RE: Survival - Chapter 85
Right after Hajin’s voice signaled the detonation, a deafening bang! echoed as the Claymore mine exploded. The enemy had stepped into its range.
“I’ll call you back after the fight.”
– Need backup?
“Not here. We need to find Gae Baek-jeong. He might be heading for the Family Foundation.”
– Got it. Don’t overextend. If it gets too dangerous, switch to Plan B.
“Roger.”
Sweeper ended the transmission, switched his FM radio to mute, and pulled back the bolt of his rifle in preparation for battle.
Over the radio, Hajin and Sergeant Ong exchanged updates.
– Claymore detonated. Took out two. Ong! What’s happening outside?
– Zombies are swarming in! Captain Hajin, you need to get out of there!
– Copy that.
After relaying the situation, Hajin slipped out of the cargo truck while the enemy was in disarray. He quietly opened the back door, climbed inside, and locked it, waiting for the right moment to rejoin the fight.
Sergeant Ong, watching him, tried multiple times to snipe the approaching enemies who were weaving through the tall reeds. However, it wasn’t easy.
The enemies moved with precise cover, zigzagging rapidly, making it difficult to land a shot. But then—he spotted something unusual. Two figures moving against the flow.
– Captain Hajin, two hostiles are approaching your truck. My line of sight is blocked. Be careful!
Some had disappeared beyond the embankment, others had slipped behind the rows of greenhouses, and some had vanished entirely. Ong’s rifle scope and magnifier weren’t enough to keep track of them all.
Inside the building, Sweeper observed the situation and radioed Hajin.
“Hey, one-armed man, you got this under control?”
– Worry about yourself.
“Great. Love the confidence. Everyone, get ready for combat. Stay inside, don’t go out. Just hold the line. Ong, cover Hajin.”
At those words, the scattered team members all turned their radios to minimum volume. A suffocating tension filled the air as the fight loomed.
The two search team members with Sweeper held their breath. They couldn’t hear anything from outside, but footsteps were undoubtedly approaching.
“Down!”
At Sweeper’s command, all three of them hit the floor.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
A burst of fully automatic fire riddled the door with holes. It was like a torrential downpour of bullets. Most rounds whizzed through the air, while the rest were stopped by a thick office table they had prepared for cover.
Then, silence.
Sweeper swiftly slung his rifle over his back and moved to the door, gripping his signature weapon—a hand axe—tightly in one hand.
BANG!
The battered door creaked open.
But there was no one outside.
One door, standing ajar. Inside, Sweeper against the inner wall. Outside, a Soul Survivor Union survivor against the outer wall.
They couldn’t see each other, but they both knew the other was there.
Ting—
A small but distinct sound. Sweeper caught it instantly.
The safety pin of a grenade.
If it got inside, they were all dead.
Without hesitation, Sweeper rushed forward, swinging his axe without even confirming his target.
In mid-swing, he adjusted the trajectory, striking the wrist of the enemy holding the grenade.
Crunch.
The enemy recoiled in pain, dropping the grenade, but Sweeper had already stepped back. The follow-up shots fired at him struck only empty air. His movements were too sharp and precise—like a wasp darting through an open field.
Sweeper lunged back inside and slammed the door shut before pressing himself against the wall.
BOOM!
The wall shook violently, and the door shattered. The explosion reverberated through his entire body.
“Stick to the inner door!”
Sweeper was on edge. If they threw another grenade through the broken door or shattered a window and tossed one inside, they were finished.
Being stuck in a single-story building was the real problem.
If necessary, they would have to abandon the entrance and fall back deeper inside.
Crash!
The window shattered.
Sweeper tensed, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. But instead of a grenade, two enemies rushed in from both sides, spraying bullets in their direction.
“Cover left! Don’t let them in!”
While his teammates fired back, Sweeper stepped forward and hooked his axe behind the nearest enemy’s knee, sending him sprawling. He brought the axe down again, splitting his throat open. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
The attacker on the left hesitated under suppressing fire from the search team, retreating momentarily.
As Sweeper caught his breath, Sergeant Ong’s voice crackled over the radio.
– Captain Hajin! They’re on your truck! I can’t cover you from here!
Someone must have seen Hajin enter the truck. But Sweeper wasn’t worried. The guy was tough.
—
Hajin’s cargo truck looked like a block of Swiss cheese, riddled with bullet holes. The barrage had left it so perforated that it could give someone trypophobia.
He was flattened against the floor, light seeping through the holes around him.
Two shots had hit him.
One bullet had grazed his waist, but the bulletproof vest from the mercenaries absorbed the impact. Another had nicked the back of his thigh, leaving a burning sensation. Not deep, but painful.
Creak—
The truck’s rear door opened.
Two men scanned the chaotic interior, searching for him.
But before they could react, Hajin, hidden among the boxes, fired first.
Bang! Bang!
The two dropped instantly.
He exhaled the breath he had been holding.
Hajin slowly crawled forward in a prone position.
As he exited the dimly lit truck into the open, the sudden brightness stung his eyes like a flashbang going off. Squinting, he leaned against the truck, scanning his surroundings as his vision adjusted.
Then—
Click.
Something cold pressed against the back of his head.
“The gun. Drop it. Hands on your head.”
A sharp voice pierced his eardrums.
Someone had been hiding in Ong’s blind spot.
His entire body stiffened.
Hajin slowly lowered his pistol and pretended to clasp his hands behind his head.
With only one real arm, he couldn’t interlock his fingers, so instead, he grabbed the prosthetic brace with his remaining hand, hoping the enemy wouldn’t notice.
Rather than being wary of the prosthetic, the man behind him sneered at his missing limb.
“What the hell? This bastard’s missing an arm? Get on the ground. Where’s your radio? Tell your people to stop attacking. Now.”
At that moment, a knife shot out like lightning from Hajin’s prosthetic, piercing the man’s face.
Hajin immediately lowered his head, grabbed the enemy by the collar, and drove him forward, slamming him into the ground. Then, with one final thrust, he buried the blade deep into the man’s eye socket.
He exhaled deeply, shaken but alive.
If the enemy had shot him immediately instead of taking him hostage, he would’ve been dead. A miscalculated order had led to a blind spot, but it wasn’t Ong’s fault. It was his own carelessness.
But the enemy had been even more careless. Trying to take hostages in the middle of a fight was pure stupidity. If Hajin had been in his place, he wouldn’t have hesitated—he would’ve put a bullet straight through the man’s skull.
His gaze turned toward the battle raging inside the buildings.
– They’ve breached the first floor of the Resource Center! We need backu—AAAGH!
A desperate voice came through the radio—Jae-hee, one of the ambushers at the Resource Center. Hajin quickly reloaded his revolver and sprinted toward the chaos.
“I’m heading to the center. Ong, cover me!”
– Yes, sir!
He ripped a piece of cloth from his pants to bandage his thigh wound and pushed through the pain as he ran. But by the time he arrived, the first floor of the Resource Center had already turned into a slaughterhouse.
The sight waiting for him was horrific.
In the dimly lit lobby, Jae-hee and Aeri lay dead in the center.
Both of them had been completely dismembered.
Hajin blinked in disbelief. Arms. Legs. All severed.
“…Captain…”
Dong-seok’s weak voice pulled his attention to the side.
One enemy.
A single enemy had Dong-seok in a chokehold, a razor-sharp katana pressed against his throat.
The moment Hajin identified the threat, he quickly ducked behind a pillar.
“Grrr—”
The mutilated corpses of Jae-hee and Aeri twitched, slowly reanimating as zombies.
Hajin’s stomach churned at the grotesque sight.
Rage.
An unfamiliar anger surged through him.
His fury locked onto the man who had butchered his comrades.
Why did this feel so different? Was it because he had only fought winning battles until now? Or was it because his teammates had died in such a brutal way?
This emotion was foreign.
A moment ago, they were alive, laughing, talking. Now, they were gone.
They had killed enemies too. That was war. The enemy had every right to retaliate. They were simply defending themselves, just as Hajin and his squad were.
But did that really make it equal?
If that was true, why did this rage only surface after losing someone?
Hajin clenched his fists, trying to steady his pounding heart behind the pillar.
The enemy chuckled.
Dong-seok’s captor was fully armored—head to toe.
A full-face ballistic helmet with a transparent visor.
A Kevlar military uniform, likely stolen.
His entire body plated with composite armor.
A walking fortress.
Despite standing in the middle of enemy territory, he looked completely at ease.
Hajin immediately recognized him.
Mad Dog Jung Kwang.
One of Soul Survivor Union’s top fighters and Gae Baek-jeong’s right-hand man.
‘Jung Kwang covers himself in full-body armor but insists on fighting up close with a katana. He’s strong. Avoid melee combat at all costs.’
At his waist hung a pistol, but that wasn’t the real problem.
The katana was.
It had already sliced through zombies. One scratch, and it was instant infection.
A completely insane weapon choice for a zombie apocalypse.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
Yohan.
What would you do?
Hajin clenched his jaw.
This time, he really might die.
He let out a bitter chuckle and unsheathed the blade from his prosthetic.
Just as he was about to lunge, the door swung open.
Sweeper walked in.
His expression was cold, emotionless.
His eyes flickered over the twitching, limbless zombies that had once been Jae-hee and Aeri.
Then, his gaze settled on Jung Kwang.
Sweeper raised his gun.
“…Hey, Samurai.”
Their eyes met.
Through the transparent visor, Jung Kwang grinned—a rotting smile.
“Let the kid go.”
Jung Kwang smirked.
Slice.
Before anyone could react, Dong-seok’s throat was slashed open. (T/N: NOOOOOO!! WTF!)
Hajin’s eyes widened in horror.
Dong-seok gasped, his eyes stretching in agony as blood gushed from the deep, gaping wound.
His flesh peeled apart, exposing his throat and arteries.
Jung Kwang grinned, tilting his head.
As if to say, “Did you really think I cared about a hostage?”
Dong-seok collapsed.
Clutching at his torn neck, his fingers coated in blood.
But there was nothing he could do.
He was dying.
“Dong-seok!”
Hajin roared, his grip tightening on his revolver.
But before he could act, Sweeper’s low, rumbling voice cut through the room.
His words trembled—not with fear, but with sheer, burning rage.
“…Say your last words.”
Sweeper’s eyes darkened.
“I’m pissed.”
(T/N: Damn it! There’s no one safe in this novel. Fk!)