Dae-ho was breathing heavily, his back pressed against the cold wall. Nearby, wrapped in a jacket, were the magazines of ammunition he was supposed to deliver to his team. Echoes of gunshots, noises, and voices still drifted from above.

"No, no, no..."

A sound rang out nearby. A gunshot. It had to be a gunshot. Dae-ho flinched and clamped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. His chest shook with feverish tremors, his head spun, and a rising noise filled his ears, just like years ago. Everything was repeating itself.

He didn’t realize that the sound wasn’t a gunshot but your footsteps, now unbearably loud to him. You couldn’t bear to see him in such a state and genuinely wanted to help.