Scene 2. [The Repairman of the Opium Den]

  At the cliff's edge in Changsin-ong.

  A shack, clinging precariously to the precipice.

  Its rusted corrugated roof wailed like a wounded beast with every lash of rain.

  But even that tearing metal shriek couldn't ventilate the air pressing down on the basement.

  A sickly sweetness. The metallic bite of blood.

  Opium smoke that needled deep into the lungs and congealed there.

  Through the thick violet haze, Dr. Jang lifted the pipe from his lips.

  He narrowed his clouded eyes and looked over the operating table.

  "…You again."

  His dry voice scattered into the smoke.

  On the table lay something kneaded from rainwater and

  blood— slab of meat that had once been a man. Lee Kang.

  His right arm was wrenched at a grotesque angle.

  The shattered shoulder blade had punched through the skin

  and jutted sharply above the collarbone.

  Between the gaping flesh of his flank, a pale layer of fat quivered with each shallow breath.

  "Ngh… ugh…"

  A suppressed groan leaked through Lee Kang's lips—like the sound of metal grinding.

  Instead of reaching for the anesthetic, Dr. Jang grabbed the damp leather strap

  from the side of the table and tossed it onto Lee Kang's face.

  "Bite."

  Lee Kang opened his trembling jaw and clamped down hard on the leather,

  already soaked in sweat and saliva. Jang didn't glance at the anesthetic.

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  The blood boiling in this man's veins would incinerate any drug before it could even circulate.

  The only way to erase pain was to bury it under greater pain.

  Jang soaked a rag with alcohol and reached toward the wound.

  "Breathe in. Don't bite your tongue."

  CRACK.

  No warning.

  Jang threw his full weight into it, forcing Lee Kang's dislocated collarbone back into place.

  The sickening vibration of bone grinding against bone traveled down through the table

  and into the concrete floor.

  "Mmmmphh—!"

  Lee Kang's back arched like a drawn bow.

  The jaw muscles biting down on the strap bulged to the point of tearing.

  The veins in his neck swelled dangerously.

  Cold sweat erupted from every pore and dripped steadily down onto the floor beneath him.

  It wasn't medical treatment.

  It was maintenance—hammering a broken machine back into working order.

  "Stay still. If it sets wrong, I'll have to break it again."

  Jang shoved the protruding ulna back in without a word and lifted the torn muscle with tweezers.

  Even in the seconds it took to seat the bone, the flesh was already knitting closed,

  threatening to fuse wrong. His hands moved faster.

  Snip. Snip.

  The sound of the needle piercing skin rang out eerily.

  Lee Kang's hide was as tough as rawhide—ut under Jang's hands it was punctured like cloth.

  Each time the suture thread bit into flesh, Lee Kang's pupils trembled and threatened to roll back.

  The air in his lungs was forced out in a thin, wheezing hiss.

  An hour passed that felt like ten minutes.

  Jang peeled off his blood-soaked gloves and stuffed them in the bin.

  Lee Kang lay slack, panting—like a corpse just pulled from the water.

  "…Done."

  Jang put the pipe back in his mouth and struck a match.

  The acrid smoke rose and covered the smell of fresh blood.

  "Ptoo."

  Lee Kang spat the leather strap onto the floor. Deep tooth marks scored into the surface.

  With trembling hands he gripped the table edge and hauled himself upright.

  The sutured wounds, swollen and red just moments ago, were knitting closed at a visible speed.

  Faint steam rose from the heat radiating off the healing flesh.

  "…The others."

  Lee Kang's voice cracked raw. He didn't even glance at the steam rising off his own flesh.

  "Dead?"

  "All of them."

  Jang exhaled a long stream of smoke and twisted the corner of his mouth.

  "Three torn apart by you. One dead of a heart attack just from looking at the state of you."

  He exhaled smoke.

  "Independence movement? Don't make me laugh. You're a self-arm extortion racket.

  Holding your own body hostage to threaten the world."

  "…As long as they're alive."

  Lee Kang stumbled off the table. Bare feet hit cold concrete. His legs nearly gave out.

  Jang tapped him in the chest with the bowl of his pipe.

  "Don't kid yourself. You aren't healing."

  Jang pointed the pipe at the floor.

  "Even machine parts wear out when you swap them like this.

  The screws strip. How much worse for a human body? You lost an ulna today.

  Next it's a rib. Then your spine. At this rate you have three days.

  Fight like a rabid dog for three more days and you'll never function as a human being again.

  Your bones will rot to dust."

  Instead of answering, Lee Kang pulled his blood-oaked shirt over his head.

  He reached for the door handle. Jang's mocking sigh hit him in the back.

  "The patriot, ladies and gentlemen.

  You think that country you saved will even remember your bone dust?"

  Lee Kang's hand paused.

  The tendons on the back of his hand rose as

  he tightened his grip on the knob—hen slowly released. He didn't look back.

  "…I'll pay what I owe you. Later."

  The door opened. Lee Kang walked out into the rain.

  Left alone, Jang clicked his tongue and tossed the blunted needle into a jar of alcohol.

  "Idiot. You'll be lucky if you have the time."

  Opium smoke filled the clinic again. Swirling through empty air.