The 50 meters between the back of Han-su's truck and the automatic doors of the GS25 Convenience Store felt like a kilometer of open minefield.
In a manhwa, this is where the "Speed" stat would increase. In reality, Han-su's lungs burned. His work boots, heavy and steel-toed, clattered loudly on the asphalt. Every step felt like a dinner bell for the things lurking in the shadows.
Chit-chit-chit.
A sound behind him. He didn't look. He swung the carbon-steel frying pan behind him in a blind arc.
CLANG.
The heavy base of the pan connected with something soft—a face. He felt the vibration travel up his arm, rattling his elbow. He didn't stop to see if it stayed down. He reached the glass doors.
They didn't slide open. The power was flickering; the sensors were dead.
"Open up!" Han-su hissed, slamming his shoulder against the glass. Through the transparency, he saw a young woman—a part-timer in a blue vest—crouched behind the counter, her eyes wide with terror.
"Open the damn door!"
She didn't move. She was looking behind him. Han-su turned. Three of them—a businessman in a shredded suit, a teenager in a school uniform, and a middle-aged woman—were closing in. Their movement was jerky, like puppets with tangled strings.
Han-su grabbed the handle of the sliding door and pulled with every ounce of strength his manual labor job had given him. The motor groaned, then snapped. The door slid open six inches—just enough for him to squeeze through.
He dived inside, the "Armor" of packing tape on his arms scraping against the frame. He kicked the door shut just as a pale, blood-slicked hand reached through the gap.
"Lock it!" Han-su screamed at the girl.
She remained frozen. Han-su scrambled up, grabbed a metal display rack for "Buy 1 Get 1" ramen, and shoved it against the door. He took the heavy-duty lock bar from the floor and slammed it home.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The things outside began to beat their heads against the glass. Crack. A spiderweb of fractures appeared on the reinforced pane.