A Dog Without a Leash
My head has always been a bit of a mess, the kind that forgets trivial things easily. Still, I tried to pull the memories back as best I could. They flickered past like a reel of film, and what surfaced was an incident from my days as a Hound.
Back when I rolled around battlefields as a corporate dog, ash swirling in the air. It was winter, the perfect season for striking the enemy, yet an order came down to halt the attack and stand by. What kind of nonsense was that? A way to reduce casualties and end the war faster was right in front of us, and we were just going to ignore it? It was such an absurd command that I raised an objection with my superior. Considering how green I still was, I argued my point with surprising passion.
But the response I received was a single sentence: Don't think.
Those were the words of a gaunt field commander wearing glasses. At the time, I couldn't understand them. Of course I couldn't. What did it even mean to stop thinking on the battlefield? Was my experience too shallow to grasp it? Or was there some deeper meaning hidden in those words? I even questioned myself that much.
But now, I can say it plainly. No. There was no deeper meaning. It truly was incomprehensible from the start. Because those words weren't spoken for me, or for any Hound.
It was cold realism, without the slightest consideration for anyone. Hound. Hunting dog. What the corporations wanted was exactly that—a dog that wouldn't bite its owner and would work with absolute loyalty. If that dog started thinking unnecessarily, it would become difficult to handle. A dog that nitpicked every order and raised objections would be a real headache.
Don't think was a command given for their own sake, not for the dogs.
But I can say this with certainty now: how long can a human without thoughts or convictions survive on a battlefield like that? They would either collapse mentally or fail to endure. One or the other. And even if not, the ending would be anything but good.
And Darius had no convictions. He had no particular creed about his work. He touched anything that made money, which earned him plenty of enemies. That was why he died bearing that grudge—along with his entire crew.
That day, a single missile fell on the gas station that Darius and his gang used as their hideout. Most of it was obliterated in the blast. Right after, hired contractors swarmed in. The attack flowed like water, giving the targets no time to recover. Everyone at the gas station that day was wiped out.
When the missile struck, I was at my own place, so I luckily avoided the disaster. Besides, I wasn't an official member of Darius's crew—just a collaborator—so I wasn't even a target.
It was much later, after I realized something was wrong and went to check the gas station, that I found everything already over. Holographic police lines were strung around the ruined station. Strangely, not a single officer was guarding the perimeter. It was on the outskirts of the city, where foot traffic was low. Only a desolate wind blew through.
And in that bleak scene, someone was walking through the center of the ruined gas station.
A silver-haired woman wearing a bird-beak gas mask. Instead of pointing a gun at me when she saw me, she spoke for the first time. And what she said was a short piece of advice: A guy without convictions won't last long.
After that, work dried up, so I stayed holed up at home for a while. But during that time, maybe I'd gotten a taste for the kind of jobs I'd done with Darius, because my body itched so badly I could barely stand it. Or, come to think of it, I'd been like this even before I met him. Back then, without the drugs, I couldn't carry on with daily life either.
Lying motionless on the sofa made me feel like insects were crawling all over my body. I tried exercising hard inside my tiny apartment, even jogging in place, but the relief lasted only a moment. Each time, I would hug Paeng tightly and calm my mind. It was the same stuffed toy I hadn't touched even once since that day.
Darius had once asked me about it. If I wasn't going to use Paeng while working with him, why had I asked him to get it for me? Did the condition of obtaining Paeng really need to be attached to our collaboration?
Honestly, at the time, I didn't know either. I'd just blurted out whatever came to mind, so I couldn't explain why I'd wanted Paeng. In the end, I'd answered like this:
I don't know why, but being near Paeng calmed the itchy, wriggling feeling in my chest. It was like returning to an old hometown; the heavy turbulence in my heart would settle. Wasn't comfort better than discomfort and restlessness? That was all there was to it.
Because I like it. Because I want Paeng by my side. Because only then do I feel like my complete self.
And today, that same thought began to rise again.
I had been hugging Paeng tightly to my chest, trembling, when a sudden idea made me lift my head.
Just because Darius is gone, does that mean I can't do the work I did with him?
What had I done when I was with Darius? I had simply fought. I'd fought the clear enemies who pointed their guns at us. Right now, that was all I wanted to do. I wanted to return to the place where my body belonged. Only then would I feel whole. And if I did, I wouldn't need the drugs the doctor prescribed.
But who... who was I supposed to fight?
Why did I have to fight?
When Darius was around, I could justify it with the single reason: Because Darius told me to. The justification that I fought for the sake of collaborating with Darius had been enough. But now, did I have any reason at all? Was there any reason I had to fight?
The only thing I knew how to do was fight. The only thing I'd done my entire life was fight.
I didn't want to die. It was just that fighting was the only way I could find any value in myself. To me, a life without fighting held no value. I would be nothing more than a meaningless lump of carbon and calcium, no different from an inanimate object. My entire reason for existing was combat alone. So what justification could I use to reclaim that value?
After thinking for a little while, I came up with an answer of my own.
Darius's revenge.
I hadn't been particularly attached to the guy, but it could serve as a justification. There was no reason more obvious or primal than revenge. It was something anyone could easily understand and accept. The reason I would walk out of the house today was revenge for Darius's death. That was it. That one thing.
For some time after that, I wandered all over the city, tracking down the contractors who had taken part in the gas station raid that day. I'd already hacked the nearby CCTV footage from the time of the attack and secured the data. So I could recognize them just by their faces.
Less than two days after I started investigating, I located a group of them through a back-alley information broker.
"The hell... who's this brat? Get lost."
They must have let their guard down after seeing only my appearance when I opened the door. They tried to chase me out with half-hearted threats. But I immediately pulled the pistol from inside my coat and started shooting at them.
A girl they hadn't even been wary of suddenly opening fire threw them into confusion. Their reaction was delayed, and I was able to reap the full benefits of the surprise attack. In the end, they were all dead in less than five minutes, except for one. I'd deliberately shot that one in a non-lethal spot to incapacitate him.
I walked over to the man who had collapsed on the floor, shoved the gun barrel into his mouth, and asked,
"Talk. Who was behind it? Who told you to attack the gas station that day?"
"Mmph, mmph!!"
If there was no backer, I was prepared to force him to make one up. But fortunately, with his head about to be blown off, he spilled everything without a fuss. The names that came out of his mouth weren't just one or two. There were the personal victims who'd held grudges against Darius, rival organizations that had been pushed to the outskirts by his crew, and even the Jin Family—a name I knew well.
"He really went around making enemies everywhere."
In a way, he had brought it on himself. Anyway, I had finally learned the direct culprits behind Darius's death. The victims he'd wronged, those hostile forces, and the Jin Family. They were the ones who had orchestrated his death.
So what now?
I briefly weighed my priorities. I considered which of them I could attach a suitable justification of revenge to. What would be a plausible motive that anyone could accept?
In the end, there's only one target.
My expression hardened.
The Jin Family. The unjust death of a comrade. The vile conspiracy they had orchestrated. The scenario was perfect. The justification was perfect.
I'll crush the Jin Family first.
And so, my meaningless target was decided. A hollow revenge that would bring nothing but base self-satisfaction. An empty echo.
Outside the window, a single moth fluttered around the streetlamp.