju Kang-rim had squeezed info from guards between kills: other spots, ghoul gear, exec status, Kangryeong updates. Made cleanup easy, but no sign of Ttakkachi yet.

"Come to think, we don't even know the guy's name. How do you handle immortals without it?"

"Finding the name comes first."

"Can't you just Reaper's Soul Summon without it?"

True enough. To stop the world from ending, you had to thin the immortal herd—not just hide 'em from sight like canned tuna.

Then someone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was stretchered out from the room salon—a man, smoke inhalation probably. Oxygen mask on, so he'd live.

"Whoa, he really stayed put. Smoke everywhere."

Yoo Wol-ryeong turned at the comment.

"You spared another one."

Ju Kang-rim nodded as realization dawned.

"Yeah, unless they see my face—always leave one or two."

"Why?"

"PR matters in this era."