The Korean BBQ smoke and the ghost of Min-ji's perfume clung to Dohyun's clothes, a sickening reminder of the performance he'd just given. He walked, not ran, but with a desperate, internal urgency toward the nearest ATM. He needed to be calm, calculated. He was no longer a student; he was a ghost walking a tightrope.
His blood was still humming from the sight of Hyuk-jin. The gang leader hadn't even looked at Dohyun, dismissing him as a temporary nuisance. That dismissiveness had killed Dohyun once. Now, it was a weakness Hyuk-jin wouldn't live to regret.
At the ATM, Dohyun withdrew the last of his tuition money in crisp 50,000 won bills. Five million won. A small fortune to a university student, a pittance for the arsenal he truly needed. He bundled the cash and wrapped it in two layers of plastic wrap and duct tape—a paranoia habit from the future, where moisture and contamination destroyed everything.
He hailed a taxi, giving the driver the Paju construction site address. It was late, past eleven, the city's neon glow fading as they drove toward the northern suburbs.
"Going out there this late? Must be important," the driver commented, glancing at Dohyun in the rearview mirror.
"Just picking up a very large, expensive piece of equipment for a project," Dohyun replied, his voice flat. He kept his eyes locked on the road, watching for any car that followed them too long, any sudden turn, any sign of a trap.
The taxi dropped him off on a deserted road lined by chain-link fences. Beyond the fence was a skeletal frame of steel and concrete, a construction project abandoned mid-build. The air was cold, scented with rust and damp earth.
Dohyun stood alone, the darkness pressing in. He checked his watch: 11:30 PM. Thirty minutes until the meeting.
He unzipped his backpack, retrieving the only weapon he possessed: the reinforced hiking knife. It felt cold and reassuring in his palm. He moved off the road, using the deep shadows of the incomplete structure for cover. He found a high spot behind a stack of corrugated metal sheeting and settled down, waiting.
He didn't wait for long.
At 11:45 PM, a large black SUV, tinted windows reflecting the distant streetlights, silently rolled into the site. It stopped, and the headlights cut out, plunging the area into near-total darkness. The engine killed, leaving only the sound of the wind rattling the chain-link fence.
The passenger door opened, and a massive figure stepped out. He was built like a truck, wearing a dark leather jacket, his face partially obscured by the shadows. The second man, smaller and wiry, exited the driver's side.
Dohyun didn't move. He observed their posture, their breathing, the way they held their arms. They're not worried. They think this is just a transaction.
The larger man spoke, his voice a low, gravelly sound that seemed to eat the silence. "NomadKR. We know you're here. Show yourself. We don't have all night."
Dohyun took a slow, deep breath. He hated this part. The vulnerability.
He stood up, emerging from the shadows. The light caught his face—not the face of the desperate university student, but the taut, cold mask of a survivor. He held the duct-taped cash bundle loosely in one hand.
"Sentinel77," Dohyun said, walking slowly toward them. "You brought the artifacts?"
The large man laughed—a harsh, barking sound. "Kid's got guts. Hand over the money first. The deposit is non-refundable."
Dohyun stopped ten feet away. He tossed the bundle gently. It landed near the large man's feet with a dull thud.
The smaller man snatched it up, quickly peeling back the tape and counting the stacks with practiced speed under the faint moonlight. "It's all here, boss."
The larger man—the boss—nodded. He pulled a thick, leather-bound briefcase from the SUV. He didn't open it fully, just cracked the lid enough for Dohyun to see the glint of black metal and the unmistakable, oiled-steel shape of a semi-automatic rifle.
The sight of it sent a shudder of pure adrenaline through Dohyun. This wasn't a toy. This was power. This was survival.
"Good choice, Nomad," the boss said, his voice dropping slightly. "This one's a custom job. 5.56 NATO. Clean, registered to a man who died ten years ago. Disappear it fast. We'll contact you about the rest of your order—the Level IV plates—when we know you're serious."
Dohyun's mind raced. He had the money for the full payment, but he'd been clear in his coded request: he needed the gun and the armor. Was this a test? A shakedown?
"I was clear," Dohyun stated, his voice dangerously even. "I pay for what I asked for. Where's the plating?"
The boss smiled, a truly chilling, unpleasant sight. "Easy there, kid. This is the down payment. You want more, you pay more. Now, take your package and go."
As Dohyun reached for the briefcase, the smaller man suddenly moved, his hand darting out and grabbing Dohyun's left arm in a painful, iron grip.
"Hold on, boss. Look at his wrist."
Dohyun froze, his carefully constructed calm threatening to shatter.
The small man was pointing at a faint, almost invisible scar near Dohyun's pulse point. A small, ragged line that Dohyun had gotten six years ago falling off a bike. Harmless. Meaningless.
But the small man's eyes were darting from the scar to Dohyun's eyes, which were too intense, too devoid of the usual fear or excitement of a first-time buyer.
"Boss," the small man hissed, leaning close to the large one. "His pulse is slow. Too slow. And his eyes—they're not looking at the gun. They're looking at us. This kid isn't nervous. He's assessing."
The temperature in the quarry dropped to freezing. The large boss slowly turned his full attention to Dohyun. He didn't look angry; he looked curious, like a predator smelling something unexpected.
"Who are you, kid?" the boss asked, his voice losing its casual tone and taking on a razor-sharp edge.
Dohyun knew he couldn't panic. He had to be smarter, faster. He had to give them a lie they would believe—a lie that explained his lack of fear.
"I'm a survivor," Dohyun spat, his voice shaking with feigned anger. "I've been preparing for this day for six years. I bought this weapon because the world is going to end. You want to back out? Fine. But I'll remember your faces when the dead are walking."
He yanked his arm free, the small man's grip momentarily surprised by the sudden aggression. Dohyun snatched the briefcase, pulling it tightly to his chest.
"I'll be ready for your call," he growled, already turning toward the darkness. "But next time, don't waste my time with half an order."
He melted back into the shadows of the construction site, disappearing behind a stack of rebar. He heard the low, urgent voices of the two traffickers, then the slam of the SUV doors, and the engine starting.
Dohyun pressed his back against the cold concrete, clutching the briefcase like it was his lifeblood. He waited, not for the sound of the vehicle driving away, but for the sound of the vehicle stopping.
It didn't stop. The SUV's engine roared to life, tires crunching gravel, and it accelerated, leaving the construction site.
He waited another ten minutes, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm, before allowing himself to sink to his knees. The first phase was complete. He had his weapon.
He opened the briefcase. The gun was there, sleek and devastating. He ran a hand over the cold steel, a grim satisfaction settling over him.
But as he looked back at the retreating taillights, he knew he had made an enemy of his supplier, and that the small man, the one with the sharp eye, had seen too much.
The cold reality: he had purchased a tool for survival, but he had just put a new target on his back, six months before the zombie threat even began.