Left in the open field, the boys wait. And wait. The wind picks up. Somewhere, a crow coughs.

Then…

Honk.

A single goose waddles into view.

Then two more emerge from behind a bush like backup dancers in a musical no one asked for.

The honking escalates—urgent, furious, personal. These geese don’t just honk. They accuse.

“Do... do those geese look angry to you?” YU-JUN whispers, eyes wide.

“Don’t move,” he adds, going full drill sergeant. “Stand your ground. No sudden moves. They smell fear.”

The geese pick up speed. Their heads bob. Their beady little demon eyes zero in on the team like heat-seeking missiles of chaos.

MIN-JUN breaks first, sweat pouring down his face. “Yeah, see… that advice works great for internet comment sections, but this? This is real life, and I—I choose survival.”

He bolts.

Full sprint.

The geese scream in triumph and charge.

“Coward!” DO-YUN yells, pointing as he panics.

“Smart coward!” HA-JOON barks. “MOVE!”

And like dominos, they all break rank—professional training gone, pride in flames—as they flee the honkstorm.

Behind them, the guards in the security booth watch the scene unfold on camera, already doubled over in wheezing, military-grade laughter.

The boys leap onto the nearest parked armored truck like their survival depends on elevation—which, today, it does. YU-JUN nearly loses a boot. MIN-JUN screams like a haunted kettle.

The armored truck is now officially a fortress.

The geese pace below like loan sharks with unpaid debts.

Then—

Click.

The facility doors hiss open.

A-RA steps out, sipping from a steaming mug like a woman who has never run from a bird in her life.

She pauses.

Raises one brow.

Takes a sip.

“Well,” she calls out, voice dripping with amusement, “I leave them alone for five minutes, and in turn get a low-budget horror movie.”

She stands calmly , sipping her coffee like she’s watching a nature documentary and not a full-blown psychological breakdown unfold in real time.

“Chief,” she says, not even looking away from the mess, “please tell me you’re recording this. I’m gonna need it for leverage. Or a Christmas party slideshow.”

The CHIEF OFFICER, still chuckling, lifts his phone like a man already too blessed. “Some things never change. You should come back to the service. We miss you.”

A-RA smirks, hair perfectly in place despite the goosepocalypse unraveling thirty feet away. “The private sector has its perks. No rules. No limits. And best of all—” she raises her mug in salute— “I get to unleash my crazy whenever I want.”

Meanwhile, the  boys are clinging to the roof of an armored truck, barely catching their breath. Below, the three geese of doom circle like miniature raptors, their beady, soulless eyes locked onto their prey.

YU-JUN panting, glaring at the birds below goes

“Alright, we just stay up here until they lose interest. We’re trained operatives, we can outlast them....”

Then—
FLAP.
FLAP.
FLAP.

The lead goose lifts into the air like a feathery warplane.

HA-JOON’s eyes go wide. “Oh no. No. No. They have aerial capabilities?! NOBODY SAID THEY COULD DO THAT!”

The second goose follows. Then the third.

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Human and goose lock eyes.

Then—chaos.

They leap.
ALL of them.

SCREAMING.

FALLING.

RUNNING.

DO-YUN zigzags like a cracked-out squirrel dodging a missile.

MIN-JUN is mid-sprint when a goose lands a perfect precision peck to his buttocks. His soul leaves his body.

YU-JUN tries a barrel roll. Fails. Eats dirt.
HA-JOON lets out a battle cry

From the security booth, one guard has collapsed behind the desk, laughing so hard he’s gone into silent wheeze mode. Another is filming, but his hands are shaking so violently that all the footage captures is blurry dirt and distant screams.

“Somebody—please—” a guard gasps, doubled over, “get these elite soldiers a tactical retreat plan!”

The boys are still running. Sprinting. Spiraling.

Finally, mercy arrives in the form of one pity-laughing guard who waddles forward, unlocks a gate, and herds the geese away like a man used to cleaning up other people’s emotional damage.

The geese go quietly. Professionally. Like they’ve made their point.

The boys collapse on the grass.

Panting. Sweaty. Dishevelled. Broken.

Dignity?
Gone.
Rank?
Unsalvageable.
Spiritual core?
Loosely taped together.

MIN-JUN tries to sit up, straightening what’s left of his pride. “So… that was a strategic retreat.”

DO-YUN nods too quickly. “Yeah. Tactical repositioning. Textbook.”

HA-JOON, hands on his hips, gasping, mutters, “Right. Because if this were an actual combat scenario—”

CLAP.

A slow. Sarcastic. Applause.

They turn.

The guards are applauding.

Whistling.

Howling.

“For exceptional bravery in the face of unfathomable terror,” one guard announces with mock solemnity, saluting like a man who just watched an Oscar-winning war drama, “we honor your service today.”

The boys groan. All at once. A chorus of shared pain.

YU-JUN slaps a hand over his face. “We will never live this down.”

Finally, ARA wraps up and the team prepares to leave the facility.

As they leave the facility, the gate looms ahead like the finish line of a race none of them want to remember. The CHIEF OFFICER escorts them, wearing a smile that says he’s trying not to laugh. Failing, but trying.

“I just have to ask,” he says, hands behind his back like a polite executioner. “Are you sure you’re safe in the hands of these men? I mean… I just watched four trained operatives run for their lives from three very sweet—very feathery—poultry.”

No one speaks. The team stares straight ahead, eyes glazed with the thousand-yard stare of people who have seen unspeakable things. The kind that honk.

A-RA smiles. “Don’t worry, as their leader, it’s my job to protect them.”

A pause.

The men lower their heads. If shame were visible, it would drip off them like sweat. At the gate, they’re handed gear—tents, flashlights, emergency rations, and what looks suspiciously like a “My First Camping Adventure” survival kit. No one has the energy to protest.

The team hikes through the thick underbrush in grim silence, their boots sucking at the mud with every step. The trees whisper overhead. Even the owls seem to be judging them.

A-RA leads the way, slicing through low-hanging branches with a thin stick like some kind of jungle empress. She doesn’t say a word, but her silence is the loudest thing in the woods.

Behind her, the boys drag their feet like soldiers returning from a war they lost to barnyard animals. Finally, DO-YUN breaks the silence.

“Why would you embarrass us like that?” he mutters, voice low, bitter.

“Embarrass you?” A-RA doesn’t turn. “You ran with your own legs, not mine. How is that my fault? My only crime? Witnessing it happen in real time”

“We thought they were dogs,” MIN-JUN snaps. “That’s what you said in the briefing.”

“Oh, right,” A-RA replies. “Rabid dogs. The kind with foam in their mouths and a thirst for blood. And yet… you couldn’t even handle geese. GE. ESE. The oversized pigeons of nature. You think you’d fare better against actual dogs?”

YU-JUN chimes in, voice half-whisper, half-conspiracy. “Those weren’t ordinary geese. That’s a government lab. They were probably engineered to attack.”

A-RA stops walking, just long enough to turn and stare at him. Voice thick with sarcasm. “Yes, that’s it. Genetically enhanced killer geese. The next phase of national defense. Operation Beakstorm.”

MIN-JUN frowns. “You know this reflects badly on you. As our trainer.”

A-RA raises an eyebrow. “Oh, absolutely. I mean, considering those geese have never once attended tactical training, you’d think a squad of elite men with weapons would have the upper hand.”

She spins on her heel and starts walking again, voice light, almost cheerful.  And MIN-JUN—buddy—if I were you, I’d stay real quiet the rest of the way. Because let’s not forget…”

She glances over her shoulder.

“ one of those geese took a full bite out of your backside. And sure, the other boys didn’t see it because they were too busy setting new Olympic sprinting records…

She spreads her arms.

“Now they know.”

HA-JOON stifles a laugh. It escapes anyway—part wheeze, part snort.

“Wait… that happened?” he says, eyes wide.

“No, it didn’t,” MIN-JUN says quickly. “That’s misinformation. Disinformation.

A-RA grins, the moon catching the edge of her smile

HA-JOON loses it. He doubles over, laughter muffled by his sleeve.

“I still have feathers in my vest,” DO-YUN mumbles.

“Please don’t tell my wife,” DO-YUN says, clutching his pack like it contains his last shred of dignity. “She’s still mad about the period simulator thing…”

A-RA barely glances back. “Why would I tell your wife?”

DO-YUN breathes. “Thank you.”

“I’ll show her the video. Much more persuasive.” She adds sweetly.

DO-YUN lets out a strangled groan that sounds like a dying moose. A-RA, positively gleeful, marches ahead, chuckling under her breath like the villain in a bedtime story your mother warned you about.

The boys trail behind her in silence, their morale soggy even before the sky opens up.

Drizzle. Then drizzle’s older, angrier cousin: rain.

A-RA stops, squinting up at the sky. “Alright. Camp. Now. Before our gear gains ten pounds of sadness and mildew. Also—I’m starving.”

With a combined enthusiasm level just below “funeral attendance,” the boys wrestle their soaked supplies into shape and pitch the one communal tent provided by the facility. It is somehow both too small and far too intimate.

Rain drums against the fabric in a rhythmic patter as they finish. A-RA stands at the entrance, watching the downpour with something almost like admiration.

“Rain has its charm,” she murmurs to herself, as if this whole thing is a peaceful retreat and not a tactical team’s public unraveling.

She zips the tent shut behind her, turns—and stops.

There they are. The boys. Seated neatly on the four foldable stools like it’s a camping catalog shoot. Not one of them thought to offer her a seat.

Her eyes narrow. “Wow. No gentlemen here, huh? Just four well-armed mannequins with bad manners.”

HA-JOON, caught off guard, pats YU-JUN on the thigh as if volunteering him. A-RA, with a sweet yet mischievous smile, strides toward YU-JUN... AND without warning before

Before YU-JUN can protest, she’s already seated across his lap. Fully. Like a warm, weaponized backpack.

Chest to chest. 

Awkward tension level: volcanic. 

She goes,

“Don’t worry, I’m not heavy. I’ll just sit till I finish my food.”

YU-JUN sits up straighter than military posture regulations allow.

DO-YUN groans in the corner.

MIN-JUN tries to pretend he’s checking the tent’s structural integrity.

HA-JOON is wheezing silently, a fist jammed into his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“What?” A-RA says innocently. “Did you expect me to sit like a statue? If I sit like a chair, you can’t eat. I’m just being practical.”

“You’re poking me,” YU-JUN hisses through clenched teeth.

A-RA places one hand dramatically over her chest. “With what? If anyone here has the equipment for poking, it’s you.”

HA-JOON loses it. A full-body laugh. Even MIN-JUN snorts into his rice packet.

“I meant your chopsticks!” YU-JUN snaps. “Ugh, here—take the stool!”

He stands, abandoning both his pride and any hope of a peaceful meal.

A-RA sits like a queen who just conquered a small, damp nation. She digs into her rations with the satisfaction of someone who won a very personal war. The boys exchange looks that say we should unionize.

Once she finishes eating, A-RA zips up her jacket and leans back with a sigh.

“Just so you know, these are your sleeping positions for the night. Even if we make it to the extraction point, our transport broke down. The other truck is on its way, but this place is so remote it’ll take hours to get here. Rest till dawn..”

And just like that—it hits YU-JUN.

Why she made him give up his chair.

Of course, a trained operative can stand all night. That’s not the issue. The real torture? It’s the context—a backbreaking jungle trek, the haunting memory of being publicly humiliated by a flock of homicidal geese, and the grim knowledge that at dawn, they’re marching out again.

Standing all night?

It’s psychological warfare.

He glances around, silently pleading for sympathy, mercy, maybe even a rogue crate or log. But the other boys? Suddenly very invested in examining the small tent. Not a single one makes eye contact. Not because they don’t care—but because the alternative is sitting on swampy, flooded grass... and no one wants to be that damp martyr.

Squatting? Please. That was a direct path to early leg death.

YU-JUN sighs, heavy and dramatic, as he marks the moment of ultimate betrayal. The brotherhood has failed him.