The car carved through the night like a shadow, barely more than a whisper against the cold wind rushing past the windows. The city lights of Nampo spread across the horizon in blinking patches of yellow and blue, but inside the vehicle, silence clung to the air, thick, suffocating, unbroken.
Sang-ho drove with both hands on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. Every few seconds, a light from a passing streetlamp traced across his features, revealing exhaustion buried beneath a thin layer of forced calm.
No one spoke.
Vlad stared out the passenger window, fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee, a habit he had when thinking too fast for his own good. Tae-min sat behind Sang-ho, leaning back with his head resting against the seat, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. Soo-jin kept scanning the mirrors, every shift of shadow making his shoulders tense.
After several long minutes, Sang-ho finally broke the silence.
"We need to pick up weapons," he muttered.
"My place should still have some. At least enough for us to defend ourselves."
He said it firmly, like reassurance for himself more than anyone else.
The others didn't argue. They didn't have a better plan. They didn't have any plan.
Soon, they turned off the main road onto a quieter street lined with small houses and dim alleyways. It was a modest neighborhood, not wealthy, not poor, the type of place where people still greeted their neighbors in the morning and where old retirees watered their plants before sunrise.
Sang-ho slowed the car as they approached his home.
Or where his home should have been.
The closer they got, the thicker the smoke smell became.
At first, they thought it was from some distant fire. Maybe someone burning trash. Maybe a warehouse incident.
But as Sang-ho turned the corner, his headlights illuminated the truth.
The house was gone.
Nothing remained except a collapsed skeleton of blackened wood, warped metal, and heaps of ash still faintly glowing from lingering heat.
The air was thick with soot. Embers floated upward like dying fireflies.
Sang-ho didn't speak.
He parked the car and stepped out slowly, the crunching sound of burnt debris under his shoes echoing in the quiet street. Tae-min, Vlad, and Soo-jin followed him, but kept their distance, watching him carefully.
Sang-ho stood before the ruins of his home, everything he'd built, every memory, every piece of his life, all reduced to dust and smoke.
He placed his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply.
Then… he laughed.
A dry, breathless, almost relieved laugh.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a shaking hand, and took a long drag. Smoke left his lips in slow, controlled streams.
"Well," he said with a wry grin, "looks like I don't have to worry about cleaning anymore."
Vlad blinked, confused.
Tae-min shook his head softly.
Soo-jin sighed under his breath.
But this was Sang-ho, when pushed into the darkest corners, he didn't collapse. He bounced back, pouring charisma over the cracks like glue. It wasn't denial. It wasn't humor. It was survival.
He turned around, grinning far too brightly for the situation.
"Let's go. I'm done with this depressing place."
They got back in the car.
As they drove off, the burning remains of his home disappeared into the blackness behind them, swallowed by the night.
The Road to Seongrim
Their next destination was Seongrim, the only place that still held a chance for refuge. Or so they hoped.
The highway was empty, unusually so for the night. The silence outside felt wrong, too deliberate, too prepared.
They reached the border road connecting Nampo to Seongrim within twenty minutes.
And stopped.
A massive convoy of trucks blocked the entire road, positioned diagonally, lights off, engines silent. Like a row of enormous beasts sleeping across the asphalt.
Sang-ho muttered a curse.
"Damn it… Seo's people."
Before anyone could react, one of the trucks revved its engine and began moving toward them.
Sang-ho gripped the steering wheel.
"Hold on."
He spun the wheel sharply and reversed, the car lurching backward just as the truck accelerated.
Shots rang out, muffled pops, metal sparking from the asphalt beside the car.
Soo-jin ducked instinctively.
Vlad grit his teeth.
Tae-min held onto the seat in front of him, trying to stay steady.
The chase ignited instantly.
The truck barreled after them, its headlights flaring through the night like the eyes of some monstrous predator. It was bigger, heavier, and stronger… but Sang-ho had something the driver didn't.
Instinct.
Charisma.
Recklessness.
And a renewed sense of fearlessness.
He whipped the car around a tight corner, tires screeching loudly.
The truck followed but nearly overturned on the sharp turn.
"You still got it," Soo-jin muttered through clenched teeth.
Sang-ho flashed a grin.
"Never lost it."
The truck rammed a row of garbage bins, scattering debris across the road. The noise echoed down the street, dragging curtain lights from apartment windows.
Still, Sang-ho kept driving, weaving between alley entrances and smaller lanes, using the city's narrow streets against the oversized vehicle.
A sharp left turn.
A split-second right.
A sudden brake that caused the truck to overshoot.
And then...
A straight open lane.
Sang-ho slammed the gas pedal.
The truck struggled to turn around in the cramped space, its wheels spinning uselessly against the curb.
They were free.
For now.
The Ruins of Home, Again
They continued west.
Tae-min finally spoke for the first time in nearly an hour.
"I need to get something from my apartment. Just money."
Sang-ho gave him a side glance in the mirror.
"You're sure? It might not be safe."
But Tae-min nodded.
And so they went.
As soon as they approached the familiar block of apartments, however, they saw it.
Smoke rising into the night sky.
Police lines.
Firefighters.
Onlookers gathered in tense clusters.
The entire apartment building, all twelve floors, had been burned. Flames had already been extinguished, but the destruction remained absolute. Windows shattered. Walls charred black. A hollowed-out skeleton of a once-lively residence.
Tae-min stepped out of the car slowly. The others followed.
He didn't blink.
His apartment was gone. His saved money, gone. His past year of small struggles and small victories, gone.
A firefighter walked past them, shaking his head. Another resident asked something about casualties.
The answer was quiet.
"One confirmed…"
Tae-min felt something twist inside.
The landlady.
The woman who used to leave extra food in front of tenants' doors. Who scolded him for not eating breakfast. Who insisted on giving him discounts when he paid rent early.
He wasn't angry.
He couldn't be. The feeling was too strange, too muted.
But there was a sting, a deep, sharp one in his chest, like a memory being scraped raw.
Sang-ho placed a hand on his shoulder.
Tae-min didn't move.
"We have to go," Sang-ho said gently.
Tae-min nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the smoldering ruins.
They returned to the car.
Heading West
The road stretched into the darkness, wide and empty. No trucks. No men. No obstacles.
But inside the car, the silence felt heavier than ever.
Soo-jin looked ahead with hollow eyes.
Vlad rested his forehead against the window, breathing fog onto the glass.
Tae-min stared at his hands, the faint smell of smoke still clinging to his clothes.
Sang-ho drove with a straight face, but his knuckles were white on the wheel.
They weren't running from a man anymore.
They were running from a shadow, something too big, too connected, too prepared.
Nampo behind them was burning.
Seongrim ahead of them was blocked.
And the road west led into unknown territory.
None of them spoke.
Not because there was nothing to say but because there were no words left.
The night stretched on endlessly.
And for the first time since everything began, they all wondered, quietly, deeply...
What if there was no safe place left?