Cover, Hide, Overlay
Cover it. Hide it. Paint over it.
“A suicide stunt because he'd grown distant from his wife? What a devoted husband.”
“So, Cap. Is that story actually true?”
“He made it up. But I'm listening to you, aren't I? See, you and I have something in common. That's how you build rapport first — that's what makes persuasion stick.”
Though it didn't seem entirely made up. The crew chuckled around him, and Yoon Jay was right there among them.
They were on their way back from talking a man down off an apartment rooftop. Thankfully, no one had died.
If today just kept going like this, it would be a decent day. The weather was nice, there'd been no major incidents, and the clueless rookie hadn't gone and jinxed them with anything like Gee, it's kind of slow today~
“JJ. What was the gift you got this morning?”
At Oliver's question, everyone in the truck turned their eyes on Yoon Jay.
“A gift? Another woman?”
“You lucky bastard. What number is this even?”
“This time it was a guy.”
“Whoa.”
“Why not just switch teams? That's one less competitor for the rest of us.”
Yoon Jay shook his head with a laugh that said you never learn, do you — and even that laugh had the easy grace of a man who had it all, which drew a short round of laughter from the crew.
“Get your facts straight, though. Remember that kid I reported for suspected abuse a month ago? He showed up with a social worker. It was a drawing he'd made himself.”
“Oh, that kid. How'd it turn out?”
“An aunt in Minnesota is taking him in. Thank God.”
It had all started with a small fire in a kitchen. They'd managed to put it out before it spread, but it came from a kid fumbling through cooking alone — and the sight of him, shabby and threadbare, the wounds peeking out between his clothes, had raised enough suspicion that Jay collected evidence with a police officer he knew.
“That's not the same kid, is it.”
“Shut it.”
He cut Oliver's whisper off short.
“Beer after shift?”
“Sounds good. JJ, you in?”
“I'm in.”
“Hell yes!”
The guys who were single or recently dumped clenched their fists in excitement. People tended to flock around Yoon Jay. Women especially. Surely one of them would show up alone? No — they'd come in packs with their friends.
But unlike what they intended, Yoon Jay simply didn't want to go home early. A few days ago he'd received some bad news, and he was afraid that sitting alone in a silent house would let other thoughts creep in.
(Station 132, this is 911 Dispatch. Do you copy?)
“Station 132, we copy.”
(We have an emergency situation.)
The moment the radio delivered its grave report, the crew's faces hardened in an instant.
“You're kidding me.”
“A shooting?”
At a school, of all places?
(There are children trapped on the west side of the building, per the school's layout.)
“How many shooters?”
(Four confirmed. Callers say they appear to be drug addicts.)
Groans escaped from all around. Not a single one of them could utter another word until they reached the scene.
When they arrived, the students who had already escaped were sobbing, and police were everywhere.
“Sergeant Howard, what's the situation?”
“Not good. We've got a sniper positioned over there, but we can't move in case it provokes the shooters.”
“Damn it all…”
Just then, the radio crackled again.
(Station 132, do you copy?)
“Go ahead.”
(A student trapped inside the science lab has posted a video.)
“If he could record and send it, the shooter must be far away, right?”
(He didn't record it. He's streaming it live, right now.)
What? Oliver swiftly pulled out a tablet pad and pulled up the social media account dispatch had given them.
(Please… please. I'm going to die like this.)
(Someone — somebody, please come…)
Part of the screen was smeared red — whether he'd been shot or not, no one could tell. A student fidgeted frantically, begging for someone to save his friend, while another pressed down on the wound for all he was worth. It wasn't working. The problem was that the injured kid wasn't the only one. There were two.
“We have to go.”
“No. We wait until the SWAT team clears the situation. That's protocol.”
“Cap, at this rate this kid won't last thirty minutes. He needs emergency treatment now.”
Chloe, the paramedic who had seen how bad the wounds were, stared down the Captain with stubborn, unyielding eyes.
(Please save us.)
(Someone, please hurry. My friends' blood types are…)
The Captain stared at the children on the screen. The ones left behind were there for their wounded friend, and the kid lying collapsed — terrified out of his mind himself — was waving the others off, telling them to get out fast.
His resolve wavered. But he was the officer in charge of an entire fire company. He couldn't just throw protocol out the window.
“Fine. But only a small team goes.”
Still — kids streaming live and begging for rescue, and a SWAT team that hadn't even arrived yet… it was doable. After a brief moment of deliberation, the Captain gave his approval.
“Cap, I'm going too.”
“Why?”
“It's my school. I know the layout.”
“911's pulling the floor plans now, so we don't need you. It's dangerous.”
“There's a side passage that isn't on the maps. If we go through it, we can get in without being spotted.”
“…Fine.”
The team came together fast. Chloe. Dan, the school graduate. Sergeant Howard, who declared he wasn't about to sit on his hands either.
And then — the Captain watched Yoon Jay stride past him, gear already on, and frowned.
“JJ. Why you?”
“I'm going too.”
“Ex-Navy SEAL or not, you think you can stop stray bullets with your bare body?”
“No, sir. As Chloe's assistant.”
Part of the rescue squad was dispatched elsewhere, which left Chloe as the only paramedic on-site. They couldn't wait for another engine company to arrive — and someone needed to back her up.
“I can do it.”
“Chloe? Your call.”
Chloe looked at Yoon Jay.
He was an odd one. Nobody had taught him a thing, yet he handled most emergency care with practiced ease. He'd later admitted he'd learned it by watching over her shoulder as she worked.
Still, come on — a few glances and you move like that? She'd even urged him to get his paramedic certification because of it.
“I want JJ with me.”
“All right. Remember it — every one of you comes back alive.”
“Yes, Captain.”
And so the makeshift team edged cautiously toward the school. Word spread, and the students' families, then the broadcast stations, began trickling toward the grounds one by one.
They slipped through the hidden side passage and climbed the wall to enter on the second floor.
“Firefighters!”
“We're saved!”
“Shh! Quiet.”
The trapped kids let out a hushed cheer the moment they saw them. To these children, Yoon Jay and his team were hope itself.
“JJ, you take that one.”
“Give me your instructions.”
“Painkillers first.”
Chloe took the critically injured patient; Yoon Jay took the boy whose wounds were comparatively lighter. Dan assisted beside them, passing instruments, while Sergeant Howard kept watch on the world outside.
“Some bad luck you're having today, huh?”
“Ye… yes.”
“What's your name?”
Yoon Jay kept talking to steady the boy's nerves even as his hands never stopped moving. That easy chatter — someone's actually talking to me, someone's here — was enough to loosen the knot of fear in the kid's chest.
“Why were you in the science lab? You like science?”
“He's getting a scholarship next year and going to college.”
“Oh… must be a real brainiac, then.”
The answer came from the friend beside him, the one holding up the IV bag and blood pack. As it turned out, the whole livestreaming idea had been this kid's quick thinking. And even in the middle of all that, he'd relayed the blood types… Thank God for one clever kid.
Just then, gunshots rang out in the distance. The boy shuddered as if seized by a convulsion.
“A-am I dying? Is that what's happening?”
“Why would you die? We're here.”
“I'm — I'm going to die. There's — there's so much blood—”
“Shh… don't talk. What was your name again?”
“Benjamin.”
“Ben. You're not alone.”
In this line of work, you learn how to talk to people properly. You learn that you must never say things like I'll get you out of here alive or Our teammate's on the way, so you'll be fine — the same way a doctor never promises a patient a guaranteed cure.
(The shooters are heading for the counseling office. SWAT will breach shortly. There may be an exchange of fire.)
“Dan, where's the counseling office?”
“Opposite end of the building from here.”
“Close?”
“Not exactly… but if we run, we can make it outside.”
Yoon Jay and the others exchanged looks. Then a small nod. Yoon Jay hoisted Benjamin onto his back; Dan took Chloe's patient.
And they bolted for the open air.
One of the shooters spotted them and thrust his muzzle forward. At the same moment, SWAT breached the building.
Bang! Bang-bang! Gunfire and crossfire. Glass shattered somewhere, and shards came flying from who knows where.
A high-pitched eeeeee— rang in his ears.
A past he'd thought he'd barely overcome came surging back up to the surface. It tangled with the bad news he'd heard days ago, and the terrified students screamed at the sound of the gunfire.
“Ben. We're outside. You're safe now.”
And when he came back to himself, they were outside. Yoon Jay tended first to the boy on his back.
“Ben? Benjamin?”
But something was wrong with him. Yoon Jay hurriedly laid him on the ground.
“Cardiac arrest!”
“Somebody get the defibrillator!”
He started compressions immediately. His breathing grew ragged, sweat beading on his forehead. His ears felt stuffed with cotton — he couldn't properly hear what was going on around him.
“JJ. Hey.”
“…28, 29, 30.”
“Jay!”
“…What?!”
“It's been twelve minutes. You've been doing CPR for twelve minutes already.”
The golden window had long since closed. Yoon Jay collapsed where he stood, half spent. Oliver patted him on the shoulder, then hurried off in another direction.
Strange sounds kept bleeding into his ears. Something felt like it was pressing down on his whole body — but he stood back up. There was no time to sit and sink. There was still so much to do.
“It ended with a light disciplinary measure. The broadcasts had an effect too.”
“Phew…”
Time had passed since that day. Station 132, for ignoring protocol, had found itself hauled before the state government.
But the SWAT team's late arrival was partly to blame, and had they not slipped in covertly, the wounded students would have bled out and died. The footage from the student who never turned off his stream played its part too.
Besides, the sight of Yoon Jay on the news was more than enough to win the public's sympathy. There had been floods of protest — why are you punishing a hero?
“But we're never bowing to that kind of nonsense again. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“JJ, come with me.”
The relieved firefighters dispersed, and Yoon Jay alone followed the Captain into his office.
“The autopsy came back.”
“For Benjamin?”
“Yeah. Benjamin. It wasn't that you handled it badly. They said you did everything right. Most likely the gunshots startled him into shock as you were carrying him out.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. It was just… the boy's luck ran out. That's all it was.”
Those words weren't much comfort. Yoon Jay silently nodded.
The Captain narrowed his eyes. Looking at him like this, he seemed perfectly fine, but…
“So. How are you holding up?”
“I'm fine.”
“Really? You could take more time off.”
“A week was enough.”
But the Captain didn't drop his skeptical gaze. It wasn't out of fear that trauma might compromise his work — it was human concern. As long as Yoon Jay served in his firehouse, Yoon Jay was his family.
“I'm really okay, Captain.”
Yoon Jay answered with the same expression, the same tone, the same manner as always. So seamless that one could only concede, huh, he really does look fine?
“…All right. Go on.”
“Yes, sir.”
But you couldn't fool a veteran's eyes. The Captain let out a long sigh and called him back.
“JJ. I've spent more than half my life doing this job.”
“…”
“Bottling everything up and pressing on isn't healthy. Whatever you dam up for temporary relief — one day it bursts.”
This was back when his concealing act was still clumsy. Of course the Captain noticed. Yoon Jay pressed his lips shut tight.
“When it's time to pour it out, pour it out. To a friend, a family member, a counselor — whoever it is.”
“…”
“Or find your own way to let it go. The sooner, the better.”
Yoon Jay opened his eyes, got out of bed, and swallowed the pills on the nightstand without so much as a sip of water. Then he went to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water.
Maybe it's because it rained yesterday…
He caught sight of himself in the mirror — and there was a crack running through his face. If something's broken, you repair it. Because this wasn't the version of himself he wanted to be.
Yoon Jay fixed his gaze on his own face in the mirror and erased everything around it.
What do I want to become? He reached back and dredged up the version of himself that had been, if not whole, at least relatively intact — not this frail thing before him. An experience endured once was an experience he could draw on again.
Will this much do?
Cover it. Hide it. And paint over it. That was his own way of letting it go.