The ambulance had stopped.
The engine was still running.The siren was still screaming.
But the wheels would not move.
"There are too many people ahead!"
The shout came from the driver's seat.Beyond the headlights, the crowd swayed like a restless wave.
"Loss of consciousness!""Oxygen saturation is dropping!"
The girl on the stretcher could no longer open her eyes.Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising unevenly.
"Please, move!""There's a patient!"
People stepped aside.But it wasn't a road—only a narrow gap.
"We're heading to the next hospital."
The voice over the radio was calm.
"The nearest ER is full.""The next one—""Again?"
A paramedic shouted.
"In ten more minutes like this—""There's nothing we can do."
Click.
The transmission cut off.
The ambulance changed direction.Then changed it again.
The siren was still loud,but the places it could go were disappearing.
The girl's finger twitched—just slightly.It was her last response.
Then—
A sound came down from the sky.
At first, it sounded like wind.Then machinery.Then a clear, heavy vibration.
"A helicopter!"
A searchlight cut through the night.People scattered in shock.
It was a medical helicopter.
The moment it landed, the door flew open.A man in a white helmet jumped out.
Early fifties.Fast movements. Instant judgment.
He looked at the stretcher once and said,
"She's moments from cardiac arrest."
"In her condition—""Load her."
It wasn't a suggestion.It was an order.
The helicopter was cramped.But inside it was a hospital.
Monitors. Surgical lights. Medical equipment.Not a perfect operating room—but enough for this moment.
"Pulse is weak.""Blood pressure dropping."
The man removed his helmet.
"My name is Song Jaemin.Trauma surgeon."
That was enough.A living legend—no further explanation needed.
"Surgery here—?""We won't make it to a hospital."
He looked at the girl.
"We do it now."
The rotor blades roared louder.The helicopter lifted off again.
The city fell away,and the surgery began.
"Scalpel.""Severe bleeding.""I know."
His hands were fast and precise.No hesitation.
"With these numbers—""That's why it's now."
Blood filled the field.The monitor went silent.
Stillness.
Then—
The ECG line came back to life.
"She's breathing again."
Someone swallowed hard.
Song Jaemin slowly withdrew his hands.
"She'll live."
When the helicopter disappeared,
Kang Doyoon had seen everythingfrom beginning to end.
An in-ear monitor from a concertwas still lodged in his ear.His shirt was soaked with sweat.
Just moments earlier,he had been the executive directorof a K-pop concert.
Firework timing.Camera paths.The roar of fifty thousand people.
A man who controlled everything.
But just now,he had controlled nothing.
He murmured to himself,
"The hospital… didn't come."
A few days later,
Doyoon deliberately went to the helicopter base.No business card. No appointment.
"I'm looking for Dr. Song Jaemin."
After a moment,the man stepped out.
"The guy from that night."
They recognized each other instantly.
Doyoon bowed first.
"Thank you. For that night.""It was just my job."
"No."
Doyoon shook his head.
"I'm a director.That night, my stage was perfect…"
He paused.
"…but no one saved a life."
Song looked at him.
"I'm the opposite.""I save them—but I'm always late."
"Why?"
"Because hospitals don't move."
Silence.
Then Doyoon said,
"Then…""…why not make them move?"
For the first time, Song's eyes changed.
"What are you talking about?"
Doyoon smiled briefly.
"A city.""A city that comes to people first."
Song studied him for a long moment.
"That's a strange thing to say."
"I make strange things."
Another silence.
Finally, Song spoke.
"…Let's meet again someday.""Definitely."
Next time,it wouldn't be a helicopter.
Neither of them knew it yet—
but this meetingwas the beginning of a city.
Truck City is not an alternative to the city.It is a fictional place created to call back the names of those the city has left behind.
This work is a piece of fiction that does not directly reference real individuals, institutions, or events.It tells an ongoing story of people who have been pushed aside again and again.
The judgment, in the end,is left to the reader.