Overdose (2)
His hesitation was brief. Cheol-woo immediately dumped the blue drug powder onto the floor.
How much should he take? He had no idea what the appropriate single dose was for some mystery drug. Still, better to overdose than underdose, right? He sucked it all up in one long sniiiiif.
The moment he did, Cheol-woo's vision turned blood-red. The veins in his eyes burst with a pop-pop-pop, instantly filling with blood. His bones twisted and cracked with a wood-dud-dud throughout his body, muscles bulging massively.
What the hell? Why is everything so slow?
And then time stopped. Everything seemed not just slow, but rigidly frozen. In this halted world, only Cheol-woo moved freely.
He grabbed the wrist shoving handcuffs at him and snapped it. Or at least, that's what he thought—he'd snapped it—but the recoil sent the man flying. The guy spun wildly in the air, wrist still gripped, before Cheol-woo yanked him down, smashing his head into the pavement. Brain matter oozed out.
The agents' jaws dropped at the sight.
Is that even human?
He'd heard the "monster" whispers endlessly before, but this was too much. He should've known when Park I-sa was the only survivor from his direct team sent after Min Cheol-woo. Park had handpicked reliable guys for a secret task force—gave him a smug sense of pride. Like some covert ops squad or spec-ops team.
But he never imagined they'd actually send them into real spec-ops hell.
"Fire! Fire fire fire! Shoot him, fuck! Headshots!"
He'd clearly aimed for the head. But when he came to, Min Cheol-woo was gone, and his buddy was collapsing with blood pouring from his eye socket. Aimed again—bullet stopped dead by the dead guy's vest. In the blink of an eye, agents fell like autumn leaves.
"Fill the gaps! Cover positions immediately! If the encirclement breaks, we're fucked!"
It looked like random close-range spraying, but no—he was systematically taking out clustered agents, dismantling the perimeter. The encirclement broke!
Were they done for? No—the bastard was walking right into the sniper's sights. He wasn't even glancing that way. The fucker was so high on the drug, he'd forgotten snipers even existed.
Gotcha!
"Huh...?"
"Yeah?"
Caught it. The tranquilizer dart. With his hand.
This motherfucker? A curse exploded from Team Leader Lee's mouth.
Sniper vanished, but firepower still heavily favored them. Rifle rounds—over 3,000 per minute poured out at once. Modern CQB rules were turn-based. The side with fire superiority unleashes until their turn ends; the other hunkers down.
But this guy brazenly popped out, bang! bang! firing a couple shots to force the turn end? No grenade courtesy to claim it back—he didn't even bother.
"Why—why are we losing!?"
Striding openly into the line of fire, anyone peeking to take him down dropped. Eye contact? Dead. No eye contact? Still dead. Index finger hadn't even pulled the trigger before a hole pierced their brow.
Lucky shots? All blocked by the shield (or corpses). Agents could only poke guns from behind cars. That works on blind-firing panickers, not a guy who ignored misses and charged.
Numerical superiority meant shit. Rush and spray? One side blocked, Cheol-woo calmly shredded the other, erasing angles. No countering that.
"Fuck, all grenades out! Shove grenades in mouths, blue drug up the nose! Execute!"
Die without results? Too pathetic. At least take the bastard down—Park I-sa might cover Mom's hospital bills.
Team Leader Lee and agents grimly yanked pins, crammed grenades in mouths, gripped extras, snorted blue drug.
"Ugh uuuugh! (All out!)"
They charged, eyes bloodshot, roaring. Complex thought melted, reason fled. Only hunger and destruction left—rushing the lifeform in sight.
"Huh?"
But where'd the fucker go? They burst out—he'd vanished from where he'd been firing seconds ago.
Agents froze, grenades in mouths.
BOOM! KABOOM!
Empty street erupted in grenade blasts, flesh spraying everywhere.
"Kuh-haaak. Haaak. Haaaak..."
Hidden in the alley, Cheol-woo slumped against his carrier, gasping. What the hell was that? What just happened?
From the red vision onset, he'd sunk into a drowsy haze. Like an out-of-body third-person controlling his body? Not his will anymore—pure reflexes dominated.
Snatching a hypersonic dart? He saw it after his hand auto-grabbed. At that speed, cartilage should've shredded, bones cracked—nope, arm fine.
Charging a bullet hail with just a shield? Even for a gunfight vet, suicidal. Mind blanked? Balls of steel?
Memories crystal clear, but no clue what thought process led there. Results? Dodged/blocked everything, cleaned house. Absurdly right call.
"Haa, haaa..."
Blood cleared from eyes. Heart thundering like a sewing machine slowed to normal. Euphoria faded.
Now? Am I insane? Fucking lunatic.
Midway, encirclement broken—could've bolted. Didn't. Couldn't? No "escape" option in his drugged head.
Lucky he snapped back at the end. Otherwise, grenade-shrapnel confetti.
Ah. Jeong Gwa-jang survived worse, probably. Shredded, but alive.
That feeling... fuck. Never again.
Never wanted that twice. Monster-free? Luck or tranq? Next time, could lose reason fully. Absolutely never.
As he vowed internally, phone rang.
"No big deal. Handled it."
Calm reply to Yuri's frantic rap-style questioning. No mention of the drug—aftermath storm too fierce.
Reverse it: if sis said she chugged a coin-flip monster-drug? He'd flip too.
"Too long to explain—head to main road with the truck. No hotel. Looks raided."
"Call DongYang Department Store prez—tell him call my number. Urgent."
Urgent? Yuri's learned: in crises, follow bro over own judgment.
Hung up, Cheol-woo wheeled into the crowd. Hotel/train station area—pulling a carrier blended in. Issue: shield splatter stains everywhere.
Buying a cheap shirt from a stall to change, unknown number called.
"Yes. Me. Yu Sil-jang gone? You and Han Si-yeon prez both fine?"
Jeong Gwa-jang dead, Min Cheol-woo vanished—had to bail. Short-staffed, abandon DongYang siege, pull all for pursuit. But pursuers were Team 2, not 1. Thought he'd shaken Park I-sa—how?
Suspected tracker. Clothes swapped—no external. Must be implanted.
Genius Cheol-woo figured it: company hospital surgery. Doc sewed in during. Conscious, but muzzled, nurses holding—couldn't see lower body. Plausible.
That quack fuck—knew he was shady.
"Drew some aggro."
"Ag—what?"
"Anyway, need laparotomy. Undo sutures, extract foreign object, re-suture. Not major. No fancy setup needed."
"Oriental Group hospital? None?"
"Your doc?"
No surgery option? Cheol-woo winced. Private clinic for gut tracker? Surrender to cops.
"Totally impossible?"
"Time?"
"Yes. Call back if found."
These prez fucks—useless. Hung up, muttering.
Offered debt wipe—fat chance. Being tracked live—extract ASAP. No way?
"Mmph! Uuugh! Mmph mph!!!"
"Ah. Shut up."
Head pounding, carrier groans grew louder. She'd been sharp till now—why freak? Not blind panic; like she had something to say.
"Tch. What the?"
Grumbling, Yuri bought the full list from a nearby shop, loaded the truck. Address: public restroom.
Ah—fuck. Head hot. Fine my ass—shot again. Why hide? Does she eat the hurt?
Fuming but sensing urgency, floored it.
"Hey! Here!"
"Coming in~."
"...?"
Rushed in bags-first. Expected blood-soaked, sweat-drenched Cheol-woo collapsed... huh? Fine?
Yuri blanked. Short unknown woman snatched medkit.
"Sis okay with blood?"
"Wh-why?"
Filling syringes with morphine, jabbing Cheol-woo's intact belly. One, two, three... circle around sutures, dozen-plus shots.
Clink-clink—morphine bottle empty, Cheol-woo perched on sink.
"Quack doc implanted tracker in gut. Too deep for mini-EMP. Undo sutures, extract, re-suture. No clamps—need sis shoving chopsticks in hole to spread. Only way."
"Hey...?"
Casual explain done, mouthpiece in. Short girl masked, gloved—like routine. Too grim for joke.
Yuri wanted to faint.