Overdose (1)
"Okay."
The car carrying Cheol-woo sped out of the office building's parking lot. Up until then, there was no sign that anyone on the 10th floor had caught on to what happened, and Cheol-woo made it out to the main road without any resistance. It wasn't until quite a while later that the chaos on the 10th floor finally registered, and the first floor erupted into activity.
No tail followed Cheol-woo's car. Only then did Yuri, who had been watching the office building from afar through binoculars, relax and pull back.
Vroom—The car roared down the road. Cheol-woo ignored the muffled mmph-mmph sounds from the trunk, rolled down the window, and floored it. The cold sweat wouldn't stop.
He'd killed Jeong Gwa-jang, so Team 1 was effectively crippled without Yu Sil-jang's direct oversight. Teams 2 and 3 hadn't picked up his trail since he'd shaken them off once. So why the fuck was he still so uneasy?
His stomach growled—gurgle—and a bad feeling kept gnawing at him.
"I told you, no. How many times you gonna ask?"
"Has sis been living a sheltered life or what?"
Got shot fighting small fry, but not a scratch against Jeong Gwa-jang? The logic was sound, but reality didn't match. Back when he first took a bullet, Cheol-woo was a different man entirely. That time, he'd been pissed out of his mind, eyes rolled back, firing on pure instinct. Now? He shot with a clear, empty mind.
Back then, he didn't know how to handle his hypersensitive senses and lightning-fast hands, swinging them wildly. Now, he knew their limits and range precisely, wielding them like well-trained tools.
It was the same with Jeong Gwa-jang. He hadn't charged in thinking, Fuck, I'll kill that bastard no matter what—just, I need to kill him, so I will.
Of course, Cheol-woo was human; it wasn't total detachment. If he felt anything... exhilaration? Not some psychopath thrill from killing, but the primal rush of pulling the trigger.
Other than that, he'd fired without a flicker of emotion.
"If you're worried, just say so honestly."
She thought taking him down unscathed was no big deal? If Yuri had gone in, it would've been a 0.1-second curbstomp—no joke. Sure, sis handled a blade like a pro and her strength was superhuman now, but how the hell would she counter speeds beyond Jeong Gwa-jang's perception? Unless they were nose-to-nose, no sword beats a gun.
"Talking like you wanted to slice him up yourself? Got a taste for cutting people?"
"..."
He'd tossed it out as a joke, but she took it straight? Cheol-woo was seriously rattled. She'd been pulling her sword in and out alone sometimes, but she was actually thinking of slicing someone again? Just yesterday—or was it the day before?—she'd been bitching at him for shooting people. Was this the same sis?
Like Jeong Gwa-jang said, we'll run into more blue drug freaks ahead. A sword might come in handy unexpectedly.
Swords were tops against bulletproof types. Problem was, that only worked on mindless zombies. Guys like Jeong Gwa-jang, who kept their wits and powered up? How do you handle them?
It was frustrating. Same drug, but some mutated, some enhanced. What decided it? He should've asked before killing the bastard—that was his big regret.
He'd grill the Han bosses on it. They had their own skeletons, and with Mi-young as leverage, they'd spill easy.
"Oh, this. Woman in the trunk."
Yuri let out a dumbstruck voice. What the fuck? Did I hear that wrong?
She waited for an explanation, but her brother showed no sign of elaborating, no matter how long she waited. Frustrated, Yuri yelled into the phone.
"I did. What more?"
"There was one. Gagged and tied in the office cabinet. Looked like an Oriental Shipping employee. Name's Kim Mi-young or something. Figured she could be leverage for negotiating with their boss, so I gagged her again and loaded her up."
Yuri's sigh-laden exasperation burst out. Explain it properly, damn it. Compared to leaving her or killing her, this was the smart play—but the way he said it made him sound like a psycho. Anyone overhearing would peg him for a kidnapper, no question.
"She's small, so she fit right in the travel trunk. We'll check her out at the hotel. See what she knows and doesn't."
"..."
He'd been planning torture if needed? Cheol-woo swallowed the thought and went silent. After some uhh, yeah, okay bullshit, he hung up and checked the rearview.
The bad vibe lingered. He'd taken detours, scanned obsessively for tails—nothing. But the unease wouldn't fade.
That call from Park I-sa, though?
There it was—the source. That phone ringing in the office. Park I-sa's voice, distorted: Min Cheol-woo is in the office right now or something. He couldn't recall the exact words, but the vibe stuck.
How'd Park I-sa know his location? Cheol-woo's mind raced.
GPS tracker? Where? He'd changed clothes, everything. Only constant was his M9, which he'd disassembled and checked obsessively—no tracker.
Gurgle—hand to his aching gut.
Wait. No fucking way?
The hotel loomed closer. The deeper he went, the more it felt like quicksand. Vision blurring, body screaming alarms with electric pain stabs.
Cheol-woo gasped, slammed the brakes.
"Hngh!"
Bwaaaaaang! A massive truck blasted past, horn blaring. He dodged by inches—then crash! The driver's window shattered, shoulder stung.
Sniper fire!? From the driver's side—dive opposite.
He ducked low, flung open the passenger door, bailed out. Bullet wound? Shoulder check: a syringe needle embedded.
Ripped it out—empty.
Tranquilizer dart!
No tail—an ambush. Tranquilizers over live rounds from the start? They were confident in capture.
Why the sudden shift from kill-on-sight? Unless they'd predicted this route, set the trap...
"Fuckin'..."
Body heavy, eyelids drooping. Legs buckled—thud, faceplant.
Cars screeched to halt around him. Armed goons piled out, encircling.
No shots—approaching slow, watching him.
Fuck, no feeling in his gun hand. His M9 lay on the ground, not in grip. This bulky body—only his left hand twitched, nowhere near the pistol.
"Yes, Director Park. We've secured Min Cheol-woo."
"Pop the trunk. Whoa—what the hell?"
"Gun down! Get it away! If this fucker grabs it, we're fucked!"
"Cuffs! Hurry! Cuff him! Why aren't you moving in!"
"Uh, s-sir... he's still got his eyes open..."
"He's too fucked up to move—what's there to fear, you pussies! Gimme the cuffs! I'll do it!"
One thing within reach of his prone left hand: a packet of blue drug.
From what he'd seen with junkies and Jeong Gwa-jang, definitely an upper. Awakening guaranteed.
But after? If he stayed sharp like Jeong Gwa-jang—lucky. If he zombified? Black mouth, reeking breath, mindless...
Fuck no. Horrifying.
"Cuffs fir—huh?! Hey! Heyheyhey! He's dosing!"
"Shoot! Shootshootshoot! Fire, fuck! Headshot!"
Sniiiiiff—
***
Is it working? Gotta be, right?
Peek-peek—the sniper scoped the road.
Ambush success. Super senses or not, he'd dodge the signal-ignoring truck. Stop spot predetermined—sniper's job: hit stationary target. Easy.
Putting in this much effort pays off.
Never look at target pre-shot—his iron rule. Window open one second before firing, 400+ meters from cover. That psycho would've spotted him otherwise.
Tranquilizer, but subsonic risky—monster reflexes might dodge on sound cue. Crazy, but plausible for him. So supersonic propellant dart, rare as hell domestically.
Bang! Noise irrelevant—dart hits first.
Dart punched window, nailed shoulder. Elephant-dose—shock or knockout inevitable.
Watched goons swarm from across stopped cars. One with cuffs heading aft. Secured. Clear.
Job done—escape Yu Sil-jang, join Park I-sa? Heart pounding.
"Cuffs fir—huh?! Hey! Heyheyhey! He's dosing!"
"Shoot! Shootshootshoot! Fire, fuck! Headshot!"
"Eh...?"
Sudden chaos? Cuffs guy floated up, over the car—then yanked midair, arm snapped, crashed.
Guns blazed, gunfire deafening.
Rat-tat-tat! Bang-bang! Popcorn crackle.
Hit him clean? Elephant-killer dose? Why—how?
Sniper helpless, muttering impossibles. Target hidden, dart can't pierce car.
"Ah. Hey. Why the fu..."
Pop-pop—goons firing aft jerked heads back, slumped one by one. Helplessly.
Impossible. Tranqued, disarmed, surrounded—yet getting wiped?
Finally, Min Cheol-woo emerged from behind the car, one-handing a bloodied, armored goon like a shield, advancing.
Rat-tat-tat! Absorbed bursts, pistol counter—one shot, one kill. Pivot, block, repeat.
100kg+ corpse one-handed? No time for questions.
Won't tank two.
Calm reload, aimed neck. Sub-100m moving target—amateur miss.
Bang! Perfect arc.
Then—snatched clean.
...Huh?
'Snatched'?
"...?"
Caught the tranquilizer dart?