Seoul Inferno (3)
A white box truck sped out of the department store parking lot. Yuri clutched her long sword to her chest, forcing her ragged breaths to steady—huff—haah.
Bodies. More bodies. Her little brother had made more corpses.
"Ah, no way. Did you have to kill those guys just now? Huh?"
"What else was I supposed to do? Those were Team 2 guys."
"You didn't know that before you shot. What if they weren't? What if they were just regular people?"
"Didn't think that far."
"You idiot! You just fire without thinking!?"
"From their looks, the way they were lurking around the truck—it was a safe bet they were the ones chasing us. So I shot. If I'd tried talking to confirm and they really were after us? Boom, straight-up fight, one against a bunch. Even I don't have confidence in that. My life and yours come first. No way I'm gambling on that. Don't regret pulling the trigger first, not one bit."
"..."
Yuri was at a loss for words. He was right—they'd survived because of it—but the absurdity of needing that mindset to stay alive, the gloom of seeing her brother change like this... it all hit her at once.
Shoot first because it wasn't certain, but shooting raised the odds of survival. Simple, clear logic. Accepting it was another matter entirely.
"I couldn't do that..."
"Not asking you to. Once we get out of Korea, we'll wash our IDs clean and live normal. No more killing for me."
"For real?"
"For real."
He glanced at his sniffling sister and answered. Shooting suited him, sure, but he didn't enjoy it. Shake off the GeumMyeong Group once they left Korea, and he'd really set the guns down for a peaceful life. Unless the sky fell or the earth cracked open, nothing would derail that plan.
"What's with the sword?"
"Saw a sword shop on the first floor... couldn't resist and grabbed it."
Shing—Yuri drew the blade slightly to show it off. Damascus steel, its wavy pattern gleaming beautifully. Cheol-woo knew nothing about swords, couldn't judge performance, but damn, it was pretty.
He got "couldn't resist grabbing it," even if he didn't fully understand. Anyone into swords would drool over that design. Two long ones like that, plus two shorter ones about half the length. Wakizashi, or something? To him, pocket knives or multi-tools seemed way more practical than bulky things like that.
Still, with over 100 million won cash swiped from the office safe, he could write it off as stress relief. Small price to pay.
"Think we've got a tail."
"What? Already?"
Just as they hit the Western Expressway, Cheol-woo checked the side mirror and scowled. No room left for trackers, gear all fried by EMP. So why the pursuit? Then it clicked—the guys lurking by the truck earlier. The new plates they'd swapped were blown.
After shaking this one, time to ditch the truck entirely.
"Gotta lose 'em somewhere... Hey?!"
Before Yuri could finish, Cheol-woo yanked his pistol out the window and unloaded—bang-bang-bang-bang—a hail of lead slugs.
The sedan took the barrage; its passenger window shattered instantly. Cheol-woo yanked a grenade pin and lobbed it inside. The sedan screeched to a halt—screeech—then BOOM! erupted in a massive fireball.
Cars piled up behind in a chain-reaction crash.
It all happened in a blink—Yuri's eyes went saucer-wide. While she gaped, Cheol-woo slammed the brakes, yanked a rifle from behind the driver's seat, slipped on a fully loaded tactical vest.
"Put on the vest. Helmet too."
"Hey, hey! Right in the middle of the road—what the hell?!"
"They're coming. They'll be here."
"..."
Yuri's frantic babble cut off. The answer was obvious.
She grabbed her brother's sleeve and murmured, "I'll follow your lead..."
"Fucking hell. Crazy bastards. Crazy bastards..."
Rat-tat-tat-tat—amid the gunfire, Park I-sa was practically dragged out of his car by his men.
Unbelievable, even seeing it. Busy road, eyes everywhere, and they just open up with guns and grenades? This guy was flat-out insane.
Figured we'd cover for him no matter what? If he could, Park wanted to crack open the bastard's skull and see what the hell went on in there.
"Fire! Fire! Keep him pinned—no openings! That's the hotshot from Team 1!"
Team 2's SMGs spat nonstop. The car's windows shattered, tires blew, it sagged. Bullets hammered doors and hood—thunk-thunk-thunk—but not a hair of Min Cheol-woo showed.
"Call backup! Encircle from the other side and take him down!"
"Yes sir! Alive?"
"Alive if possible! Assume he's out to kill otherwise!"
"Yes sir!"
Jeong Gwa-jang had let him slip too. Going in soft from the start meant wipeout. Rush to kill, snag him alive if lucky—bonus. No luck? Tough shit.
Of course, Park had zero intention of handing him to Team 1 even if captured.
Bang!
"Gah?!"
One man yelped short, ankle shattered, tumbling down. Flat on the ground—bang-bang—chest and forehead exploded. Dead.
Didn't see him pop up? Faces went ghost-white.
"Under the car! Through the gap! Hide behind the wheel!"
Bang-bang-bang-bang! More shots—ankles shredded. Park rolled behind a wheel hub as his men scrambled.
Suppressing fire lapsed. All good? Nope.
Min Cheol-woo had peeked and punished.
"Return fire! Return fire!"
"Arghhh!"
Men dropped like flies. One stood to force him down—headshot, crumpled. A cowering one got rifle rounds through the door, turned to Swiss cheese.
What the fuck? Common sense: bullet whizzing by, you flinch. But Min Cheol-woo? No twitch, just counterfired to silence them.
Not fearless—dropped low for aimed shots. Ignored misses, reacted only to hits? Possible? Seeing it now, yeah, it was.
"Director! Your car's armored! Get in and pull out!"
"We still outnumber him! Run now?!"
"He's a monster! Too risky—evac first, sir! I'll bring the car!"
"You moron! Mounting up mid-firefight is suicide!"
Ignoring him, one man dove into the armored car's driver seat. Engine roared—vroom—pushing past blocking vehicles.
Then whoosh—BOOM! Rocket-propelled grenade. Car shredded like paper.
RPGs too? Every damn trick.
"Fuck..."
Park glanced around—men pale, morale in the toilet.
Tsking, he grabbed the megaphone.
"Min Cheol-woo! This is GeumMyeong Security—Park Seung-jun, director!"
No reply. Doesn't know me? New hires not drilled on brass anymore?
"This started with Yu Sil-jang! No beef from me! Still time to turn back, Min Cheol-woo! One-time offer: I'll clear your debt—join Team 2! We don't screw over quitters like Team 1 does!"
That had to land. Had to. Refusing was suicide.
Thankfully, quick response.
"You really paying off 100 million?"
"What? 100 million? That's your debt? That's why you're stuck here?"
Park's face twisted in shock. 100 mil? Chump change—company crawling with bigger debtors.
"Yeah. Problem?"
"Nah, no problem. Done!"
"Got it. You handle my debt, then. I'm quitting."
"What?"
"You said Team 2 lets you quit easy? Join and bail right after."
Fuck you.
What—the—fuck—shit— Park stammered, dumbfounded.
Yu Sil-jang thought she could control this monster with pocket change? Her, him—all of 'em, he wanted dead.
"No options left. Dose up?"
"Do it. Fuck."
Park's desperate order—men pulled blue drug packets. Snorted deep—eyes bloodshot in seconds.
"What kinda dumbass offer?"
Pay your debt, come back? Like he'd trust no backstab? Cheol-woo snorted.
GeumMyeong all one team—Yu nuts, execs sane? Pointless pitch.
No more talk from them. Cheol-woo reloaded the rifle fast. Last mag.
'Rifle's too big, too heavy.'
Test-firing plenty now, conclusion drawn. Pistols: compact, light, no stock—hug close, quick fire. Muzzle whipped fast. Rifles? Long, heavy—eternity to swing on next target. 1vMany? Crippling disadvantage.
Issue: no pistol stable past 100m. Wish for rifle-caliber pistol.
'Rush in first?'
No move from them ages—Cheol-woo rose, rifle forward.
Can't stalemate forever.
Then—a head popped up.
"Huh...?"
Off. Bloodshot eyes half-rolled, unfocused, staggering gait.
Not one. Two, three, four, five... endless, shambling out.
"Ah, fuck."
Déjà vu. That thing he'd skull-fucked before. Doc called 'em tweakers.
Bang-bang-bang-bang! Four rounds center-mass. Tumbled—then rose, charged.
"Body armor?"
Armor blocks felt different. This? Zing—penetrated for sure.
Then why still coming? Bang! Headshot—finally exploded, down for good.
"Not zombies..."
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang! Rifle barked—limbs shredded, heads popped. Crawling on broken legs, arterial spray—no stop without heart/brain destruction.
Heard drugs let you tank shots, but this? 5.56mm, not pistol rounds. Aortic shreds should've dropped 'em from blood loss alone.
Common sense shattered.
"Sis. Start the truck."
"O-okay!"
Ditched empty mag, drew pistol, advanced to close range. Thud!—9mm to forehead. No zing.
"...Figures."
Head snapped back—snapped forward, charging.
Close-in: barrel to eye socket only way. Now? Moving target, tiny hole. Doable.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Eye hits—brain penetrated, down.
Three more. Dizzy, Cheol-woo backpedaled, yelling.
"Grab STANAG mags from truck! Ones look like this!"
"Wh-what?"
Got it? Doubt it. No-gamer sis might not even know mags.
No hope, he sprayed—thud-thud-thud.
Hard hits—staggering made eye shots tricky. Dropped one, turned—another on him.
"Urrghhh!"
"Ngh!"
Crack-crack-crack—headbutting near-miss tore his ear. Dodged, slammed to ground. Suppressor to eye—thud-thud—limp.
Last one? Head swiveling—thud from above.
Leapt? Crashing down roaring. Rolled clear, but suppressor fouled aim.
"Uwaaa! Uwaaa!"
"What strength!"
Bellowing, it gripped his wrist—pocket knife hand. Pushed—no give. Pushed back.
Just stronger? No—grip tightened, wrist bones cracking imminent. Wrong.
"Uwaaa..."
"Fuck."
Snap—jaws unhinged, black maw gaping. Stench hit—lunging to bite.
Shwick! Wind sliced—roar cut. Riiip—fissure split face. Cheol-woo's cheek nicked.
Blood gushed, drenching him—head cleaved sideways.
"S-sorry! Couldn't tell which mags... so..."
Yuri stomped, long sword in hand.