The jacket gangster's metal pipe hit the floor hard, on the ground right between Woori's legs. A sharp grunt tore from his throat as Woori slid behind, dodging the hit.
Woori stumbled back,
The jacket gangster growled, and went for another swing.
But before it could land, Woori instinctively kicked the gangster's wrist, cancelling the swing. Then he quickly stood up, turned around and ran.
He bolted through the shattered doorway, the wind roared against his face as he burst into the next compartment.
Passengers gasped and shrank back, parting instinctively to make way.
Their eyes wide, their bodies pressed against the seats and walls, whispering in shock.
Woori barely heard them. He just kept running, pushing aside the passengers in the way.
"Move! MOVE!" The jacket gangster shouted, shoving past as he struggled to keep up with Woori's pace..
The people flinched away, their fear rooted deeper than instinct.
Woori's breath broke into ragged gasps as he looked at them, their pale faces flickering under the dying lights.
"Aren't any of you going to help me?!" he yelled, lungs burning.
Each breath scraped against his throat as he stumbled through the aisle.
He reached the end of the compartment and grabbed the next door… but he stopped.
…
"...What do we do if one of them gets through here," The female train attendant said, biting her nails. "Someone could get hurt…!"
"...I'll–" Woori said, still sitting against the wall, exhausted.
The female train attendant looked at him, causing him to stop mid-sentence.
He stood up, taking a taser out of his pocket, gripping it tight.
"I'll hold them until we reach the next stop…" He turned around. "After all… There's 2 passengers back there that are holding them back on their own."
…
He turned, pressing his back against the cold doorframe.
His chest rose and fell, breath ragged, the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears.
Woori's eyes darted down the aisle.
The jacket gangster was there, stopping a few meters away, the faint hum of the train filling the space between them.
"Not bad," the gangster said.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Woori.
"You're a good runner."
Woori's breath caught. His grip on the crowbar tightened until his knuckles went white.
The cold metal pressed against his palm as sweat slid down his temple.
He exhaled once, steadying himself.
Both hands gripped the crowbar.
He raised it, the claw pointing forward shakingly, his body positioned clumsily.
The jacket gangster chuckled. "You've got a death wish?"
Woori looked straight at the jacket gangster's eyes, shaking.
He exhaled, and stepped forward.
WHOOOSH… The gangster swung his metal pipe fast.
Woori raised the crowbar– right as the pipe came down.