“….Beware the damp, many-legged creature that emerges from the spot where a pig narrowly escaped death. In that instance, hurl a yellow fruit.”

Thankfully, Seojun managed to keep his composure, avoiding the embarrassment of staining his worn-out jeans. The reason behind it was as clear as day.

Seojun barely had time to process the soldier’s gruesome end. His golden ratio appearance was like a fleeting work of art. Monster X, the man-eating alien, shook the ex-soldier so violently with its tentacles that his limbs were ripped off. The force was too much - his neck couldn’t withstand the strain and tore off.

In the chaos of battle, Golden emerged as an unexpected trump card. Even if Brass had been captured, killed, or interrogated, Gas Mask could have only known about Golden fleeing the Hamon campsite following Richard’s death. But surprisingly, Golden returned for some reason. Maybe his judgement was a bit off thanks to his drug use.

As Seojun hurtled downwards in that spinning, dizzying descent, a pang of regret hit him. His mind raced, replaying the confrontation with Gas Mask, filled with what-ifs and second thoughts.

Gas Mask instinctively stepped back, his heel scraping the floor in a sound that seemed to echo ominously. His eyes landed on the thin, tangled mess of hair slipping through his gloved fingers, the damp strands long like a rock star’s wild hair, clinging to his glove like strands of seaweed.

In moments like this, words often fall short, and a silent understanding binds everyone together. Seojun, who wasn’t exactly close with anyone in the group, could still feel the heavy air of hopelessness around them.

Seojun wasn’t getting his hopes up. It was clear that a telephone would be at the convenience store, but it was a wired one, not mobile, and obviously, it wouldn’t work from afar. Seojun watched nervously as Golden fished something long out of his pocket.

Golden’s mind drifted back to a time when he savored a peculiar candy, shaped uncannily like an eyeball. It was a round, sweet orb that he would let rest on his tongue, rolling it around until it melted away, sometimes slipping from his grasp. When it did, it would skitter across the floor, glistening with a mix of spit and sugar.