Chapter 4 — A Nightmareful Night, End
The city was drowning in rain.
Sheets of water lashed across glass towers, neon signs blurred into streaks of pink and green on the slick asphalt, and storm clouds pressed down like the weight of a thousand fists. The Porsche cut through it all like a black knife, its low growl swallowed by the roar of water and thunder. Inside, Jin Soowhi gripped the wheel tight, the leather slick under his palms, his jaw locked as though the storm itself had chosen him as its rival.
The wipers scraped back and forth in furious rhythm. Each swipe revealed a world that looked less alive and more like a hallucination — empty sidewalks, reflections twisted in puddles, shadows darting at the edges of vision. The rain made the whole city shimmer as if it were melting.
He pressed harder on the gas. The Porsche surged forward, tires hissing over waterlogged streets.
"Fucking game," Jin muttered, the words low, venomous. "Fucking life. Fucking bitch."
His voice was drowned by the rain hammering the windshield, but inside the sealed car it sounded like a curse echoing off steel walls. He turned the volume knob on his stereo, letting bass-heavy rock pound through the speakers. The riffs filled the car, but they didn't fill him. The plague doctor's words bled through every beat, a phantom whisper riding on the storm.
You will die. Be careful.
Jin's lip curled. He smacked the steering wheel once with the heel of his hand.
"Yeah, yeah," he snarled to the phantom. "Said that already. Who cares?"
The guitar solo wailed on, but his own thoughts clawed over it.
The Porsche glided past Hyeonjin Square, its plaza empty save for umbrellas flipped inside out, trash clinging to the pavement in the rain. Jin's eyes flicked toward the grand fountain at its center, the marble figures slick with water. Once, before deployment, he'd walked there with her. His girlfriend at the time, clinging to his arm, laughing as she pointed at street performers juggling knives. He'd promised her he'd come back alive. He had. She hadn't waited.
The wipers dragged across the glass again. The memory washed away.
He turned sharply onto Seongmin Avenue. Bright shopfronts glowed through the storm, mannequins grinning behind wet glass. He remembered this stretch too well. It was here, after his return from the battlefield, that he saw her again for the first time — her hand in another man's pocket, his lips on her neck. Jin had stood there in uniform, a ghost drenched by drizzle, clutching a duffel bag, and realized the war hadn't ended.
The bass throbbed in his chest. His knuckles whitened around the wheel.
Ungrateful slut. Hoe. Curse you.
The rain thickened, hammering like nails on the roof. The neon signs smeared into blinding streaks of color. Jin slowed briefly, squinting, then pressed the accelerator again as if defiance could keep him on course.
Another red light caught him at the intersection near Maple Bridge. He stopped, tapping the wheel impatiently, foot heavy on the brake. Water cascaded off the bridge's iron beams, each drop clanging against metal in the silence between guitar chords.
He looked toward the bridge walkway. He remembered crossing it with his unit years ago — boots stomping in unison, rifles slung across their shoulders. He remembered laughter, too, from men who never made it back. He closed his eyes briefly, the phantom smell of gunpowder and rot filling his lungs.
The light flickered green. He opened his eyes and drove on.
You will die. Be careful.
The whisper slithered again, threaded between the storm and the music. Jin snapped his head toward the back seat, but of course it was empty. Only rainwater streaked the tinted windows.
"Hallucination," he muttered. "Just whiskey."
But he turned the volume louder anyway, desperate to drown it out. The lyrics warped in his head, the singer's voice twisting until it seemed to croon: End it, end it, end it.
"Shut up," Jin hissed. His foot pressed harder on the gas.
The Porsche roared down Han River Road, water spraying up in white arcs. To his left, the river surged black under the storm, swollen and violent, waves thrashing against the embankment. The sight pulled another ghost up from his mind — one night he'd slept in a trench beside a river just like that, mud caking his face, bullets screaming overhead. He'd thought of her then, his girlfriend safe at home, and prayed he'd live to hold her again. The next day, he almost bled out while she was fucking someone else.
Jin spat, the sound sharp in the car. "This world's a fucking joke."
The storm seemed to agree, thunder cracking so loud the glass rattled.
His vision blurred — from rain, from memory, from rage. He blinked hard, shaking his head, but the plague doctor's whisper refused to leave.
You will die. Be careful.
"Shut. Up." He slammed the steering wheel. The Porsche swerved slightly, tires shrieking against wet asphalt before straightening again.
The city narrowed here, high-rises looming on either side, windows glowing faintly like a thousand watching eyes. He caught glimpses of people hurrying under umbrellas, their faces blurred by rain and glass. Some turned their heads as he passed, as though they could feel the pull of his fury, his doom.
He ignored them. He pushed harder. The car leapt forward, engine snarling, speedometer needle climbing.
Rain became knives against the windshield. Headlights streaked across his vision like white-hot brands. The road stretched on, endless, merciless.
Then — a sound different from the storm.
A deep, guttural rumble. Louder, heavier. Not thunder. Not rain. Something else.
Jin narrowed his eyes. Up ahead, through the blur of water and light, two enormous headlights appeared. Too high, too bright. Growing fast.
A truck.
His gut twisted. The vehicle swerved unnaturally, weaving across lanes like a drunk animal. Its horn blared, a monstrous sound tearing through the storm.
Jin's pulse spiked. He jerked the wheel, swerving left. Water exploded beneath the tires, the Porsche skidding. The truck veered too, headlights lunging toward him like jaws.
"Shit!"
He slammed the brake. The car fishtailed, tires screaming. The truck barreled closer, unstoppable. Through the windshield, Jin caught a glimpse — the driver slumped forward, bottle rolling across the dashboard, his eyes half-closed, face slack. Drunk. Just drunk.
The storm howled.
The plague doctor's whisper hissed in his ears one last time. You will die.
The headlights filled his vision.
Metal shrieked. Glass exploded. The world tore itself apart in a symphony of chaos. Jin's body wrenched against the seatbelt as if gravity had turned against him. The roar of the storm merged with the screech of steel, with the horn's final bellow, until everything became white noise, until there was no sound, no sight, nothing at all—