The brick crumbled to dust, bits of stone skittering across the pavement.
Joon lowered his hand, electricity flickering along his fingertips before fading out.
"...Okay," he muttered, rubbing his face. "That's where I draw the line."
Jin adjusted his grip on the staff, his muscles aching, and stepped forward, voice steady but sharp.
"Come out," he called, eyes scanning the area. "We know you're there."
For a moment, nothing.
Then — slow movement.
One by one, people emerged from the shadows.
From behind overturned gurneys, broken barricades, and rusted hospital vehicles, they crept into view. Their faces were gaunt, hollow-eyed, skin stretched too tight over their bones. Some held makeshift weapons — rusted pipes, shattered chair legs, pieces of broken glass.
They didn't look like fighters.
They looked like people who had been surviving by the skin of their teeth.
