The mohawk and jacket gangsters began to move.
Step by step, they closed in, boots grinding against the broken glass. The air trembled with every footfall, each crunch echoing in the hollow compartment. The train attendant's whole body shook, his knees weak, hands trembling, breath breaking apart into sharp gasps.
For a long, unbearable second, he couldn't move. His mind screamed run, but his body refused to listen.
Then, somehow, he did.
With a desperate lurch, he spun around and sprinted toward the rear of the car, shoes slipping across the blood-slick floor. The shattered lights above flickered in time with his panic as he bolted for the door.
The next compartment was only a few meters away. The door was wide open, glass webbed with fractures, the crowbar still jammed in the frame. Through it, he saw faces, passengers huddled together, pale and trembling.
It was only a few steps away.
But before he could enter, a man inside slammed it shut.
CLACK.
The impact rattled the frame. The attendant froze in disbelief.
"What the–hey!" he shouted, slamming his palms against the glass. "Open the door!"
The man inside shook his head frantically, eyes wide, lips moving but no words coming through. Behind him, others pressed closer, their faces drawn in terror, whispering, pleading for him not to open it.
The attendant's voice broke. "Open it! They're coming!"
He pulled harder on the handle, but the man on the other side gripped it tight, knuckles white. "I-if they come through, we're all dead!"
The glass between them trembled with the struggle, a thin barrier separating panic from horror.
"Aren't you all armed with taser guns to protect yourselves?" the attendant shouted, voice cracking as he slammed his hand against the glass again. "It's obliged! You're supposed to–"
"Are you done?"
The voice cut through his words like a blade, startling the train attendant.
Behind him, the mohawk gangster stood only a few steps away, his silhouette framed by the flickering light. The sharp angles of his grin caught the glow, wild, amused, cruel.
He tilted his head slightly, the chain on his neck glinting as he spoke again.
"You talk too much."
The jacket gangster came up beside him. Together they filled the aisle, their shadows stretching across the floor toward the trembling attendant.
The man on the other side of the glass backed away, whispering something to the others, his face pale. No one dared to move.
The attendant's breathing quickened, each inhale scraping his throat. He took a step back, then another, his shoulder brushing against the wall.
The mohawk gangster dragged a broken piece of metal from one of the wrecked seats, the screech of it tearing through the silence.
He twirled it lazily in his hand, testing the weight.
"Gotta admit," he said, smirking, "you're one brave little brat. But bravery doesn't mean much when you're helpless."
He raised the jagged metal, tapping it lightly against his palm.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
Each sound rang sharp, echoing off the shattered glass and twisted steel.
…
The acrobat gangster sat slumped beside the shattered window, cold air slicing across his skin. His ribs still ached from earlier, where Seojin had nearly thrown him out of the train. The wind screamed through the torn frame, carrying flecks of rain and the iron scent of blood.
He tilted his head, watching the mohawk and jacket gangsters cornering the train attendant.
The acrobat gangster almost laughed, lips twitching. He'd seen that look before, the look of fear and helplessness, the kind of fear that froze people solid before they broke. He leaned his elbow against the wall, half-bored, half-dazed.
Then… Something moved at the edge of his vision.
He turned his head–
Seojin was standing, back hunched. The cracked mask gleamed faintly, one lens shattered, the other catching the glow.
Their eyes met through that fracture.
For a second, neither of them moved. Only the sound of the train, its endless rumble beneath their feet, the whine of wind through the open frame filled the space between them.
Then Seojin surged forward, shoulder slamming into him. The acrobat gangster grunted as the impact drove him back toward the window. The cold wind bit his face as glass scraped against his back, the edge of the frame digging into his spine.
Seojin pushed harder, the force pressing him halfway out into the night. Below, the rails roared past, streaks of silver and darkness.
Seojin's mask inches from his face, eyes glinting through the crack.
Then… Seojin hesitated, stopped pushing.
The acrobat gangster saw his chance.
He drove his knee up, aiming for the ribs.
But Seojin twisted, body dropping low as the strike cut through empty air. In one fluid motion, they spun on their heel–
WHAM!
The spinning back kick landed clean across the acrobat gangster's jaw.
The impact snapped his head sideways. And he was knocked behind.
Wind exploded past his ears as the world turned upside down, then vanished completely.
His scream was lost to the roar of the train as his body was flung through the broken window, disappearing into the wind.
For a brief moment, the space he left behind was cold, hollow, endless.
Seojin stood there, chest rising and falling, the cracked mask staring into the dark.
…
The scream tore through the air, then vanished into the wind.
Both the mohawk and jacket gangsters froze, their grins vanishing, head turning toward the sound.
Seojin stood in the middle of the aisle. They bent down, slowly.
Their fingers curled around the handle of the metal bat on the floor. The faint clang as it lifted echoed across the compartment.
They straightened, the bat hung from their hand, blood and dust streaking its surface.
The jacket gangster swallowed in nervousness. The mohawk gangster's grip tightened on the metal piece.
Seojin raised their head. The cracked mask caught the flicker of light, splitting their reflection into two halves.
Their gaze found the two gangsters.
The air in the compartment seemed to shrink.
…
"...I will kill you."