ep3. The Hospital That Hunts Humans (2)

“Those violent offenders are in the same space as you right now, Seo Do-woon.”

“I'm sorry... what?”

“There's no time, so I'll keep this brief. It's a measure mandated by the Special Zone Special Act.”

Brief was right. The problem was that it wasn't an explanation at all.

When I failed to muster any response, the topknot bastard belatedly elaborated.

“Suspects accused of serious crimes within a Special Zone are tried by the Bureau. If the charges are proven, their status is confirmed as inmates, and they're deployed on Special Zone exploration missions.”

At the topknot's toneless delivery, I went numb in an entirely different way. What had I just heard?

So commit a crime inside a Special Zone and you don't face a court — you face judgment from some outfit called the Bureau? And if you're convicted, you don't get a fine or a prison sentence — you get sentenced to Special Zone exploration? It was so far divorced from common sense that I couldn't process it. No right to counsel? Not even that?

No, forget defense rights — what happened afterward was the real problem. You could die inside a Special Zone. Whatever these people had done, was it really acceptable to throw human beings into a place like that?

I was still reeling when something snapped into place. The rulebook at the railway station had contained a clause called 'Patriotic Death,' hadn't it.

Ah, right. These were people who told ordinary civilians, 'If you're going to die anyway, die usefully.' So of course they'd have even less scruple about criminals.

Viewed that way, absurdly enough, it actually made sense. Besides, there was something far more urgent I needed to know.

“So the inmates serving that sentence — they're exploring the place where I am right now?”

“That's correct.”

The topknot affirmed it flatly. Is there a god? No. There absolutely isn't. Being dragged back into this nightmare was already bad enough, and now I learn the other humans swarming this place are all violent felons.

“Haah...”

I exhaled, still in shock. The topknot granted me about five seconds of grace, then resumed reciting his precautions. Infuriating as it was, I had no choice but to scramble and catch every word.

“That concludes the briefing. Is there anything you need to verify before we proceed?”

I was about to say no when I changed my mind and asked a question of my own.

“May I have your name?”

“Team Leader Cha Si-eon, Response Team 3, Special Zone Management Bureau.”

I'd asked so I could curse him properly in hell if things went sideways. I hadn't expected anything, but to my surprise, a clear answer came back. And somehow that was more ominous. It felt like I was no longer being treated as an outsider.

“If there are no further questions, I'll terminate the call. I say again: do not die under any circumstances. Then — good luck.”

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Click.

The topknot — Cha Si-eon — hung up. I barely managed to keep my own fraying grip on sanity from going ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the call.

Listenting to all the precautions had taken about six minutes. That left eight minutes until the Moving Gun resumed activity. I scrambled into motion and found the mask first, covering my face, then hunted down a pair of indoor slippers that were roughly the right size and put them on.

“Your current location is the ninth-floor inpatient ward of the main building.”

“The Moving Gun is currently suspended on the fourth floor of the main building. The inmates are holding position on the second floor.”

“The main building has thirteen stories above ground, but you risk being isolated on the upper floors. Use the connecting passages on basement level 1 or the second floor of the main building to move to either the Children's Hospital or the Cancer Hospital.”

I followed those instructions down the emergency staircase. But a few floors down, the atmosphere of the stairwell changed drastically. Below me, the stairs were shattered beyond recognition. Bullet holes pocked the walls in dense clusters, and the floor was heaped with fragments of pulverized concrete.

“The Moving Gun rampaged for 22 minutes and 47 seconds immediately before going dormant. In the aftermath, three inmates died and all facilities on floors four through six of the main building were destroyed.”

So this must be one of the destroyed floors. I pressed my back to the wall and picked my way across the wrecked staircase. Then, two floors below, the stairs simply ended — a clean, total break.

Of course. Why of course. Should I go back? No — there wasn't time, and there was no guarantee any other staircase was intact either. I agonized for a moment, then carefully opened the stairwell door.

The sight of an utterly pristine hospital beyond left me dazed for a moment. A place that should have been crowded with people, standing completely empty — there was something uncanny about it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It felt like being the last person left in a world that had already ended. Eerie and lonely, yes — but for now, being alone was the better option, considering the résumés of anyone else loitering in here.

Fortunately, the inmates were nowhere in sight, and an escalator down to the lower floors stood reasonably close by. Good. I just need to make it that far. I set off, hugging myself as small as I could manage.

Then — huh? What was that? Something thin, like a thread, caught against my ankle. The instant I realized it, the top of my head went cold.

Crash— clatter— smash—!

The sound of shattering glass echoed gloriously through the silence. I whirled toward the noise in a panic. Beneath the outpatient reception desk, several glass bottles lay in shards, rolling on the floor. And stretched across the top of my foot was a fine white thread, barely visible at all.

What is this? No — it doesn't matter what it is! I spun around to get clear—

“There's a person over here!”

—and, ugh, of all the— damn it! A voice rang out, clear as a bell, and I froze mid-step. At the far end of the corridor, a group of people — four or five of them — were staring at me.

Is there a god? If so, I'd rather he just kill me now.

“Hey! You there!”

They strode toward me with heavy, deliberate steps. I let the tension drain out of my fleeing body and turned to face them. There were four in all. They wore identical pale-yellow work uniforms and identical masks, as if issued from the same supply closet. I couldn't see their faces, but their builds told me all of them were men: one hulking mass of muscle, one average build, one tall, and one stocky and short.

“Where'd you even come from? Take off that mask and show us your face.”

The hulking one, who seemed to be their leader, wagged his hand as he spoke. An openly threatening attitude. Honestly, I understood. Their work uniforms were spattered with blood here and there. They looked like men who'd spent the last while rolling around in a butcher's pit. And then out of nowhere, here I was wandering around in pajamas. Of course they found me suspicious.

I assessed the situation and drew a breath. Then I ground the words out as viciously as I could manage.

“What kind of bullshit is that? If you didn't want to die, you should've covered your face first, like I did. If you're so eager to get unmasked, go unmask yourself.”

At my full-force counterattack, the men stirred. So I lifted my chin even higher and pressed on.

“Some lunatics dumped us in here yapping about headcount and quotas, so don't spout that crap at me. I've been crawling like a dog this whole time just to keep out of sight.”

Let's think this through. What would happen if I said, 'I'm a law-abiding citizen and a rescue team is on the way'? The inmates, their blood all the way up to boiling, might well respond like this: 'A rescue team won't do anything for me.' 'Those bastards are the ones who threw me in here.' 'Screw it — might as well spite them and kill this one too.' In that scenario, there was a very real chance I'd get beaten to a pulp. I might even be taken hostage.

So I'd decided instead to pretend I was in the same boat as them. Then either they'd accept me as one of the gang, or they'd keep me around temporarily just to use me. It was on that calculation that I brandished my bluff and bluster.

But the mood was not good. Eyes thick with suspicion bored into me. Fine, everyone's neck is on the line here, of course they won't lower their guard easily. I understood — but there was no time! How long until the Moving Gun woke up? Four minutes now? Three? And why were these people all gathered in one place anyway? Obviously they should have scattered and taken up positions. Could it be they didn't know the Moving Gun's behavioral patterns?

While I fidgeted alone, a soft voice spoke up.

“Isn't that why they sent more people — because things can't proceed as is?”

I turned to see someone in a wheelchair emerging from the far end of the corridor. A woman, likewise masked and dressed in the work uniform. One of her legs was in a splint, apparently injured. Which brought the headcount around me to four men and one woman — I'd now met all five Cha Si-eon had mentioned. Damn it...

When the woman appeared, the men's wariness loosened a degree.

“Reinforcements? We've lost how many of us, and they send one?”

“Must have been urgent. The guy doesn't even have a uniform or a mask.”

“Still, does that make sense? If you were going to send someone, you send them properly...”

“Those bastards handle everything like absolute garbage. If I ever get out of here, I'll have my lawyer buddy gut the long-haired punk and everyone above him, top to bottom.”

Brutal as expected. They looked ready to chew anyone alive the moment they got their teeth in. The thought that that bloodlust could swing my way any second had sweat rolling down my back.

And besides, Cha Si-eon had said—

“The railway station had three violent offenders in total. All three were deployed to the Hospital That Hunts Humans. All three are alive.”

This is genuinely maddening. Yes, I'd wondered about those people. But wanting to know about them and wanting to meet them face-to-face were two very different things! Who even were those three? No — more importantly, why were these people being so leisurely about everything? Was I the only one with fire under my feet here?

“Um — did you receive your mission orders?”

The woman wheeled herself over to where I stood fidgeting. I flinched, but fortunately she didn't seem to notice. With an unhurried motion, she produced a sheaf of papers from inside her uniform.

“You didn't get anything like this?”

What she held out was a document several pages long. My anxiety ratcheted up another notch. This is no time to be reading paperwork. And yet I had no choice but to unfold it.

Those Bureau bastards... They really hadn't told the inmates a thing about the Moving Gun. Even the 'Special Advice!' section on the order wasn't printed — someone had written it in by hand, in pen.

The moment the situation crystallized in my head, I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“Run, right now, every one of—!”

WHUMP—!

Before the words had even left my mouth, the floor lurched. The first thing I registered was the tremor. The next was the holes that opened side by side in the ceiling and the floor. What followed was the scream of a man whose foot had simply ceased to exist.

“AAAAGH!”

The man, one leg severed below the ankle, thrashed and rolled on the ground. The rest convulsed in blind, uncomprehending panic. And there, alone amid that blood-soaked pandemonium, I understood before anyone else could.

The Moving Gun had resumed the hunt.