Chapter 19 : Overdose (1) (Part-1)

The moment of hesitation lasted only for a fleeting instant.

Cheol-woo swiftly poured the blue powder out onto the floor, allowing it to scatter in an uneven heap.

The question lingered in his mind: if he were to partake in this substance, what would be the appropriate amount to consume?

It was a drug with origins that remained shrouded in mystery—how could Cheol-woo realistically determine what the correct dosage for a single use might be?

Nonetheless, he concluded that opting for a larger amount was a wiser choice than risking insufficiency, and with that thought solidifying in his mind, he took a deep breath and inhaled the entire mound in a single, decisive action.

Ssssss—

In that fleeting moment, Cheol-woo’s vision transformed into a vivid shade of crimson, engulfing his sight completely and overwhelming his senses.

The delicate capillaries within his eyes ruptured, producing a sudden series of sharp, distinct sounds—pop, pop, pop—as they burst open, causing his eyes to appear bloodshot almost instantaneously, a stark contrast to their usual state.

Simultaneously, his entire body underwent an intense, almost violent transformation, twisting and cracking with a series of pronounced, jarring sounds—crk-crack!—as every bone realigned within him, accompanied by a swelling of his muscles that seemed to push against the confines of his skin.

‘What…? Why is everything so slow?’

And then, in that extraordinary moment, time seemed to come to a complete halt.

Every element of the environment around him appeared to move at an excruciatingly slow pace, giving the surreal impression that everything was encased in ice, perfectly rigid and immobile.

In stark contrast, only Cheol-woo retained his sense of motion, a solitary figure amidst the frozen tableau of the world.

With a sudden surge of determination, he seized the wrist of the individual who was attempting to force handcuffs onto him, twisting it with swift precision.

He had intended only to apply a simple twist, just enough to thwart the action, but instead, the force of his movement sent the man careening away from him, propelled by the unexpected rebound of their contact.

Spinning mid-air with his wrist caught, the man was slammed into the ground under Cheol-woo’s control.

Seeing the guy smash head-first into the floor, brain matter oozing out, the other agents’ jaws dropped.

‘Is that… even human?’

Sure, they’d heard him referred to as a monster, time and again—but this? This was an entirely different level of incomprehensibility.

They should have anticipated the gravity of the situation when Director Park returned, having survived as the lone individual from the unit he dispatched in pursuit of Min Cheol-woo.

At that time, they had even experienced a slight sense of pride, realizing that Park had strategically assembled only the most dependable operatives into what was purportedly a special task force.

It was akin to assembling an elite strike team or a clandestine special operations squad, meticulously chosen for their skills and loyalty.

Yet, who could have fathomed that he would actually send them on what turned out to be a mission with such dire implications—effectively a death mission?

“Fire! Fire, dammit! Aim for his head!”

They aimed and took their shots with the intent focused on the head—

However, by the time they regained their awareness, Min Cheol-woo had vanished from the scene, and a compatriot agent was crumpling to the ground, blood gushing from the vacant eye socket where his eye had once been.

They aimed once more and discharged their weapons at his head—this time, the bullets failed to find their mark as they were intercepted by the lifeless body of a fallen foe clad in a bulletproof vest.

In an instant, agents were falling to the ground in a manner reminiscent of autumn leaves shedding from trees.

“Seal the rear! Fill the gaps! If we lose the perimeter, we’re screwed!”

He appeared to be shooting without any real aim or consideration, targeting anyone who happened to be nearest to him, but that was not the case at all—

He was purposefully dismantling the encirclement by concentrating his fire on the agents who were packed together the closest to him.

And at that moment, the perimeter had been breached.

Did this mean they were in serious trouble?

No—he was advancing directly into the line of fire of the hidden sniper.

He did not seem to exhibit any awareness of where the shots could potentially be coming from.

Was he so under the influence of the drug that he had completely disregarded the existence of the sniper altogether?

Got him!

“Huh…?”

“Wha—?”

He caught it.

The tranquilizer round.

With his hand.

[Location compromised. Retreating.]

That son of a—Team Leader Lee erupted in frustration, cursing vehemently.

The sniper had completely disappeared from view, but despite this setback, their team continued to maintain a significant advantage in terms of firepower.

They were unleashing a barrage of rifle rounds at an astonishing rate of over 3,000 rounds per minute.

In contemporary Close Quarters Battle (CQB), encounters are structured in a turn-based manner.

During this sequence, the side that possesses greater firepower initiates the attack, and for the duration of that particular “turn,” the opposing side is effectively prohibited from even peeking their heads out to assess the situation.

But this guy?

He was simply poking his head out into the open and—bang! bang!—discharging a couple of rounds with reckless abandon as if he believed he could bring an abrupt end to the turn at his own whim and fancy.

Shouldn’t you, at the very least, go through the motions of pretending to hurl a grenade if you aim to take over the turn? Yet, this guy wasn’t even making the slightest effort to do so.

“Why… why are we losing!?”

He was advancing steadily and resolutely into the perilous zone of active gunfire, and with every attempt someone made to take a shot at him, they would quickly fall to the ground.

Establish eye contact—resulting in death.

Avoid making eye contact—still leading to death.

Before their finger could even make it to the trigger with intent, a bullet had already pierced through their forehead, rendering them lifeless.

Even in the rare event that someone might succeed in firing off a few fortunate rounds, all of those shots were intercepted by his shield, or whatever formidable object he possessed that offered him protection.

The only recourse available to his adversaries was to seek refuge behind vehicles and extend their firearms into the open where they could fire blindly.

However, that tactic is only effective against an opponent who harbors a fear of random gunfire—this individual, however, did not share that trepidation.

He sprinted through the entire chaotic scene, disregarding the incoming bullets as if they were merely bothersome flies buzzing around him.

What purpose did numbers serve in this context?

Even when they emerged simultaneously and unleashed a torrent of fire, one side’s shots were adeptly deflected by the protective shield, while Min Cheol-woo maintained his composure, methodically taking down the opposing side and effectively erasing any possibility of a crossfire.

There simply existed no feasible method to achieve victory against him.

“Fuck it—everyone pull the grenades! Bite down on one, shove the blue pill up your nose! Do it now!”

They couldn’t die in vain.

If they were going to go down, at least they’d ensure that they would take that bastard with them.

Perhaps then Director Park would step up and cover their mothers’ hospital bills, providing some semblance of relief and justice after everything they had endured.

Team Leader Lee and the agents, their faces etched with grim determination, pulled the pins from the grenades, shoved the explosive devices into their mouths, grasped another one firmly in each hand, and ingested the blue powder, readying themselves for the inevitable confrontation.

“Mmmph-mmrrgh!! (All units, charge!!)”

Roaring like beasts, the final death squad burst forth with an intensity that could be felt in the air, their bloodshot eyes blazing with an unquenchable fire of rage and primal instinct.

Higher thought had dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a void where reason once resided, completely absent from their consciousness.

Only the relentless forces of hunger and destruction remained, driving them forward as they charged ferociously at the living being that lay before them, an embodiment of their singular, consuming desire to destroy.

“Huh?”

Where the hell did that bastard go?

Cheol-woo had sprinted out of his hiding spot, only to discover that the individual who had been shooting at him had disappeared completely, leaving no evidence of his presence behind.

The addicts, their faces contorted with fear, continued to hold grenades in their mouths, their bodies instinctively flinching and becoming motionless as the chaos unfolded around them.

Boom! BOOM-BOOM!

Grenades detonated one after another on the vacant street, sending pieces of flesh and debris soaring through the air in every direction, creating a gruesome spectacle of destruction.

“Grahhh… Haaah… Haaa…”

Cheol-woo, hidden in an alley, was sitting on his suitcase, gasping for air.

What the hell just happened? What was that?

The moment his vision turned red, he felt like he was drifting into sleep, lost in a hazy trance.

How could he explain it? It felt like an out-of-body experience, like he was controlling himself from a third-person perspective.

From that point on, it didn’t feel like he was moving by his own will—it was more like his body was acting purely on instinct.

Even catching the supersonic tranquilizer dart—he hadn’t seen it coming.

His hand had just moved on its own and snatched it.

Shouldn’t cartilage wear out or bones break when a human arm moves that fast?

But Cheol-woo’s arm was perfectly fine, as if mocking such logic.

And what about charging into a hail of bullets with nothing but a shield?

Even if he was confident in shootouts, who the hell runs into open ground like that?

He wasn’t sure.

Maybe he’d snapped.

Maybe he’d just lost all fear.

His memory was crystal clear, but he couldn’t explain what the hell he’d been thinking.

And yet, somehow, he’d dodged or blocked every bullet and wiped them all out.

The fact that it had worked felt absurd.

“Hah… Haaah…”

The blood pooled in his eyes began to recede.

His heart, which had been hammering like a sewing machine, slowly returned to a normal rhythm.

As the rush faded and the euphoria ebbed, one thought filled Cheol-woo’s head:

I must be insane.

There had been plenty of chances to break through the perimeter and run.

But he hadn’t run.

No—he couldn’t run.

For some reason, “escape” hadn’t even existed in his mind at the time.

It was only near the end that a bit of reason returned and he finally bolted.

If he hadn’t, he might’ve been blown to bits by one of those grenades.

Then again…