Chapter 7 A NEW TYPE OF CHAOS
The Grey Zone never truly slept. Even at dawn, the narrow alleys hummed with the low growl of generators and the distant clatter of early delivery scooters dodging puddles. Inside Dr. Hyunwoo’s clinic, the air felt thick and heavy, laced with the sharp scent of antiseptic and burnt wiring.
Minjun lay on the narrow cot, eyes half-open, staring at the flickering blue fragment of the Reality-Anchor that hovered in his private buffer. It pulsed like a tiny heartbeat — fragile, incomplete, but undeniably his. Every few minutes, the neural bridge sent a warning spike through his skull, reminding him how close he had come to burning out completely.
Jiho hadn’t slept. He sat against the opposite wall, knees drawn up, the stolen stun baton resting across his lap like a lifeline. His eyes kept darting to Minjun, worry carved deep into his face.
“You’re still bleeding a little,” Jiho said quietly, breaking the long silence. “From your nose. Again.”
Minjun wiped it away with the back of his hand. The blood was darker now, almost black. “It’s nothing. The bridge is stabilizing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Jiho’s voice cracked slightly. “Last night you almost dissolved into pixels, hyung. I watched your hand flicker like bad signal. If you keep pushing like this… what’s left of you at the end?”
Minjun turned his head slowly. For a moment, the old warmth tried to surface — the protective instinct that had once made him shield Jiho from the worst beatings in the village. But it felt distant now, like a memory belonging to someone else.
“I’m still here,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
Jiho shook his head. “No. You’re not. The guy who used to share his last pack of ramyeon with me is disappearing. Every time you Cut something, you lose another piece. I can see it in your eyes. They’re getting colder.”
Before Minjun could answer, the front door of the clinic rattled violently. Three sharp knocks — too aggressive for a patient.
Dr. Hyunwoo’s voice came from the front room, low and tense. “We’re closed. Come back later.”
The knocking turned into pounding. A rough voice barked through the door. “Task Force! Open up or we break it down!”
Minjun sat up instantly, the neural bridge flooding his system with fresh adrenaline. Jiho was already on his feet, baton raised.
“Back room,” Minjun whispered. “Now.”
They slipped behind the supply shelves just as the door burst open with a crash. Heavy boots thudded inside. Minjun activated a low-level [INSPECT] on the intruders without stepping out.
[Target: Task Force Strike Team — 4 personnel]
[Attributes:]
- [Gear: Full Riot Armor]
- [Aggression: Extreme]
- [Authority: Sector 2 Clearance]
- [Orders: Capture Glitch Suspect Alive]
Dr. Hyunwoo’s voice stayed steady, but Minjun could hear the fear underneath. “Officers, this is a medical clinic. If you have a warrant—”
“Shut up, doctor,” the lead officer snarled. “We know two rats from Guryong Village came through here last night. One of them fried Jaeho and stole from the depot. Hand them over or we tear this place apart.”
Minjun felt the familiar cold focus settle over him. He glanced at Jiho, who looked terrified but determined.
“Stay hidden,” Minjun mouthed. Then he stepped out from behind the shelves, calm as if he were walking into the night market.
The four officers spun toward him, rifles snapping up.
“There he is!” one shouted.
Minjun raised his hands slowly, amber eyes glowing faintly. “You’re looking for me. Let the doctor go. He doesn’t know anything.”
The lead officer — a sergeant with a scarred jaw — sneered. “Bold for a slum rat. Chairman Kang wants you alive. Says you’re a glitch in the system. But he didn’t say you had to be undamaged.”
He signaled. Two officers moved forward, stun batons crackling.
Minjun moved first.
He triggered the stored [High-Speed] from Jaeho and the world slowed around him. He closed the distance in a blur, grabbing the nearest officer’s baton mid-swing.
[Target: Stun Baton]
[Attribute: Electrical Charge]
[CUT]
The baton died in his hand. Minjun spun and slammed the now-harmless weapon into the officer’s helmet with brutal force. The man dropped like a sack of rice.
The second officer fired a taser. Minjun [CUT] the wire’s tension mid-air. The prongs fell harmlessly to the floor.
“Freak!” the sergeant roared, raising his rifle.
Minjun focused on the sergeant’s armor.
[Target: Riot Armor]
[Attribute: Structural Integrity]
[CUT]
The ceramic plates shattered like cheap porcelain. The sergeant staggered as his protection crumbled away. Minjun followed with a hard elbow to the throat, dropping him gasping to the ground.
The last two officers hesitated, fear flashing across their faces.
One tried to call for backup. Minjun [CUT] the communication signal in his earpiece, turning it into static.
“Run,” he told them quietly. “Tell your captain I’m coming for him next.”
They bolted.
The clinic fell silent again, except for the groaning of the injured men on the floor.
Dr. Hyunwoo stood frozen behind the counter, face pale. “You just attacked a full strike team… in my clinic.”
“They attacked first,” Minjun said. He swayed slightly as the stamina bar dipped dangerously low again. Blood trickled from both nostrils now.
Jiho rushed out from hiding and caught him before he could fall. “Minjun! You’re burning up again. Your eyes… they’re flickering.”
Minjun gripped Jiho’s arm, the contact grounding him for a moment. “I’m sorry, Jiho-ya. I know I’m scaring you. But every time I hesitate, more people like us get crushed under their boots. I saw it clearly in the vault — the whole city is built on invisible chains. If I stop now, I’ll never break them.”
Jiho’s eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall. “Then what happens to you? When all the memories are gone? When there’s nothing left of the guy who used to laugh at my bad jokes and sneak me extra tteokbokki? Who am I supposed to remind of the ‘why’ if you disappear completely?”
Minjun looked at his friend — really looked. For the first time in hours, a genuine flicker of pain crossed his face, cutting through the cold logic.
“You’ll remind the part that’s left,” he whispered. “Even if it’s only a fragment. Because if I lose that too… then Chairman Kang wins without even trying.”
Dr. Hyunwoo cleared his throat, already dragging one of the unconscious officers toward the back. “Sentimental as this is, we have maybe ten minutes before more come. I called in a favor earlier — there’s a safe house in Euljiro, old industrial building. Underground parking level. My contact will meet you there at noon. But after this mess, I’m done. No more favors.”
Minjun nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Doctor.”
As they slipped out the back exit into the rain, Jiho kept a supporting arm around Minjun’s waist. The sirens were louder now, closing in from multiple directions.
“You’re not alone in this,” Jiho said fiercely as they moved through the alleys. “Even if you forget everything else… remember that. I’m not leaving you.”
Minjun didn’t reply, but he squeezed Jiho’s shoulder once — a small, almost human gesture.
Deep in his mind, the tiny blue fragment of the Reality-Anchor pulsed brighter for a moment, as if acknowledging the emotional weight now tied to it. The anchor wasn’t just protection anymore.
It was becoming the last tether keeping Minjun from fully becoming the machine the System wanted him to be.
And somewhere high above the city, in a pristine penthouse overlooking the Han River, Chairman Seojun Kang sat in perfect stillness, white eyes glowing as he reviewed the latest violation report.
A faint, cold smile touched his lips.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “The glitch is developing feelings. That will make deleting it far more satisfying.”
