Chapter Text
Seokju and Mr. Park stood around a table covered in a tangled mess of maps. Seokju had a marker in his hand, crossing out a village on one of them. Mr. Park, phone still in hand, stepped forward and moved several maps aside, pulling out one buried underneath the others before motioning for the young man to cross out an entire area on it.
“Thank you, Major.”
“It’s nothing. I wish I could do more…”
The two men exchanged a few more words before hanging up. When Mr. Park turned back toward the table, he found Seokju with his head buried in his hands. The boy was pale, thinner than he had been, and looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Mr. Park walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
Seokju lifted his head, his expression defeated.
“But sir… It’s been weeks and we still have nothing. No leads, nothing!”
“We’re narrowing down the search area little by little. It’s the only thing we can do. We don’t have any other options.” His hand tightened slightly on the boy’s shoulder. “But don’t give up. Ijin is out there somewhere and I’m sure he hasn’t given up either. He’s fighting. You have to fight too, Seokju. You’re strong. Don’t give up, do it for Ijin.”
Something changed in Seokju’s eyes. The despair and frustration were replaced by a new determination.
“You’re right, sir.”
With those words, he straightened up and picked up his marker again, focusing once more on the maps spread out in front of him.
The Major hung up and sighed. He had called Mr. Park after returning from a mission that morning.
The area he had been in was fairly remote, somewhere he rarely had a reason to visit. For a moment, he had allowed himself to hope. Maybe the camp was somewhere in that isolated part of the desert. Maybe fate had put him on Ijin’s trail.
His Ijin had been missing for a month now. A whole month of turning the world upside down looking for him, and they still didn’t have even the slightest lead.
A little over a month ago, Ijin had gone back to Grian to help the village where he had once lived as Jin. He had told the Major he would be gone for a week at most. Ten days later, they still hadn’t heard a word from him.
The Numbered had immediately set out to find him, alerted by the disappearance of their leader.
002 had contacted the Major to tell him that Ijin had reached out to them. He was in a small village several hours away from their position, and they had left immediately. They would reach his location by the end of the day.
Later, the Major learned that Mad Dog had intercepted the call between Ijin and 002 and managed to locate him. What followed was a race against time to see who would reach Ijin first : Mad Dog or the Numbered. When the members of his former team finally arrived, all they found were signs of a violent struggle and a pool of blood. They had been too late.
The Major turned away and stared out the window. ‘Hang in there, kiddo. I’ll find you. I promise.’
001 crawled slowly through the tall grass. He would cross the field just as silently, then make his way up the hill. He would find a hiding spot at the edge of the woods, a vantage point from which he could see the campfire, the meeting point where his target would appear.
He would wait and watch, then he would know when to move. He had done this countless times before. The details changed, but the pattern never did.
A light breeze swept across the field. A sign. Time to move.
A field of tall grass could be an open road if you had the right timing, and a trap if you weren’t careful enough. Crawling through it made the tops of the grass sway, making it impossible to move without leaving some trace. He had to watch the movement of the entire field and use the gusts of wind to cover his own.
He caught sight of the edge of the forest, the trees rising above the grass. He crouched, then suddenly dropped flat against the ground and froze. Up ahead, to his right, a man appeared at the edge of the field and entered his line of sight. He was holding a rifle, scanning the field as the moonlight intermittently illuminated the grass. He was watching the movements caused by the breeze.
A gust of wind swept down from the mountains. 001 moved.
He used the sudden rush of air and the noise it created to conceal his movements. He reached a point only three meters from the guard. Centimeter by centimeter, he crawled toward the edge of the woods.
001 was almost on top of him. The guard looked to his left. Now.
001 lunged. The guard instinctively raised his rifle to block the attack. 001 grabbed the stock, swung it over the man’s head, and smashed it into his skull while driving his knee into the guard’s ribs. The man collapsed.
001 dragged him into the tall grass, out of sight, every movement was precise and economical.
He took the guard’s rifle and started crawling again. He couldn’t see a thing. All he could hear were the quiet sounds of the forest ahead of him.
Finally, he reached the woods. He got to his feet and started running uphill, moving quickly and silently. Every time he heard a nocturnal bird call, the rustle of wings, or the sudden interruption of the crickets’ endless symphony, he stopped, afraid that an enemy might have spotted him.
He tightened his grip on the rifle, ready to use it as a club if necessary. He couldn’t fire. He couldn’t afford to disobey Mad Dog’s orders. He would have to be patient.
He reached the top of the forest and slipped silently behind a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing where the campfire burned. One man was standing guard, a weapon slung over his shoulder. The guard checked his watch, the wait had begun.
Nearly an hour passed. The guard was already on his fifth cigarette. 001 hadn’t moved an inch.
Then, without warning, a second figure appeared in the distance. Slowly, the man stepped out of the shadows, pushed aside a few low branches and entered the clearing. He stepped into the circle of light cast by the campfire. 001 watched him carefully. He had found his target. Satisfied, he began to move again.
Slowly, staying close to the edge of the forest, he crept toward the campfire. The man was talking to the guard, who pulled a brown envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. The target took it, checked its contents, then slipped it inside his own jacket. Then he turned around and started walking back toward the forest. Toward 001.
The guard had his back to him. He had taken out another cigarette and was trying to light it, one hand curled around the flame to shield it from the wind.
The man approached at an easy, fluid pace, his shoulders relaxed. He had no idea what was coming.
He stepped into the forest and the moment he passed the tree where 001 was hiding, it was over. 001 lunged at him, one hand clamping over his mouth to silence any potential scream, the other arm locking around his throat. He choked the man unconscious, then twisted his body and snapped his neck. He didn't let the body hit the ground. Instead, he dragged it silently behind the tree and searched his pockets for the envelope.
He found it and slipped it into one of the pockets of his cargo pants, then headed back the way he had come.
The mission was a success. He had eliminated his target and recovered the item involved in the exchange without being detected. But it wasn't over yet. He had to make it back to camp before the end of the day, and he was already in a bad position.
Standing at the top of the hill, he looked into the distance, the sun was rising over the horizon. He was going to have to run.
Ten hours later, 001 entered the camp.
Covered in dirt and out of breath after running for hours to meet the inhuman deadline Mad Dog had imposed on him, he crossed the camp.
He quickly reached the training grounds. Groups of soldiers scattered around the area moved aside as he passed, throwing him curious looks. 001 could hear the whispers following him.
He ignored them. His eyes were fixed on Mad Dog.
Mad Dog was barking orders at a group of soldiers kneeling in front of him, their eyes glued to the ground. Then he saw 001, his expression changed completely. The anger disappeared, replaced by a horrible smile.
“001! There you are! How did your mission go? A success, I assume.”
001 didn't answer. He never took his eyes off Mad Dog as he reached into his cargo pants and pulled out the envelope. He walked over to hand it to him.
Mad Dog placed a hand on his shoulder. 001’s entire body tensed instantly.
“I’ll hear 001’s report. Take care of them,” he told one of the handlers standing beside him. Then he disappeared into his tent, followed by 001.
Inside the large tent, groups of soldiers were talking loudly. Some took advantage of the others looking away to steal pieces of bread from their plates.
At one table, a group of young teenagers, none of them older than twelve, were talking.
“Did you see that guy’s eyes? It’s like he’s dead inside!”
“Yeah! Zero emotion. He’s like an empty shell!”
“At least when he’s around, Mad Dog leaves us alone.”
At those words, they all turned sharply. 001 had just entered the tent. The entire room fell silent. Everyone watched him.
001 didn't seem to care. He took his ration, sat alone at a table, and silently began to eat, ignoring the whispers around him.
Slowly, the conversations resumed and the soldiers stopped watching the newcomer, turning their attention back to their meals.
The young soldiers weren't surprised when they saw 001 leave the tent first. They hadn't had much of a chance to see him yet, but from what they had noticed, it was always the same. 001 was always the last one to arrive and the first one to leave. He ate alone, then went straight back to his barracks.
Truthfully, they felt a little sorry for him. He was completely isolated. But despite their attempts to talk to him and bring him into their group, they had gotten nowhere. Even a wall was more talkative than this guy.
When the small group of young soldiers returned to their barracks, they found 001 sitting on the edge of his cot.
A metal box lay open on his bed, while bloodstained pieces of cloth were scattered on the floor at his feet.
He was stitching a wound on the side of his abdomen. He didn't even flinch, it was as though he couldn't feel the pain, his face remained completely impassive.
One of the younger soldiers asked if he was all right, if he needed any help. 001 looked up. His eyes were hollow, empty. He didn't answer. He simply lowered his gaze back to the wound and began wrapping a bandage around his abdomen.
They had been told that 001 was a soulless monster. Once again, it seemed to prove true. Still, one of the boys stepped forward, trying once more to talk to him.
“Stop, Echo. Leave him alone. He looks exhausted…”
Foxtrot grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back toward his own cot.
As Seokju and Yeona left school to meet Hyeokjin, Jaehyung, and Yeongchan at the internet café, they ran into Dayeon waiting for them outside the gates.
“Seokju! Yeona!”
“You okay, Dayeon?” Yeona asked gently.
“Yeah, I'm fine… But Grandpa and I have been worried sick. Seokju, the Major was supposed to call you this morning. Did you hear anything?”
Seokju cleared his throat, unsure how to answer.
“Um… No. Sorry, Dayeon… The area he searched during his mission didn't turn up anything. Ijin wasn't there…”
Dayeon lowered her eyes to the ground, her shoulders sagging slightly. She was deeply disappointed. She had been hoping, after all this time, that they would finally have some good news. It had been more than a month since Ijin had left, and they still didn't have a single lead.
“Don't worry, Dayeon. We'll find him. We don't have an exact location yet, but we're getting closer little by little. We're slowly narrowing down the search area.”
“I hope he comes home soon…”
She looked up, her eyes fixed on the sun setting over the horizon.
“I hope he's okay…”