Stray

The quiet rustling of bushes nearby broke Cheong-hyun out of his daze. He immediately raised his head and looked toward the sound. Through the large tear in the window screen, something was poking its head inside, staring straight at him.

In that instant, Cheong-hyun’s shoulders went completely rigid. A foul, decaying stench of blood heavily filled the air. Right after the scent hit his nose, a tangled mass of fur came into view.

The creature looked like a massive, gloomy beast covered in filth. The white fur that he remembered being clean and glossy had long since lost its original color after ten years of absolute neglect. Dark insects swarmed around its eyes, and a tight collar was buried horribly deep into its neck, tangled with dried blood and raw flesh.

Pant, pant—

Its long tongue hung loosely from its mouth, twitching weakly as if it could barely draw a breath. Cheong-hyun felt a lump in his throat and couldn’t move an inch. His fingertips shook uncontrollably against the wooden bench.

The dog, its eyes clouded and cloudy, stared blankly at Cheong-hyun before leaping down through the torn screen. Its snout twitched continuously as it sniffed the air, then suddenly froze. As its long tongue vanished back into its mouth, the only sound left in the garden was a heavy thud against the earth.

Thud—

Every single time the creature shifted its weight, bloody pus spilled heavily onto the ground. In reality, these were things that carried no physical form or scent to anyone else. Yet, in Cheong-hyun’s eyes, they remained like thick, black stains that stubbornly followed the beast.

It was a DNA beast, a creature that lived by parasitizing the body of a Mutant.

The massive chordate, sporting a two-meter-long tail, crawled forward while dragging its raw, festering skin across the path. Its eyes were completely blind and cloudy, and its heavy frame was so thin that its bone structure protruded sharply just like Cheong-hyun’s, making the faint stripes mapping its skin look utterly blurred.

It was a reptile covered in coarse scales, measuring easily three—no, four meters in length. At a glance, it strongly resembled a Komodo dragon.

[E-Every time he comes here, he vomits pools of blood… but whenever we try to catch him, he r-runs away, so we can’t treat him. He drags his starving body here, sits completely still for a moment, and then leaves… Isn’t that strange? Huh?]

“…….”

On the catastrophic day the meteor fractured the atmosphere, humanity was not the only victim of the disaster. The entire human race, and ultimately every living organism on the planet, suffered immense casualties and lost their lives. Humans weren’t the only ones who underwent permanent mutation upon being infected by the monster DNA pouring out of the Gates. If it was a living creature, no matter what species it belonged to, it stood a slim chance of triggering a mutation.

Just like this stray dog.

Pant, pant—

The dog approached him with a severe limp, remaining highly alert. Its snout was thoroughly caked in thick, dark filth, as if it had recently vomited blood. As the distance closed, the putrid, nauseating odor biting at his nose grew even more intense.

“…Gyeoul-ah.”

Only those who possessed the financial leverage to pay for services could receive a Guide’s medical treatment. Even then, low-ranking Hunters were forced to survive by relying entirely on heavy narcotics. The Center was fundamentally not a charity designed to protect destitute Mutants; hence, those with nowhere left to turn frequently drifted from one frontline battlefield to the next before dying without ever getting to touch a single dose of proper medicine.

If that was the reality for human beings, there was zero chance a mere animal would ever receive medical treatment.

Even if that weren’t the case, society refused to properly acknowledge the fact that lesser animals could even undergo DNA mutations. The academic community merely released useless theories, and the phenomenon had never been viewed in a positive light.

As a result, the dog had survived for over ten full years without receiving a single session of medical triage. It had continuously drifted back to this facility, holding onto a sliver of hope tied to the gentle touch of Cheong-hyun’s hand from his childhood.

“You’re Gyeoul… aren’t you.”

Whine—

The limping dog paced around the bench, hesitating to step any closer. It might have been due to the vast emotional distance of a ten-year separation. Or perhaps it simply failed to recognize how drastically Cheong-hyun had changed.

The creature hadn’t merely starved for a day or two; it was so horribly emaciated that its ribs protruded sharply against its skin. Cheong-hyun slid off the bench, dropping his knees directly onto the gravel path. He drew a shallow breath and waited quietly.

“It’s okay… come here.”

A sharp emotion choked his throat, yet he couldn’t distinguish whether this sudden surge was sadness, rage, or deep self-loathing. Not a single thread of it felt like it belonged to him.

Whine, whine—

“Come here. I’ll make the pain go away… hurry.”

The moment the dog attempted to lift its frame, it suddenly vomited a thick spray of blood and stumbled heavily. Watching the creature frantically lick the puddle with its tongue, entirely unaware that it was its own lifeblood, Cheong-hyun finally scrambled to his feet.

“It’s okay…. Good boy.”

Collapsing into a heap after stumbling backward, Gyeoul nodded his head weakly as if he were on the absolute verge of death. Cheong-hyun let out a ragged breath and crawled forward, carefully parting the tangled fur to inspect the dog’s neck. The small collar had sliced deep into the flesh, causing blood to flow continuously. He scrambled to look around for something to cut the metal, but there was nothing but overgrown bushes in every direction.

Pant, pant— cough—

“…Just wait here a little bit. I’ll bring some food and something to cut this off… so wait for me. You mustn’t leave.”

He desperately needed to treat the animal, but his frantic mind couldn’t conjure a single solution. Massaging the white dog’s frame, Cheong-hyun noticed the giant lizard aggressively nudging against his skin and frantically grabbed its snout, rubbing the scales.

The bleeding needed to stop, but no matter how hard he massaged the creature, nothing changed.

Glancing around with sheer panic, Cheong-hyun violently bolted upright the moment the dog vomited another pool of fresh blood. Leaving strict instructions for the animal not to leave, he bolted out of the garden.

“The cafeteria….”

Leaving the lounge behind, he began to sprint aimlessly down the halls. Several people collided hard against his shoulders, knitting their brows in irritation and shouting curses before walking away. Dozens of closed doors lined the corridor, yet he couldn’t spot a single useful room.

In a state of sheer desperation, Cheong-hyun grabbed a passing stranger to ask for directions.

“Excuse me… pant, where is… the cafeteria.”

“The c-cafeteria…?”

The Guide whose arm had been grabbed bit her lip anxiously upon catching sight of Cheong-hyun’s wretched appearance. Looking down, she noticed a sticky, dark substance smeared across her sleeve—it was black blood. The frantic, unstable look in his eyes carried the distinct aura of a person pushed to their absolute limits. She stammered nervously, pointing her finger toward the upper level.

“It’s on… the second floor….”

The exact second the words left her mouth, Cheong-hyun bolted toward the nearest stairwell. Every time he pushed through the crowds of people, his mind felt entirely blank, as if he were floating through a haze. Whenever his clothes brushed against a stranger, a chaotic jumble of cold stares and echoing voices began to piece themselves together in his head.

[How does a person manage to act like this every single time? Can’t you stop throwing those ridiculous tantrums? This is exactly why people treat you like absolute garbage.]

[Higher-ups told me to take care of this guy. I’m losing my goddamn mind, seriously.]

[Just tell them you did it! I—I don’t know anything about this. You’re the one who caused it. I didn’t do anything wrong!]

[Hey… is it really okay for us to do this? This feels a bit too extreme…. He absolutely needs to take his medicine.]

[They said missing a single day won’t kill him. The side effects only kick in if you cut the medicine for three full days, so who gives a shit.]

The voices crawled out of his memories like swarming insects, numbering in the dozens, then the hundreds. The exact millisecond the voices abruptly cut out, Cheong-hyun ground to a halt as if he had slammed straight into a brick wall. Standing before his heavy breathing was a set of grand glass doors.

Beyond the glass lay a massive dining hall capable of housing hundreds of people at once. Crowds of people line up for food, moving through both entrances in an orderly fashion.

Since the lunch hour had just begun, a massive wave of people continuously brushed past Cheong-hyun’s frame. Though they glanced at him with clear confusion as he stood frozen by the entrance, not a single soul bothered to strike up a conversation or halt their stride. After a brief moment.

“Excuse me, are you going in or what?”

A sharp voice cut through the air from behind. Cheong-hyun collected his breathing and slowly stepped forward. The absolute second he extended his hand to push the glass door open, a loud wave of ambient noise crashed over his senses.

Every single scene before his eyes looked perfectly peaceful. Despite the loud chatter filling the room and the massive volume of people sharing the space, the atmosphere radiated immense leisure and vitality.

Before coming here, Cheong-hyun had assumed the Center’s cafeteria would resemble a small, cramped soup kitchen run by the city—a bustling, tiny space where the staff consisted of a mere handful of people wearing white caps to scoop out food.

But this place was fundamentally different. Divided into distinct, massive sections, the hall displayed an endless variety of food, with Western, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean stations occupying vast areas of the space.

He wondered if the luxury restaurants he had only heard rumors about in his past life looked exactly like this.

Cheong-hyun stepped blankly into the hall.

“I need food….”

Even if he managed to grab some food, would the animal’s current physical condition even allow it to chew? The creature had continuously vomited blood without letting out a single whimper of pain. More than anything else, the dog urgently needed a tool to cut the collar that was slicing into its neck.

In one corner of the cafeteria, a line of people stood receiving small cups handed out by a nutritionist clad in a white lab coat.

It was a bizarre sight. The moment a Guide swallowed the contents of the cup, the nutritionist scanned their UID card onto a digital tablet, and only then was the person allowed to proceed toward the food stations. It was undoubtedly the mandatory daily ‘medicine’ that every Guide was strictly required to ingest.

Cheong-hyun found an empty station, placed some bread and a carton of milk onto a white plate, and grabbed a fork and a knife before setting the tray down onto an empty table near the entrance.

Ensuring he remained unnoticed, he quickly slid the metal knife up into his sleeve, picked up a piece of bread, and stood by the table to scan the room.

Every single scene unfolding before his eyes felt profoundly alien.

‘As long as I can keep my back warm and the food keeps coming, who cares if I’m human? I’d happily live as livestock. Between the rent, the cost of diapers for the kids, and basic living expenses, I’m working myself straight into an early grave. And the working environment is an absolute joke. People are constantly on the verge of death in this industry, yet our vacation days never seem to accumulate.’

‘Our lives were fucked the second we were born, so stop filming a solo documentary. Everyone who ended up in this industry carries the exact same sob story, yet you throw a goddamn tantrum every time you open your mouth. You kids better get out early before you end up like us. I heard Chun-sik can’t come back to work anymore.’

‘Bullshit. What happened to him? The pay has been pretty sweet lately because we’re so short-staffed.’

‘He doesn’t have legs anymore.’

‘What?’

‘I’m telling you, he doesn’t have legs. A monster tore them clean off the day before yesterday.’