A freezing alley in South Korea.

Cracked pavement. Neon signs buzzing overhead. The sharp smell of trash and rain clinging to the walls. It wasn’t a place anyone would look twice at. But Minjae Han — (한민재), age 12 — sat there anyway—knees to his chest, back to the wall.

He wasn’t waiting for anyone.
There was just nowhere else to go.
The night pressed in around him—quiet, still.
Like time had given up, too.

He didn’t remember much before this life. Just fragments. His name. The feel of cold concrete. The sound of trains in the distance. The rest blurred together—nights spent under stairs, behind dumpsters, under rooftops that didn’t belong to him.

No school. No parents. No future.
Just a kid the world had already forgotten.
He’d stopped asking for more a long time ago.

Then, one night, under the broken glow of a vending machine that hadn’t worked in weeks, he saw it. Something small. Quiet. Moving low to the ground.

A dog.
Dirty. Bones showing through its thin fur. One ear torn, healed wrong. It nosed at an empty wrapper like it still believed something was inside.

Minjae didn’t move.
Neither did the dog.

They stared at each other for a while—long enough for the air to settle between them.
Then Minjae sat down, slow and deliberate, giving it space. He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach. Just stayed there, sharing the cold.

The dog didn’t leave.
After that, it started following him. Not always beside him—sometimes a few steps behind—but never far.
They slept together under scaffolding, behind restaurants, inside parking garages.
On good nights, they shared whatever scraps they found.
On bad nights, Moon pressed his small body into Minjae’s side and helped him forget how empty his stomach felt.

At some point, Minjae started calling him Moon.

Moon never barked. Never begged. He just… stayed.
And for the first time, Minjae wasn’t alone.

It didn’t last.
It never did.

The first sign came in the silence.
Not the kind you notice right away. The kind that sneaks in slowly—too few cars, too few voices, no footsteps from the street above.

Minjae noticed Moon stop walking.
Not suddenly—just enough to make Minjae stop, too.
His body dropped low, eyes locked ahead, one paw raised.
He didn’t growl. Didn’t whine. Just stared.

Minjae followed his gaze.

The alley ahead looked ordinary.
Wet pavement. Garbage bags leaning against rusted walls. Dim overhead lighting.

But something felt… sharpened.
Like the space was holding its breath.

A sewer grate hissed. Steam curled out and drifted across the ground.

Then Minjae saw them.

Two red lights—steady, high above the ground—glowing through the mist.

His stomach dropped before his brain caught up.

As the clouds shifted, the rest of them came into view.

Tall. Heavy-built. Dressed in black tactical armor from neck to boot.
Every inch plated and sealed.
No markings. No exposed skin.
Their boots were thick. Their movements deliberate.
Each one carried a blade on either leg—sheathed but ready.

Their helmets were full black—rounded, armored, with no face underneath.
Just a single red visor across the front, glowing faint and steady.

One of them tilted his head slightly, then touched the side of his helmet.
A voice followed—flat, modulated, stripped of anything human.

"Target in sight."

Minjae had no time to think.
His legs moved before his mind could catch up—
the kind of running that came from somewhere deeper than fear.

He tore down the alley.
His shoes slapped the wet concrete, too loud in the empty dark.
Puddles lit up in flashes under the streetlights.
Trash bags blurred past.
Moon kept pace beside him—low, silent, fast.

Minjae turned a corner. Then another.
He kept turning corners.
He didn’t know how many. He just ran.

But every time he looked up—
the lights were there.
Always ahead.

His chest tightened.
He wasn’t getting away.

He cut through a rusted alley he knew well—one of the few he’d ever felt safe in. Broken fence. Garbage bags were stacked near the wall. A space between two dumpsters just wide enough to hide.

He dropped into the gap. Pulled Moon in with him.

The air was thick with metal and rot.

His breath shook. Moon’s eyes were locked on the alley entrance.

The footsteps started getting closer.
Slow. Heavy. Precise.
Not loud, but somehow impossible to ignore.

Minjae crouched lower, one arm wrapped around Moon, trying to keep him still—trying to stay small.

But Moon moved.
He stepped forward, paws sinking into the wet concrete, placing himself between Minjae and the alley’s mouth.
His ears were back. Body tense.
A low growl rumbled through his chest—shaky, but firm.

The red visor swept across him.

The nearest soldier looked straight ahead, visor fixed past Moon like he wasn’t even there.
No shift in stance. No change in pace.
Like the dog in front of him was just another part of the floor he planned to step over.

Moon lunged.

He hit the soldier hard—jaws locking onto the forearm just above the elbow.
The sound that followed was a mix of bone and teeth cracking.

Minjae heard it. Felt it in his gut.
The thud. The impact. The sudden pull forward.

Moon didn’t let go.
His body shook. His back legs scraped for footing.
Blood hit the concrete—too much, too fast.

The soldier didn’t stop.

Moon was still clamped onto his arm when he reached across and pulled a blade from his belt.
He stabbed low, under the ribs. Fast. Precise.

Moon made a sound—
a sharp, broken whimper that cracked in the middle.

His legs folded.
His jaw let go.
And then he dropped.

Minjae heard the whimper.
That was when everything in him broke loose.

He didn’t feel the scream leave his mouth.

He was already moving—
crawling forward, hands slipping through puddles smeared with blood.

Moon was still on his feet when he reached him.
Barely.
His jaw was still locked onto the soldier’s arm.
His legs were shaking.
Blood spilled from his ribs, fast and uneven.

Then he turned his head.
Just slightly.

Their eyes met.

His ears twitched.

And then—
He collapsed.

Minjae’s knees hit the ground.
He wasn’t moving.

The soldier approached the boy, who lay defeated on the ground next to his only friend.

As he tried to grab him—
everything went still.
The soldiers. The boy. Even the rain.

Minjae was still on his knees, hand outstretched toward the body in front of him.
But something had changed.

The air—
It became thick.
Like gravity was bending inward.

A low hum began to ripple through the alley.
Too deep to be sound. Too sharp to be the wind.

The puddles began to tremble.
Bits of gravel shook loose from the walls.

One of the soldiers adjusted his stance—
just slightly.

And that was enough.

Minjae’s head lifted.
His eyes were wide. Empty.

And in the next instant—
The world had pushed this boy long enough.
Now it was his turn to push back.

Light began to crawl across his skin—
flickering. Unstable.

It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t lightning.
It was pressure.

His body lifted from the ground, hair rising with the hum in the air.

Around him, the alley changed.

Pebbles, broken glass, scraps of metal—
they all began to rise and tremble, as if the world was holding its breath.

The rain no longer fell in straight lines.
It bent around him.

So did everything else.

For the first time in their lives, the shadow soldiers felt the thing they’d taught others: Fear.

One of them lunged, reaching for the boy.

Minjae didn’t look at him.
He didn’t move.

The air responded for him.

A pulse hit the soldier mid-step, sending him crashing into the alley wall with enough force to crack the concrete.
His armor split at the shoulder.

The second soldier didn’t even make it that far.
He rose—lifted by invisible vectors—
legs kicking, arms flailing against nothing.

Then came the drop.

He hit the ground spine-first against a jagged iron fence.
The steel tore through him like wet paper.

His body split.

The air began to return to normal.
The debris stopped spinning.
The rain fell straight again.

And slowly—
Minjae began to descend.

His body floated back down like the world was no longer afraid of him.

Across the alley, the surviving soldier dragged himself up from the wall—
armor cracked. Breathing heavily.

He pulled out a taser gun.
The shot hit Minjae in the side.

His body jerked—
light flickering off his skin one last time.

The soldier limped toward him, knees shaky, armor hissing at the seams.

He knelt beside the boy.
Pulled out a syringe.
And drove it into Minjae’s arm.

A sharp hiss.
The sedative spread.

The soldier pressed a finger to his comm.

"Target acquired."

Minjae’s world began to spin.
Everything bent sideways—
lights stretching. Edges tilting.

His breath caught.
His body wouldn’t move.

And just before it all went black—
He saw him.
Still lying there.
Still not moving.

His best friend.
Moon.