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.
That was when it happened.
"Ah—!"
The conveyor belt did not stop.
It was never meant to.
When the bell rang, it moved.When the bell stopped, it kept going—coasting on inertia.
Whether a person was caught or not.
That day, the noise was loud.
Metal scraping.Boxes colliding.Human voices torn apart inside it all.
A man on the next line reached into straighten a box.
It was reflex.
No thought.The body moved first.
His sleeve was pulled in.
Into the gap of the conveyor.
"Uh—"
The sound never finished.
His body bent forward.His waist broke first.
The sound of bone snappingbled into the machinery.
"Stop!""Stop! Stop!"
Someone searched for the button.Their hand slipped—then found it again.
In that brief moment,
the conveyor kept feeding.
Clothes tore.Skin scraped.Blood splattered across the belt.
The man's face was draggedtoward the machine.
His eyes met Doyoon's.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
The bell stopped.The machine stopped.
Too late.
Half his body was wrapped in the belt.His neck twisted toward the machine.
There was no breath left.
People gathered.
Some turned away.Some said nothing.
The supervisor ran over.
"Who broke the rules?"
The words came before concern.
"I told you not to put your hand in!""Why don't you listen?"
Doyoon looked down.
One work shoe lay soaked in blood,slipped off and abandoned.
Soon, sirens echoed through the industrial complex.
Labor inspectors.Police.
A joint investigation began.
In the control office—
Formal desk.Formal chairs.
"Did you receive safety training?"the investigator asked.
Doyoon paused.
The supervisor was staring at him.
Their eyes met.
Pleading.
Truly pleading.
You know.Let's just get past this.
That look.
Doyoon slowly raised his head.
"No."
The air shifted.
"Not once," he said."There was no training.""No explanation of the risks."
The investigator nodded and wrote.
"Any guidance on hazards during operation?"
"No."
The supervisor's face hardened.
He looked at Doyoon again.
Lower now.More desperate.
Doyoon tilted his head slightly.
Just a flick.
The same signal he had once received.
Then he looked away.
That was the end.
Outside, the sun was sinking over the factory.
One man was dead.
The machine had been cleaned.
The line was running again.
Doyoon thought:
What doesn't stopisn't the machine.
It's the system.
And what kills peopleisn't accidents—
It's neglect.
This time,
he decided not to look away.
This is an ongoing story of people pushed aside again and again.The judgment is left to the reader.