The screams started at 3:47 PM.
Min-jun had been timing everything since returning to his seat—the intervals between infected movements at the door, the frequency of the nervous businessman's phone checks, even the rhythm of the elderly man's labored breathing. Time had become a tactical asset, each second measured against the approaching crisis.
But nothing had prepared him for the sound that now echoed through the train like the wail of the damned.
It came from somewhere far ahead, beyond the infected car pressing against their door, from the very front of the train where the outbreak had presumably started. The sound was barely human—a mixture of agony, terror, and something else that made every passenger in the car freeze mid-conversation.
The university students stopped their chatter about weekend plans. The mother instinctively pulled her twin boys closer. Even the businessman with the laptop looked up from his quarterly reports, his face pale with sudden understanding that the world had just changed in some fundamental way.
*It's starting,* both voices in Min-jun's head agreed. *The infection is spreading faster now.*
A second scream joined the first, then a third. Through the train's structure, the sounds carried with crystal clarity—not just screams of pain, but screams of absolute horror. The kind of sounds people made when they witnessed something that shattered their understanding of reality.
The nervous businessman in the front row shot to his feet, his phone clattering to the floor. "We have to get off," he said, his voice cracking with panic. "We have to get off right now!"
"Sir, please remain calm," came a voice from behind Min-jun. He turned to see a train attendant had entered their car from the rear service entrance, a young woman in the crisp blue uniform of the railway company. But her usually perfect appearance was disheveled, her hair escaped from its neat bun, and her hands shook as she tried to maintain professional composure.
"What's happening?" the military-minded woman with the English book demanded, standing to face the attendant. "Those screams—what's going on in the other cars?"
The attendant's practiced smile faltered. "There's been... an incident. A medical emergency in one of the forward cars. Please remain seated while our crew handles the situation."
*Liar,* Mad Dog's voice snarled. *She knows exactly what's happening, and she's scared out of her mind.*
Min-jun studied the attendant with enhanced perception, reading the micro-expressions and stress indicators that betrayed her true knowledge. The way her eyes darted toward the door leading to the infected car, the slight tremor in her voice when she said "medical emergency," the way she positioned herself near the rear exit—she had seen something, and it had terrified her.
Another wave of screams echoed through the train, closer this time. The sound of breaking glass followed, then a wet, tearing noise that made several passengers visibly flinch.
"That doesn't sound like a medical emergency," the athletic woman pressed, taking a step toward the attendant. "That sounds like people are being—"
Her words were cut off by a new sound—the rhythmic pounding of something heavy against the door separating their car from the infected zone. The door shuddered with each impact, and through the small window, Min-jun could see more infected faces pressed against the glass, their movements becoming increasingly frenzied.
*They're getting more aggressive,* Rama observed. *Something is driving them to push harder against the barriers.*
The businessman who had been reading the ominous text messages suddenly lunged toward the rear exit, pushing past the attendant. "I'm not staying here to die!" he shouted, grabbing for the emergency release handle.
Min-jun moved.
His body flowed from seated to standing to intercepting in one smooth motion, covering the distance between his seat and the emergency door faster than should have been humanly possible. His hand closed over the businessman's wrist with precisely calibrated pressure—enough to stop him, not enough to break bones.
"That's not a good idea," Min-jun said quietly, his voice carrying an authority that made the businessman freeze. "We're traveling at over 200 kilometers per hour. Opening that door means death for everyone in this car."
The businessman stared at him with wild eyes. "But they're coming! Don't you understand? They're already dead, and they're coming for us!"
A child's voice broke through the tension. "Mommy, what does he mean they're dead?"
The mother of the twin boys was trying to cover her sons' ears, but it was too late. The eight-year-olds were staring at the adults with the wide-eyed comprehension that children sometimes possessed, understanding that something terrible was happening even if they couldn't grasp the specifics.
*Control the information flow,* Rama's tactical mind advised. *Panic spreads faster than any virus.*
Min-jun released the businessman's wrist and turned to address the entire car, his voice calm but carrying enough force to cut through the rising hysteria. "Everyone, please listen carefully. There appears to be some kind of medical situation in the forward cars. The best thing we can do right now is remain calm and follow proper safety procedures."
The pounding on the door grew louder, more insistent. Several passengers were now staring at it with growing alarm as the infected faces pressed against the window multiplied. What had been three or four figures was now nearly a dozen, their clouded eyes and gaping mouths creating a grotesque collage of hunger.
The train attendant's professional facade finally cracked. "Oh god," she whispered, backing toward the rear of the car. "They said it was contained in Seoul. They said it couldn't spread this fast."
*There it is,* Mad Dog's voice noted with satisfaction. *The truth comes out when fear takes over.*
"What couldn't spread this fast?" the athletic woman demanded, moving to block the attendant's retreat. "What happened in Seoul?"
Before the attendant could answer, a new sound filled the car—the sharp crack of breaking glass. Everyone turned toward the front door to see spider-web fractures spreading across the window. The infected had found something to use as a tool, and they were methodically hammering at the weakest point of the barrier.
The elderly man with the heart condition clutched his chest, his breathing becoming even more labored. His wife fumbled in her medical bag for what looked like nitroglycerin tablets, her own hands shaking with stress.
"We need to barricade that door," Min-jun said, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "Everyone who can move, help me push seats against it."
*Finally,* both voices agreed. *Time for action.*
But even as he moved toward the front of the car, Min-jun's enhanced senses were picking up something else—a subtle change in the air pressure, a shift in the train's rhythm that suggested they were slowing down. Through the windows, he could see that the countryside was moving past more slowly than before.
The intercom crackled to life again, but this time the conductor's voice was barely controlled panic. "All passengers, please remain in your seats and await further instructions. We are making an unscheduled stop due to... due to emergency circumstances. Please do not attempt to leave the train under any conditions."
An unscheduled stop. That meant they would be stationary, vulnerable, with nowhere to run if the infected broke through their defenses. But it also meant potential escape routes, potential resources, and most importantly, solid ground beneath their feet instead of a 200-kilometer-per-hour death trap.
*Opportunity and danger in equal measure,* Rama's voice observed. *The question is whether these people can be organized quickly enough to take advantage.*
The glass in the door gave way with a sound like gunshots, raining fragments into the front of the car. Through the opening, grasping hands reached forward, clawing at air with broken fingernails and rotting flesh.
The screaming started again, but this time it was coming from inside their car.
Min-jun looked around at the terrified faces of the passengers he had sworn to protect—children, elderly, civilians who had never imagined they would need to fight for their lives. In moments, they would be facing an enemy that defied every rule of civilized society, creatures that had once been human but were now driven by nothing but hunger.
*Time to see what kind of guardian you really are,* Mad Dog whispered with dark anticipation.
The first infected hand broke through the shattered door, followed by an arm, then a shoulder. Behind it, more creatures pressed forward with single-minded determination, drawn by the scent of living flesh and the promise of fresh meat.
Min-jun rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward, positioning himself between the monsters and the innocent people he had chosen to protect.
The real war was about to begin.
----
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