The Headless Regeneration
Detective Lee sat in the driver's seat of the car parked near the Western Main Road, his eyes glued to the binoculars without a break. The rookie from the narcotics squad yawned in the passenger seat and sat up, looking thoroughly flustered. When he'd closed his eyes for a nap, Detective Lee had been staring out the window—and now, eyes open, he was in the exact same position.
"Detective Lee, is it really okay for us to be doing this?"
"What's not okay about it? We're already out here on annual leave anyway."
"I didn't take any leave, sir."
"Then get the fuck out, you punk."
The rookie started to say Yes, sir, I'll go but stopped short. If he actually left just because he was told to, he'd get smacked upside the head for sure. Detective Lee had been peering at the entrance to the Western Main Road, cordoned off since yesterday and through the night.
He'd tried to get onto the accident scene under the pretext of providing support, only to be blocked by traffic cops. Even flashing his detective badge did nothing—they were immovable. When he tried pulling strings from higher-ups, everyone just told him to stand down and be patient, offering zero actual help.
After that, Detective Lee had snapped and been glued to this spot ever since, keeping watch.
"What the hell—a few tankers exploding, and they wrap it up tighter than Fort Knox."
There'd been no shootout, no terrorism—just a chain-reaction tanker explosion. No reason to block fellow cops so desperately. And what kind of accident cleanup took all night? If it was road damage repairs dragging on, you'd expect to see maintenance vehicles loaded with equipment heading in—but nope.
"Whoa, vehicle carrier's coming out."
"Snap pics. Snap 'em! Hit that shutter!"
"Yes, sir! Keeping it going."
Click-click-click—they photographed the carrier pulling out, and Detective Lee immediately snatched the camera to check the shots. But damn—the vehicles on the carrier were completely covered with tarps. Why hide the accident vehicles? It was like advertising we're up to no good.
The problem was, they knew it full well, but had zero evidence.
"If you're getting out, do it now."
"Pardon?"
"I'm gonna tail that carrier and see what's under the tarp. If you don't wanna get dragged into it, get out now."
"Ah. Understood."
"···."
The door slammed open. The rookie hopped out without hesitation. Detective Lee shot him a what the fuck? glare but couldn't waste more time—he floored the accelerator.
Vroooom—Watching the car speed away, the rookie shook his head.
Those who can survive, should.
"Huh? What the—?"
Then his phone buzzed nonstop—bzzz-bzzz—messages flooding in. An emergency order for all narcotics squad members to return immediately.
The rookie dismissed the alert and opened another messenger app. Messages from a buddy piled up.
He tapped the video link, and it opened in YouTube. A familiar road filled the screen. Wasn't this near Gangnam Station? Shot on a phone—the footage shook wildly.
The screen whipped around, then a staggering figure appeared—someone in body armor, drunk-walking like they couldn't control their limbs.
The video zoomed out, capturing the man's upper body fully. But above the neck—nothing. Blood spurted from the headless stump, soaking the asphalt as the figure lurched forward slowly. The cut was ragged, like a dull knife hack job, the neck dangling messily. Yet the headless corpse kept shambling—stagger-stagger.
"···."
Then cut. The page refreshed forcibly: Video deleted.
What... what the fuck is going on? The rookie's hands trembled.
Squad leader messages kept pinging: Emergency—return now.
"Who the hell's candid-cameraing me? How does shit always go down this dynamically?"
At the company hospital, Park I-sa clutched his throbbing ribs carefully as he entered the restricted access area. The more he chewed on it while walking, the more bullshit it felt.
First off, trying to take out Min Cheol-woo and getting wiped out instead. Careless? Bullshit. With Jeong Gwa-jang dropped cold, who the hell would've let their guard down? The plan was flawless, the ambush perfect. They'd even dosed him with anesthetic properly. Should've been game over—capture the bastard, right?
Instead, after a brutal fight, the sniper's the sole survivor reporting: "Everyone but me—total wipeout."
"Haa, fucking···."
If that was it, he'd just spike his blood pressure and move on. Min Cheol-woo could be hunted later. The real clusterfuck came during cleanup.
Those crazy fucks had doused themselves in drugs, shoved grenades in their mouths, and blown their heads off—scattering skull fragments everywhere. Cleaning that shit was no joke.
But some flesh was missing no matter how they searched. Not scraps—a whole goddamn torso vanished.
Did the headless body just walk its ass out?
"What the hell is this! Take it down now!"
"Deleting it immediately, Director Park."
It really walked out. Lee Team Leader's torso was found 200 meters from the scene, downtown. Outside the zone pre-cleared by traffic cops. Team 2 rushed out in a jeep and recovered it—just barely. Any later, and it'd be in police or NIS hands.
"Ah, Director Park. We've been waiting."
"Dynamic as fuck, really···."
Reaching the isolation room, there it was on the operating table—limbs strapped down. Exactly as reported, exactly as in the video. The neck stump shredded by the grenade blast, no head left at all. Not even brain fragments—completely gone.
Yet Lee Team Leader's torso thrashed like a live fish, flopping wildly and spraying blood everywhere.
"What's its status? Rigor mortis?"
"No. It's alive. Not muscle spasms—truly alive. Heart's beating fine, nerves intact. We're cycling blood through tubes into the severed arteries··· See? Pulse normal, heartbeat steady."
"That flailing's normal?"
"For a decapitated body? Yeah."
The doctor's calm reply left Park speechless. The pulse spiked wildly, faded, repeated—but the heart was beating, period. Head blown off, and the heart keeps going? Nerves don't die? The doc couldn't explain it either.
"Hit it! Now!"
He yanked his hazmat mask back on and rushed into the isolation room. Defib once, twice, three times on the headless torso—a surreal sight.
Still, no heartbeat revival—just fading away. As the doc and nurses started giving up, Park pulled a blue drug packet from his pocket.
Lee Team Leader's last radio: 'Taking meds and blowing myself up.'
Surely··· not?
"Director! No hazmat suit—you can't come in!"
"Outta the way. Got something to try. This the vein? Yank the tube."
"Pardon?"
"Tube. Out. Now."
Drug absorption rates: IV, mucosal, oral. So how fast direct into the vena cava?
The neck tube ripped free, exposing the carotid. Peering in, Park's brow furrowed. Something inside—zzzt-crackle—tearing? No, growing?
He dumped the blue drug straight into the vein.
"Tube back in."
"Yes."
"D-Doc! Pulse returning!"
Heart thumped thud-thud. The torso regained vigor, limbs flailing anew.
Brain-dead patients on ventilators and dialysis barely lasted weeks. But this headless fucker? Just tube the vessels, and every organ functioned fine. Feed it somehow, and it'd live forever?
"Wound regenerated about 2 millimeters in the last hour."
"Insane. Is that thing even human?"
Park thought he'd seen every blue drug side effect, but this? New.
Typical effects: aggression, violence, massive muscle/bone density boosts. But rarely—very rarely—guys kept their sanity. They got unique side effects. Lee Team Leader's? Ridiculous regeneration.
What the fuck did those chinks brew? Park started feeling scared.
Survive any wound, regenerate? Medical revolution. But only one-in-a-thousand got it. Hong Kong blue drug supply nearly cut off—no stock for tests. This torso: sole sample.
"Will a head regrow too?"
"Bone/brain regen? We'll see. So, Director—mind if my team takes custody? Daily reports, nurses silenced tight."
"···."
Translation: Let me monopolize this monster for research, on the sly.
Park had no comeback—just laughed in disbelief. Another doc saying that? He'd be beaten bloody.
"Status reports every 12 hours, down to the detail. Blue drugs incoming ASAP—keep it alive."
"Yes, sir. Looking forward to working with you, Director Park."
Slippery weasel—muttering under his breath, Park exited.
The doc who'd implanted the tracker in Min Cheol-woo's gut—and tipped him off first. Sure, he'd report to Kim Sa-jang later, but coming to Park before Yu Sil-jang? Key.
First ambush failed, but now endless pursuit on Min Cheol-woo. Huge merit.
"How much blue drug that fucker's gonna scarf···."
Research yields would pay big—but until then, blue drug costs? If it ran dry before results? Fuck—torso dies, money wasted.
Park scratched his head furiously and bolted from the hospital. Lee Team Leader could wait—hunt Min Cheol-woo now.
"Hey! Found Min Cheol-woo?"
He'd dispatched secondary pursuit the moment ambush failure hit. Min Cheol-woo'd sense something off from constant tailing, but what choice? Tracker in his gut—short of cutting himself open, inescapable.
Ha, that doc. Ballsy as hell.
Slipping a tracker into the wound and sewing it up? Insane—at first. But reaping benefits now, no complaints.
Though Park'd never let that doc operate on him.
Watching bodycam feeds live, Park's eyes bulged. Tracker pinged right there—but walkway empty. Still moving? Underground? Flying?
No matter how they scoured, no Min Cheol-woo.
One agent lifted the stream cover beside the walkway. Heavy stone lid—took several to budge.
Bodycam caught a small plank floating down the stream. Bloodied capsule stuck to it—the tracker.
Agents stunned. Park stunned.
"He... pulled that out of his gut? How?"
Deep in the bullet wound, sewn in tight. Out? No hospital, field surgery? And didn't bleed out?
Park's head filled with question marks—whoa-whoa-fuck-insane bastard—as an agent reached into the stream.
"No no no! Don't touch it! Could be a booby tra—"
BOOM! Explosion rocked—the screen spun wildly, then cut to black.
Fuck—Park's blood pressure skyrocketed.