Sergeant Kim

The stadium still stands above their heads, but the real refuge is underground: narrow passageways, flickering lights, and a constant smell of damp and rusty metal. Here the survivors hide, alongside the army, trying to stay out of reach of the monsters that roam the surface. In this subterranean labyrinth, filled with makeshift bunks, supply crates, and restricted areas, lies Sergeant Kim. Always alert, he watches for every creak in the concrete, every shadow that moves where it shouldn't. The confinement is tense: the civilians fear losing control, and the soldiers fear something will enter from the collapsed tunnels. Sergeant Kim was preoccupied with expeditions and rarely involved himself with the protégés; one of his officers approached him while Sergeant Kim was sitting in the military vehicle. "Sir, you should clear your head, find an appointment," the officer said confidently. "Date? I think there are more important things, officer," I said seriously. It didn't cross my mind to look for dates inside the shelter; it wasn't my thing. The speakers hanging in the hallways vibrated with a deep hum before activating. The announcement left the subway in an awkward silence. Some slowly rose from their bunks, others exchanged nervous glances. The inspection was always the same: a small wound on the arm or hand to check that they still bled like humans… that they weren't changing. Sergeant Kim walked among them, watching the civilians line up, one after another. He knew many were hiding the trembling of their hands, the fear that their blood wouldn't run red, or that their reaction to the pain would reveal something deeper.

"You know what to do," I gave the order to show their arms for the cut on the hand that would show if they were still human or beginning to transform.