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 pandemic came without warning.
That day, Kang Doyoon was sitting in a conference room.
He was in the middle of a presentation—stage concepts, crowd flow, safety manuals.
Then his phone rang.
"Hyung, the event's canceled."
Doyoon laughed.
"What are you talking about?The government just updated the guidelines—"
"No.It's a full cancellation."
A moment later, the phone rang again.
Canceled.
Then again.
Canceled.
And again.
Nineteen events—canceled.
Before a single day had passed,his calendar turned white.
"What about next month?""There's nothing scheduled."
"And the month after that?""…Nothing."
All that remained in the office werechairs, tangled cables,and credit card bills replacing contracts.
That night, Doyoon held his newborn child.
The baby slept, unaware of everything.Tiny breaths pressed against his chest.
"Dad will…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
That night,for the first time in his life,Doyoon downloaded a chauffeur app.
The first customer was normal.So was the second.
By the third, he started to see the world.
"Hey, don't go that way.""That's the fastest route—""Just go where I tell you.I'm paying, aren't I?"
Doyoon said nothing and turned the wheel.
At a red light,the passenger suddenly slapped him.
"Didn't I tell you not to make eye contact?What's with that look? You got an attitude?"
The car fell silent.
The radio played the news.
"Due to the prolonged pandemic, small business owners—"
Doyoon didn't respond.
It was pouring rain that night.The wipers were on automatic.
Suddenly, the passenger shouted,
"Hey! Why are the wipers moving on their own?!"
Before Doyoon could answer,a hand reached over.
Click.
The wiper lever was forced down.
"Turn off auto.Don't you even know that?"
He couldn't see ahead.
Not because of the rain—but because of the anger.
"If we get into an accident—""Then you take responsibility."
Doyoon clenched his teeth.
Some people were even worse.
Chauffeur call.Twenty minutes waiting.
No answer.
Canceled.
Another call.Another wait.Another cancellation.
Three times in one night.
"Is this a joke?"
He almost sent the message—then closed the app instead.
He couldn't afford his rating to drop.
At night, he drove.By day, he worked in an industrial complex.
Metal grinding.The smell of oil.People hauling scrap.
They cursed.
At each other.At someone unseen.
"The ones on top take everything,""and the ones below survive by tearing each other apart."
Doyoon knew they weren't wrong.
The city hadn't changed.
It had simply been stripped bare.
Money no longer flowed downward.
It pooled at the top,never reaching below.
Instead,people climbed by stepping on other people.
One dawn,Doyoon sat at the edge of the industrial zone.
Shipping containers.A junkyard.A landfill.
On the map, it was labeledIndustrial Complex.
"Here…"
He muttered.
"No events.No hospitals.No one needed."
That was when he heard it.
The sound of a helicopter in the sky.
Doyoon looked up.
A searchlight swept across the complex,then stopped at a single point.
A medical helicopter.
In that moment,a face he had almost forgotten crossed his mind.
—The surgeon who saved a lifebeneath the stage that night.
Song Jaemin.
Standing there,Doyoon felt it clearly for the first time.
This citywas not built for people to live in.
And if things stayed this way,
next time,it might be him who dies.
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,as always,is left to the reader.