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Udc

The Salt of Memory and the Iron of Mercy

The sterile, high-tech infirmary of the Ateez headquarters felt like a pressurized chamber. Outside the reinforced glass, the world of Seoul continued its neon-lit dance, but inside, the air was heavy with the scent of rubbing alcohol and the low, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

Hala-Wooyoung lay on the pristine white bed, a stark, jagged silhouette against the linen. He had been sedated for twelve hours, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion that had been keeping him upright like a wire-taut bowstring. World A’s Wooyoung sat in a chair pulled close to the bedside, his chin resting on his folded arms. He hadn't slept. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the ghostly pressure of those scarred fingers around his throat.

Hongjoong stood by the window, his reflection ghostly against the night sky. He wasn't looking at the city anymore. He was looking at the small, jagged shard of the Cromer that had been found clutched in Hala-Wooyoung’s palm. It was dark, pulsing with a faint, sickly violet light that seemed to swallow the room’s artificial brightness.

"The doctor says his malnutrition is severe," Seonghwa said, stepping into the room. He carried two cups of coffee, though neither of them looked like they wanted them. "His bone density is low. There are traces of heavy metals in his blood—radiation from the wasteland. And the scars..." Seonghwa paused, his voice faltering. "Some of them are from the Guardians. Others... they look like they were self-inflicted, or at least, born of a desperate need to stay awake."

Hongjoong turned, his eyes hard. "He said they’re all gone, Seonghwa. He said the Captain stayed behind."

"He was delirious, Hongjoong. We don't know the full context."

"I know the context of World Z," Hongjoong countered, his voice a low vibrate. "The context is that if you stay behind, you don't come back. You become a battery for their grid or a warning hung from the fortress walls."

A sharp, gasping intake of breath from the bed cut through their conversation. Hala-Wooyoung’s eyes flew open, darting frantically around the room. He didn't scream this time; he was too weak. Instead, he began to claw at the IV line in his arm, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"No, no, don't do that!" World A’s Wooyoung jumped up, grabbing his counterpart’s wrists. "It’s medicine. It’s helping you."

Hala-Wooyoung looked at him, his pupils blown wide. "Water," he croaked. "The water... it’s too clear. It’s a trap. They put the blockers in the clear water."

"It’s just water, I promise." Wooyoung reached for a cup with a straw, his voice trembling with a forced sweetness. "Look, I’ll drink some first."

He took a sip, showing the empty mouth to his double. Hala-Wooyoung watched him with a suspicion that was physically painful to behold. Finally, he allowed Wooyoung to guide the straw to his lips. He drank with a desperate, sobbing greed, spilling half of it down his chin and onto the white sheets.

When he finished, he slumped back, his gaze drifting to Hongjoong. He stared at the leader of World A for a long time, his expression shifting from fear to a bitter, hollow recognition.

"You're still wearing that coat," Hala-Wooyoung whispered. "It’s so clean. How is it still so clean?"

Hongjoong walked to the edge of the bed. "Wooyoung. Tell me what happened at the bunker. Where is Seonghwa? Where is your Hongjoong?"

Hala-Wooyoung’s lip trembled. A single tear tracked through the grime that the nurses hadn't been able to fully scrub away. "The sky turned red. Not the usual green-grey... but red, like an open wound. The Guardians didn't just send drones. They sent the Executioners. The ones with the resonance scythes."

He choked on a sob, his hand clutching the bedsheet. "We were in the middle of a transfer. We were trying to move San and the others to the lower tunnels. But the sensors failed. They were inside before the alarms even finished the first cycle."

"And the Captain?" Hongjoong pressed, leaning in.

"He stood in the doorway," Hala-Wooyoung said, his voice dropping to a ghostly whisper. "He had two thermal detonators and his old pistol. He looked at Seonghwa... he looked at him and told him to take the rear guard. But Seonghwa wouldn't leave him. He stayed. He stood right beside him with that knife of his."

Hala-Wooyoung closed his eyes, the memory clearly playing out behind his lids like a horror film. "The last thing I saw before the Captain shoved the shard into my hand and kicked me into the rift was the two of them. Back to back. Surrounded by white light. The Captain was laughing. He was laughing because he knew he was finally going to take a few of them down with him."

The room went silent. The image of the rugged, scarred Seonghwa and the fierce, jealous Hongjoong fighting a losing battle against a sea of white-clad monsters burned into their minds.

"They might still be alive," Hongjoong said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"No," Hala-Wooyoung said flatly. "The bunker collapsed. I felt the shockwave through the rift. They’re gone. Everyone is gone. I’m the only one left, and I don't even know why."

He looked at his own hands—thin, scarred, and shaking. "I'm a coward. I ran. I followed the light because I was scared of the dark. And now I’m here, in this... this heaven. And it feels like a cage."

World A’s Wooyoung gripped his hand tighter. "It’s not a cage. You can stay here. We’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to run again."

Hala-Wooyoung looked at his counterpart with a pity so deep it was insulting. "You think I can just sit here? You think I can eat your soft food and sleep in your soft beds while the ash of my brothers is being blown across the wasteland? Every time I breathe this clean air, it feels like I’m stealing it from them."

He turned his head away, staring at the heart monitor. "I want to go back. Even if it’s just to find their bones."

"You can't go back," Hongjoong said, his voice hardening. "The shard you brought... it’s depleted. It’s a one-way ticket that’s already been punched. You’re stuck here, Wooyoung. With us."

Hala-Wooyoung didn't respond. He just stared at the wall, his eyes vacant.

Later that night, after the doctors had administered a stronger sedative and the rest of the team had been sent to their dorms to rest, Hongjoong remained in the infirmary. He wasn't alone. Seonghwa was there, sitting in the corner, watching him.

"You're thinking about him again," Seonghwa said quietly. "The other me."

Hongjoong didn't deny it. "I can't stop thinking about what Hala-Wooyoung said. Back to back. He stayed with his Captain until the end. He didn't even hesitate."

"Because that’s who we are, Hongjoong," Seonghwa said, rising and walking over to him. He placed a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, his touch warm and familiar. "In any world. We stay."

"But I didn't stay," Hongjoong whispered, his voice cracking. "I came back here. I came back to the air conditioning and the fans and the comfort. I left him there to fight Executioners with a combat knife."

"You didn't leave him. You were never part of his world to begin with. You were a guest."

"I don't want to be a guest anymore," Hongjoong said, turning to face Seonghwa. His eyes were burning with a dark, obsessive fire that Seonghwa hadn't seen since their first trip to World Z. "I want to know if we can fix the shard. If we can find a way to bridge the gap one more time."

Seonghwa’s grip on his shoulder tightened. "Hongjoong, look at that boy on the bed. Look at what that world did to him. You want to go back to that? You want to see me with a scar across my face and a knife under my pillow?"

"I want to save them!" Hongjoong yelled, the sound echoing in the small room.

Hala-Wooyoung stirred in his sleep but didn't wake.

Hongjoong lowered his voice, his chest heaving. "I can't live with the idea that they’re just... erased. That the version of me who was brave enough to stay is just dust now. I need to know. I need to see the end."

"Or you just want the tragedy," Seonghwa countered, his voice sharp. "You’re obsessed with the darkness because it makes our light feel more significant. It’s selfish, Hongjoong."

"Maybe it is," Hongjoong admitted, his gaze drifting back to the shard on the table. "But I can't look at our Wooyoung anymore without seeing the ribs sticking out of that one. I can't look at you without seeing the man who was willing to die in a bunker for a Captain who barely treated him with kindness."

He picked up the shard. It felt cold, vibrating with a frequency that made his teeth ache.

"I’m going to talk to the research team at the center. There has to be a way to recharge this. The resonance chambers in World Z were siphoning energy—if we can reverse the flow using the main Cromer..."

"You're talking about a suicide mission," Seonghwa said.

"I'm talking about a rescue. Hala-Wooyoung said the bunker collapsed, but he didn't see them die. He just saw the light."

A raspy, bitter laugh came from the bed.

They both turned. Hala-Wooyoung was awake again, his eyes hooded and dark. He had heard everything.

"You're a fool," the rugged man said, his voice stronger now, though still laced with pain. "You think you can just walk in there with your shiny guns and your 'hope' and change anything? The Guardians aren't just soldiers. They are the world itself. They are the gravity that pulls everything down into the dirt."

He sat up, his movements agonized. He looked at Hongjoong, his gaze lingering on the leader’s pristine, unscarred face.

"But if you're going," Hala-Wooyoung said, a predatory glint appearing in his eyes, "you’re taking me with you. I won't die in this hospital. I want to die in the ash."

"You're in no condition to move," Seonghwa argued.

Hala-Wooyoung ignored him, his focus entirely on Hongjoong. "I know the backdoors to the fortress. I know how they track the resonance. You won't make it ten feet past the rift without me."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he pointed at the shard in Hongjoong’s hand. "Give it to me. I can feel it. It’s screaming."

Hongjoong hesitated, then stepped forward and placed the shard in Hala-Wooyoung’s hand. As soon as the contact was made, the violet light flared, the shard pulsing in time with the man’s heartbeat.

Hala-Wooyoung let out a long, shuddering breath. "It’s still connected. A tiny thread. The Captain... he’s still breathing. I can feel the anger. It’s like a burn in the back of my throat."

Hongjoong felt a thrill of terror and excitement shoot through him. "And Seonghwa?"

Hala-Wooyoung looked at World A’s Seonghwa, then back to Hongjoong. A cruel, knowing smile touched his split lips. "The Second is always where the Captain is. They’re tethered. If one is alive, the other is fighting to keep it that way."

He gripped the shard tight, his knuckles turning white. "But hurry, Captain. The thread is getting thinner. And when it snaps, there won't be enough of World Z left to find."

Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa. There was no need for words. The decision had been made the moment Hala-Wooyoung crashed onto their floor.

"Call the others," Hongjoong said. "Tell them to pack the tactical gear. Not the stage stuff. The real gear. Heavy vests, thermal imaging, everything we have in the restricted storage."

"Hongjoong..."

"Now, Seonghwa!"

As Seonghwa left the room to make the calls, Hongjoong sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Hala-Wooyoung—this broken, starving version of his friend—and felt a strange, dark kinship.

"Why did he save you?" Hongjoong asked quietly. "Why did he send you here instead of keeping you to fight?"

Hala-Wooyoung looked down at the shard. "Because I’m the one who remembers the songs. He told me that if we all died, the music would die with us. He said someone had to go to the world where the music still played, just to make sure it was real."

He looked up, his eyes wet. "But I don't want the music. I just want my brothers."

"We'll find them," Hongjoong said, though he knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep.

He stood up and walked to the window one last time. The sun was beginning to rise over Seoul, a beautiful, pale pink horizon that promised a new day of peace and prosperity. It was a world of dreams.

Hongjoong reached out and pulled the heavy blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into artificial twilight.

"Get ready, Wooyoung," Hongjoong said into the shadows. "We're going back to the nightmare."

In the darkness of the infirmary, the shard glowed a fierce, defiant purple, casting long, jagged shadows against the wall—shadows that looked like eight men, standing back to back, waiting for the end of the world.