Truck City is not an alternative to the city.It is a fictional place meant to call back the names of those the city left behind.
The conveyor belt did not speak.
It just kept moving.
Relentless.Unquestioning.Whether people kept up or not.
Kang Doyoon's first assignment was right in front of it.
"Over there."
The supervisor curled a finger.
He didn't speak.
Just a flick.That was all.
Doyoon nodded and took his place.
"Don't you explain the work?"the man beside him whispered.
The supervisor tilted his head backand pointed at the conveyor with his chin.
"Can't you tell by looking?"
That was it.
The bell rang.The machine sped up.
Boxes poured down the line.
"Hurry up.""You're falling behind!""Hey, can't you see your hands?"
Orders flew.Instructions did not.
Doyoon moved his hands.
Pack.Seal.Lift.Again.Again.
One mistake.
"Ah—damn it!"
The supervisor walked over,neck thrust forward.
"Why are first-timers always like this?"
Doyoon clenched his teeth.
Phones were surrendered at the entrance.
Bathroom breaks required permission.
"Now?"The supervisor scoffed."Look at the line."
So he held it in.
Meals lasted twenty minutes.
As soon as the bell rang,everyone lined up again.
Someone muttered,
"It's easier if you don't talk here."
That sentence stayed with him longer than it should have.
Second day. Packaging line.
There was a clique.
Veterans.They communicated with looks.
The hardest tasks always went to the newcomers.
"Hey, you—this side.""No, go lift that.""No, do this first!"
There was no rest.
One of them smiled and said,
"It's always like this at the beginning."
That smile made it worse.
On the third day, there was an accident.
A box slipped from Doyoon's hands.
The conveyor stopped.
Silence.
The supervisor approached.
This time, not with his finger—
With his chin.
Flick.
"You."
Doyoon looked up.
"How many times do I have to say this in a day?""The machine doesn't wait."
"Neither do people," Doyoon said.
The air froze.
"What?""Say that again."
Doyoon took a breath.
"People don't wait either."
The supervisor's face twisted.
"This isn't a place to process your feelings."
That was when someone poked him from behind.
"Hey. Just do the work."
Doyoon pulled off his gloves.
And dropped them on the floor.
"Let's stop."
Everyone froze.
"I understand people adjusting to machines," he said."But treating people like machines? That's different."
The supervisor laughed.
A real laugh.A mocking one.
"Then get out."
Doyoon nodded.
"Yes."
He turned around.
Behind him, someone whispered,
"Still… you did well."
That one sentence didn't save everything.
But it erased the reason to endure.
Doyoon thought:
Cities are built on people,yet people are buried beneath cities.
And now he knew—
this wasn't just a problem with hospitals.
Then—
A scream.
Sharp.Broken.
"Ah—!"
The conveyor belt started moving again.
But this time,someone hadn't pulled their hand back fast enough.
And no one stopped the machine.
This work is a piece of fiction that does not directly reference real individuals, institutions, or events.It tells an ongoing story of people who have been pushed aside again and again.
The judgment is left to the reader.