chapter 12: The price of survival
Chapter 12: The Price of Survival
Gin Chan had never heard silence this loud.
Not the heavy silence of a hospital room or the bitter hush before a punch. This was the kind that screamed into his bones—cold, aching, endless. When his eyes opened, he didn't find beeping monitors or a blinding ceiling light. Instead, he lay on cracked earth, under a sunless, gray sky, surrounded by the soundless weight of nothing.
Then came the voice.
"You begged to live."
He sat up, slowly. Death stood a few paces ahead, garbed in that familiar dark elegance, her silver gun holstered like a warning. Her eyes were voids.
"You have survived many lives, Gin Chan. But this time, survival alone will not be enough."
Gin stood, squinting into the horizon. "Where am I going now?"
She tilted her head. "A place where living is not easy. A man who knows the price of breathing—because every breath costs someone else their life."
Before he could question her, she raised the gun.
Bang.
---
He woke to screaming.
"Move! Move!"
Gunfire.
His body jolted up as bullets tore through the air overhead. He was in a tactical vest, boots, and worn gloves. Sand and smoke stung his eyes. Around him, chaos reigned—soldiers running, dragging others, barking orders.
Memories. Not mine—his.
Gin clutched his head as knowledge flooded in. He was Lieutenant Ryu Jaemin, a South Korean special forces operative deployed to a disputed warzone. An elite sniper and field strategist, respected by his men—but haunted. Ryu had watched friends die, given orders that cost lives, and carried the invisible scars of every bullet that missed its target.
This life was war.
And today? Today was hell.
"Sniper! South tower!" someone screamed.
Gin's instincts surged. He yanked a fallen comrade's rifle, dove behind a burned-out vehicle, and scanned the tower.
Ryu's mind guided him. Wind speed. Distance. Lighting. Movement.
There.
A glint.
Gin held his breath. One shot.
Crack.
The glint vanished.
The chaos paused for a breath.
Then came the retreat.
---
Nightfall brought silence, but not peace. The unit hunkered in a makeshift camp near the border. Wounded men groaned softly in their bunks. The medic worked silently under dim lanterns. Gin sat alone, cleaning the sniper rifle with mechanical precision.
He hated how natural this felt.
One of the younger soldiers, Park Hyunwoo, approached, limping slightly.
"Lieutenant Ryu?"
Gin looked up.
"That shot today… you saved at least six of us. Maybe more."
Gin didn't reply immediately. He forced a faint nod. "Just doing my job."
Hyunwoo hesitated. "You always say that. But I think... maybe you're trying to protect us. Like, more than just orders."
Gin looked away. He couldn't afford emotional attachments. Not here. Not in war.
But Ryu Jaemin had been different. He had cared. Deeply. Too deeply. Enough to lose pieces of himself for every man under his command.
Hyunwoo didn't press further. He just nodded and walked away.
Gin sat alone again, staring at his reflection in the rifle scope. A killer. A protector. A survivor.
But for how long?
---
The next morning, the unit received orders: covert extraction of civilians from a village caught in the crossfire. Intelligence suggested an imminent airstrike. The operation had to be swift.
"We're ghosts," Gin said. "In and out. No traces."
The team nodded.
They moved under moonlight. Black uniforms. Silenced weapons. Shadows through abandoned streets.
They found the civilians—fifteen of them, mostly women and children—hiding in a collapsed basement. Their eyes widened when they saw the soldiers.
Gin knelt beside an older woman clutching a baby. "We're getting you out. Stay quiet. Stay close."
The extraction began.
Halfway back, all hell broke loose.
Tripwire.
Explosion.
Smoke and fire. Screams.
Gunfire erupted from rooftops.
Gin pulled the old woman and child behind cover, drawing his sidearm. His team scattered, returning fire.
"Ambush! Form a perimeter!"
Hyunwoo dragged a bleeding comrade to safety.
Gin moved like water, every shot precise. Ryu's training surged in his veins. But there were too many.
One by one, his men fell.
Then he saw Hyunwoo go down.
Gin charged forward, bullets whizzing past. He reached Hyunwoo, dragged him behind debris.
Hyunwoo was shot in the chest.
"Sir… I'm scared," he whispered.
Gin pressed his hands on the wound. "Stay with me. You're not dying today."
Tears streamed down Hyunwoo's face. "Did we… did we save them?"
Gin looked back. The last of the civilians were being led away by surviving soldiers.
"Yes. You did good."
Hyunwoo smiled faintly. "Then it's okay."
He stopped breathing.
Gin screamed.
He stood, rage boiling.
And charged into the fire.
---
The aftermath was silence again.
Nine soldiers dead. Four civilians lost. The mission had succeeded. Technically.
Gin sat alone in the debriefing tent, staring at blood on his hands.
Command called it a success. A clean operation.
But he knew better. Ryu Jaemin had died a little more that day.
He stepped out of the tent, looked at the distant hills, and whispered to the night.
"I don't want to survive like this anymore."
And the sky whispered back.
---
When Gin opened his eyes again, the cracked earth had returned.
Death stood before him, expression unreadable.
"You fought hard."
Gin didn't speak.
"And yet you still asked to die."
He clenched his fists. "It wasn't about giving up. It was about not wanting to live as a weapon."
Death tilted her head. "And what did you learn?"
He looked at his hands. "That survival isn't the same as living. And sometimes... the cost is too high."
She walked toward him slowly. "Ryu Jaemin lived for others. Died for others. And you carried that weight."
"He deserved peace," Gin said. "They all did."
Death looked into him. "Then earn yours."
She raised the gun.
Bang.
---