The Gun Changes Hands
Han Jaejeong froze.
The man's voice sounded utterly alien compared to before.
Jaejeong raised both arms and slowly turned around.
The man's eyes brimmed with cold menace.
Any hint of resistance, and he'd shoot on sight.
The air grew thick, time dragging to a crawl.
Anxiety crushed the group, bullets seeming inevitable any second.
Smelling their fear, perhaps—the man's lips curled in sleazy satisfaction.
Everyone just eyed each other warily, no real plan in sight.
"First time seeing something like this, huh?"
The man twirled his gold-plated pistol side to side.
The plating flashed in the sunlight with every flick.
"Whoa, a pistol?"
Jaejeong nodded, feigning admiration.
Then he lunged forward.
The man looked trigger-ready, but Jaejeong figured otherwise.
If he wanted to kill, he'd have done it from the start.
This play meant he wanted something.
Jaejeong strode right up to the muzzle like a madman.
"Mind if I touch it once?"
"Told you to freeze."
Caught off guard, the man recoiled with a threat.
"Why so jumpy? You've got the gun. Nah, I just know my way around firearms..."
"One more word, and I'll put a hole in that mouth. Back the fuck off."
Jaejeong pursed his lips tight.
Things only got worse.
Beside him, Kang Youngman shook his head in disbelief.
No one knew guns' lethality better than Youngman.
That's why he'd stayed dead silent.
Provoking an armed man was pure insanity.
They started forcing the group to kneel, one by one.
Lee Hyun-soo, Kang Minyoung, Anna—all dropped in line.
Lee Beom-sik, though, ignored them flat-out.
Didn't even blink at the barrel shoved in his face.
Just glared back with murder in his eyes.
Like death was no big deal.
Only after a hard kick to the calf did he slump to the ground.
Even then, his stare never left the buzzcut kicker.
That's when Jaejeong, backing away amid the chaos, whispered something in Youngman's ear.
Youngman's brow twisted—then he spoke up to the man out of nowhere.
"You ever fired that thing?"
"Told you to shut your—"
"In Africa, yeah. Impressive stuff."
Youngman nodded slowly.
Then met the man's eyes.
The moment to shoot had passed.
A real shooter wouldn't hesitate like that.
Least not from Youngman's experience.
Long as no aggressive moves, no wild shots.
These guys didn't look like they'd lingered at the pier long.
And with infected swarming at the slightest noise, they weren't dumb enough for emotional trigger-pulls.
Youngman pressed on.
"Still burns fresh as yesterday. Endless civil war zone. Didn't matter, though. I was a hired gun for a private outfit—just the mission. Civilians in peril? Deaths? None of my business."
The man shot puzzled glances at his crew.
They stared back at Youngman like he was half-deranged.
"Pure hell that day. Heat so brutal, I didn't even register my skin blistering red. Rolling through the op zone, then this grating noise hits my ears. Builds up, unfamiliar heat seeps into the vehicle. That's when I knew. Grenade."
The man, who'd been listening intently, glanced at his crew again.
They all stood there, dumbfounded stares bouncing between each other.
How long passed like that?
Pfft!
The man burst out laughing, and his crew exploded in hysterics right after, like scripted.
Laughing till their faces turned beet red, doubled over.
Then his expression flipped in an instant.
He closed the gap to Youngman's nose and jammed the gun to his forehead.
All mirth vanished.
"You fucking with me? Think I dragged you here for grandpa stories?"
"But it's true."
Jaejeong cut in.
"You, you fucking—!"
Riled up, the man swung the muzzle toward Jaejeong's nose.
Closing the distance.
The barrel tip nearly brushed Jaejeong's nose.
Right then!
Thwack! Clack! Click!
The man's eyes went saucer-wide.
One second?
Nah.
Maybe less.
The pistol that'd been in the man's grip was now snug in Jaejeong's.
All he recalled: something smacked his hand, ownership swapped.
That was it.
Over in a blink.
The man swallowed dry, struck dumb.
Youngman nodded approvingly at Jaejeong.
Trained right.
'Gonna snatch it. Help.'
Words alone, and Youngman would've sat tight.
Botch it clumsy, everyone dies.
But Jaejeong flashed a quick gesture with the words.
One no civilian catches—but Youngman would.
The pistol snatch technique.
Jaejeong was special forces alumni.
Korea's got plenty, but he wrapped active duty in an elite counter-terror unit.
Training heavy on urban ops, close-quarters building fights.
Bayonet drills, knife work, grapples—core focus.
The man had dangled fish before a cat.
Youngman could've managed it too, but with a daughter to shield, no gambles.
"First time seeing this, huh?"
Jaejeong threw the man's line back.
One strike, and the vibe flipped completely.
The man looked utterly crushed.
His goons stood slack-jawed, scrambling to adjust.
Jaejeong eyed them coolly.
"You know the drill."
The muzzle bobbed toward the dirt.
They dropped to their knees—no hesitation.
Still dazed as hell.
Amid them, the leader's face flushed purple with rage.
Livid, clearly.
That's when—
"Hey."
Thud! Thud!
Beom-sik closed in on the kneelers.
His presence nailed the chaos shut—pure intimidation.
Beom-sik usually just iced you out, but pissed? Whole different beast.
Lock eyes with that glare...
All the men sucked in sharp breaths.
Beom-sik marched straight, target locked.
Grabbed a jaw, yanked it up.
The buzzcut.
His own calf-kicker.
Now the buzzcut stared up like a terrified kid before a pissed-off adult—eyes pure pathos.
Deer-in-headlights pitiful.
"Save me!"
Beom-sik paused mid-yank on the jaw.
A hollow smirk, then voice dropped colder.
"So that's why you didn't clock me. Tough shit. Anyone touches me—Chinese, Japanese, whatever—gotta get fucked up."
He dragged the buzzcut toward the massive yacht.
Incomprehensible Chinese pleas echoed, but no one lifted a finger.
They vanished inside.
Long minutes passed—no sign.
Just sporadic crashes, like shit flipping and shattering.
"We good leaving him like that?"
Minyoung asked, voice laced with worry.
"Not the type to talk down. Kill? Maybe. If he croaks, oh well."
"Huh?"
Minyoung's eyes widened at Jaejeong's casual shrug.
"He'll live. They tried offing us—can't just wave 'em off, right?"
"Well..."
"Anyway."
Jaejeong lowered the gun and sauntered toward the kneeling leader.
Any normal guy would've quaked under that boulder-rolling pressure.
The man just glared daggers instead.
Jaejeong's gut screamed: not your average thug.
Chinese in the crew, toting illegal custom iron.
Crime syndicate, obvious.
No prior beef with Beom-sik meant not locals.
Impersonating officials to boot.
Purpose gnawed at him now.
"Hey."
The man clenched his teeth at Jaejeong's call.
"Won't hit. Doc says no killing."
"And?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"What's it matter to some rando?"
The man scowled.
"Cop. Gotta know."
"Fuck your mother."
The man spat a Chinese curse, flashing a venomous smirk.
Youngman grimaced beside him, pity in his eyes.
Wrong mark.
To survive long, be powerhouse strong or wits-sharp quick.
This guy? Neither, Youngman's read.
Those types usually...
Thud!
Spit sprayed from the sneering mouth.
Lungs wheezed empty, eyes bulged bloodshot.
Jaejeong's toe buried in his solar plexus.
But the man held defiant.
"Kick again! I'll scream bloody murder, drag every zombie here—"
Thud! Thud!
"Guhk!"
Three to the same spot, and fear finally cracked his eyes.
Breaths hitched ragged, vision tinting yellow.
"What kinda cop... hits people... cough! cough!"
"I'm not like the others. Tougher than your precious Public Security cops—hell, meaner. And I speak Chinese, asshole. Know your curses."
Jaejeong raised his foot again.
Man reflexively curled fetal, shielding his gut.
All that swagger? Gone. Just sniveling terror left.
Mental standoff over.
"Ready to chat?"
The man caved fast.
Nodded, hauled himself up, heaved a deep sigh.
Youngman nodded approval.
Takes a beating to learn, but not utterly clueless.
That's how he'd lasted this long.
"Drug runners... Too risky in China now, so fence in Korea."
"Drugs, flesh—world's fucked, don't give a shit. Question is, why pull this stunt here?"
"Our money bag's stashed here."
"Money bag?"
"Over there."
He pointed to the warehouse by the pier—the one they'd raided for steel plates earlier.
Staring at the sealed door, he spilled more.
"Bag's full of drugs and cash. The idiot holding it got himself stuck inside."
"Dumb it down, fucker."
"No, just... don't know where to start."
The man waved frantically, horrified.
"Simple terms. Bro's not bright."
"Warehouse crawling with zombies. That dumbass barreled in careless-like... Anyway, needed someone to fetch the bag. Couldn't just ditch it, were stressing—then you showed."
"That make sense? End of world, risk neck for cash and dope? Fuck this. You're yacht-bound too."
"Swear it's real! Not won—yuan. Yuan! Was gonna snag it, sail back to China."
"China? The fuck you going back for?"
"Zombies, duh."
Jaejeong paused, fingers locked on the man's nape.
Something off.
Yuan in the bag? Whatever.
The real kicker: planning to haul it back to China now.
Ah. Clueless.
No one's escaping the peninsula.
Jaejeong asked.
"How you planning to reach China?"
"Got a boat that can make it."
The man was dead serious.
Infected People