Bodies lay half-buried under the collapsed concrete. The air was so thick with smoke that it blurred the line between earth and sky.
Kim Hajun staggered through the debris, his uniform in tatters, one eye bloodshot from the concussion.
His left arm hung limp, half-numb.
He stepped over the body of a friend he no longer had the strength to name.
"Minho…" he whispered hoarsely, voice barely audible.
The radio crackled beside him, a ghost of life in the wasteland. The command frequency stuttered between static and fragmented orders:
"…Unit 3… casualties… hold position…"
"…No survivors from Delta…"
"…Pull back to…"
Then silence.
The kind that stretched and stretched until it became unbearable.
Hajun's hands shook as he raised the radio, pressing it to his ear. "This is Cadet Kim Hajun. 7th Recon Division. Does anyone copy?"
Static.
He tried again, voice breaking. "This is Kim Hajun. Anyone—?"
Nothing.
Only the wind moving through the corpses.
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