They found Sang-hoon in one of the smaller rooms off the cafeteria — what looked like it used to be a staff break room. The walls were yellowed with age, the paint peeling in the corners. A cracked microwave sat on the counter, next to a stack of expired instant noodles.
Sang-hoon sat at a rusted metal table, rubbing his temple like he had the worst headache in the world. A half-empty bottle of water sat beside him, his fingers drumming against it in slow, repetitive taps.
He looked up the second Jin stepped through the door.
"...You're still alive," Sang muttered, leaning back in the chair. "Impressive. I thought them outnumbering you would be enough. You truly are skilled."
Jin didn't smile. He dropped into the chair across from him, laying the staff across his lap like a blade.
"They fought hard," Jin said, voice low. "Not well. But they fought."
