The area surrounding the Crack is covered in shades of ashen gray.

North of that, the same color of silence stretches endlessly—perhaps all the way to the shores of the Arctic Ocean.

Some areas may still survive under the name Shangri-La, but the color of that Shangri-La is surely blood-red.

Under the watch of Kang Han-min’s sect, led by Yoo Yang-seo, twenty-four trucks simultaneously begin unloading operations.

Wearing a base cap embroidered with the initials K.T.T. pulled low over my eyes and a top-grade Class 1 dustproof mask, I am not classified as a Hunter here.

Officially, I’m just a laborer in charge of internal Crack logistics.

The job Jeong Dae-kyung used to do.

The partner who had ridden in the same truck as me was killed in an unfortunate accident, but it hasn’t caused any major issues for the mission.

There’s another partner now.

“Want a smoke?”

A stranger suddenly offered me a filtered cigarette.

I took in his face and replied.

“No. I don’t smoke.”

He nodded, then stood next to me and muttered quietly.

“Nice to meet you.”

A cap with a large K.T.T. patch sewn on.

He’s one of the porters like me.

“Name’s Jo Yong-deok.”

For security reasons, this was our first point of contact.

His job is to guide me inside the Crack.

He’s supposed to travel with me and point out the right place for me to break away from the group.

As important as that breakaway point is, so is information about the logistics units operating within the Crack.

“As you probably know, there are several outposts lined up in a row inside the Crack, and they’re categorized by distance: A Zone, B Zone, C Zone—alphabetically like that. The closer to A, the more people and the safer it is. The farther from A, the more dangerous and sparsely populated. Personally, I think the crowded A Zone feels more dangerous, but apparently from C and beyond, the odds of encountering an Antibody go up, so I guess it depends.”

The logistics unit inside the Crack is said to be broadly divided into two factions.

One is made up of civilian transport laborers like Jo Yong-deok, who take on high-risk, high-reward jobs.

Anyone wearing a cap with the K.T.T. patch belongs to that group.

I—going by the alias Baek Seung-hyun—am one of them.

The other faction is composed of Kang Han-min’s loyal followers.

They wear F.O. patches on their hats and hang colored tassels beneath their left knees, with the number of tassels differing from person to person.

“Those are basically like ribbons for merit. They add a tassel each time they complete a transport mission. I’m not clear on the exact rules, but apparently the color varies depending on the region the delivery was completed in. Then again, I’m still new and don’t know them well, so I’m not sure what each color means.”

Civilian workers call that Kang Han-min faction “the regulars”—a nickname laced with sarcasm.

In practice, K.T.T. workers get handed easily replaceable tasks, while F.O. takes on the highest-risk zones that even veteran Awakened treat with caution.

“You’ll figure out soon enough that those guys are bad news.”

I looked toward the F.O. group.

None of them had bright eyes.

All regular people.

Their faces and aura weren’t good. Hollow eyes, skeletal frames, vacant expressions—both men and women.

The typical look of a fanatic.

According to Jo Yong-deok, most of them came over from Jeju.

“Well, anyway, I hear we get paid way more than they do.”

Unlike us, who rode in trucks, the F.O. workers live in a refurbished military facility near the Crack—on the old Kill Zone site.

They stayed some distance away, simply watching us unload cargo.

No physical contact. No conversation.

“The items we transport are completely different. There’s hardly any overlap.”

What worries me isn’t them—but the Crack itself, towering before me, vast and undulating in its sheer size.

Only those inside the Crack know what might come out of it at any moment.

There must be at least some safety mechanisms in place.

Following the manager’s instructions, I began unloading the cargo.

Using the forklift skills I’d honed back when building the bunker, I unloaded the freight stacked on the truck.

The materials were moved to a warehouse dug into the western mountain adjacent to the Crack.

Built during South Korea’s golden age, the warehouse—despite the bedrock terrain—was deep, spacious, solid, and fully equipped with auxiliary systems.

While unloading, I noticed something: there was now a rail line connecting the warehouse to the Crack’s interior.

The idea of laying tracks into the Crack wasn’t new.

Before monsters even appeared, nations like the U.S. and Russia—pioneering types—raced to build railways connecting the Crack to the Earth.

Early on, videos and photos of trains running through the otherworld were romantic staples of the Crack era.

But once monsters began to appear and the Kill Zone doctrine became dominant, those railways fell into disuse.

The core of Kill Zone doctrine is to bombard anything exiting the Crack with artillery. No point laying tracks—they’d just get blown up.

But in this post-Kill Zone world, rail might once again be a viable transport method.

Trucks are still used occasionally, but machines brought into the otherworld frequently malfunction for unknown reasons.

Electronics are even worse—but mechanical systems also break down more frequently than on Earth.

This is a trait of the Crack itself—scientists have yet to identify the cause.

Still, it’s spawned many fascinating theories.

The most compelling is the “Gremlin Hypothesis” by a Japanese scientist. According to it, invisible, undetectable particles exist beyond the Crack and accumulate in machine parts—pistons, circuits—causing interference or failure.

Since most malfunctions occur from cumulative use rather than immediately upon entry, the Gremlin Hypothesis carries a certain credibility.

In short, the more a machine is used inside the Crack, the higher the chance of it breaking down.

Trains are no exception.

Even if you exclude all electronics, any diesel-powered piston engine will rapidly degrade inside the Crack.

Yet they still use trains.

I saw a crane in the warehouse loading construction materials onto open-topped freight cars.

Heavy cargo like that would be hard to move by hand.

The train itself looked rickety.

A few cars were parked off to the side—clearly unused for a long time—and weren’t even on the main tracks. How they planned to bring them onto the rails was another question.

As cargo piled up ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) near the Crack entrance, a group of armed people emerged from within.

Awakened.

“Finally.”

They looked relieved the moment they saw us.

Supply deliveries had been severely delayed due to the recent eruptions and the Japanese incident.

They probably had a reserve stockpile just in case—but there’s a world of difference between relying on stock and having a steady flow of supplies.

This would be a big help.

One of the regular Awakened walked with his hands behind his back, checking our unloaded cargo one item at a time.

“Whoa. Even soccer balls!”

Though Kang Han-min’s followers are often mocked as “the cult,” the Awakened in his faction are mostly twenty-somethings—young people with dreams, and plenty to do.

After briefly checking the cargo, they headed toward the mountain that overlooked the Crack.

If I remember correctly, that’s where the old elite Awakened lodgings used to be.

Beeeep—

A buzzer rang.

Mealtime.

The menu: rice-based white bread, peanut butter with barely a peanut scent, and a sausage made of mysterious synthetic meat.

Tasted awful, but calorie-dense and packed with vitamins.

It’s better to eat before going into the Crack.

But across the table, a delicious smell wafted over.

The F.O. laborers’ table.

Freshly cooked white rice, army stew, a full spread of carefully made Korean side dishes.

I once heard that discriminating over food is the pettiest thing in the world—and it really is.

First-timers like me looked dumbfounded or openly annoyed at the difference in meals.

Veterans like Jo Yong-deok, though, looked unfazed.

“They’re allowed to eat different stuff.”

When I gave him a puzzled look, he pointed to the Crack.

“You’ll understand once you go inside.”

After the meal, we began transferring cargo into the transport vehicles.

They use separate vehicles for moving goods inside the Crack.

Simplified and modular—so if one part breaks, it can be swapped out instantly.

Despite having a far higher failure rate than combustion engines, every vehicle inside the Crack is electric.

EVs are lighter, and it’s easier to swap out modules.

That’s why half the cargo space is reserved for spare parts.

The driver of my Crack vehicle is Jo Yong-gu—my guide.

He and I rode in the front seats, with five total laborers and our cargo loaded in back.

They usually take four, but brought five today because of a new recruit.

That new recruit being me.

Most of the cargo was water and food supplies.

One of the laborers knocked lightly on the back of the cab and spoke to Jo Yong-gu.

“Ha. That bastard again.”

Jo Yong-gu muttered, clearly displeased.

Apparently they had a history—he started ranting unprompted.

“You know what a yeo-mi-sae is?”

“A what?”

“Short for ‘a bastard obsessed with women.’”

“Ah. I see.”

“He flirts with anything female.”

“There are that many women here?”

“Well, the conditions are good. If you can endure the Crack environment, there’s no better post at our level.”

Sure enough, there were quite a few female workers.

“The tough ones are stronger than most men. If the cargo’s heavy, they can use carts. The terrain’s mostly flat. Though even the carts break down a lot—but hey, that’s their problem. They have to buy those themselves.”

One woman was among our cargo team.

Small frame, a few strands of hair peeking from her base cap.

Even without makeup, she looked surprisingly pretty.

The man Jo Yong-gu had been badmouthing earlier was now sitting beside her, trying to chat her up.

“He sat there just because she’s here.”

Jo Yong-gu commented immediately.

“That bastard’s pushing 40 and flirting with a girl barely past 20. What do you think of that?”

“Doesn’t look too good.”

We’d seen similar stories on our forum too.

They never ended well.

Jo Yong-gu checked the manifest.

It listed the cargo, the assigned handlers, and destinations in detail.

From it, I learned the names of the three laborers in the back.

The flirt’s name was Kang Gu-cheol. The girl he was hitting on was Cha Chae-eun.

The quiet guy sitting in the corner was named Lee Dong-hyeon—despite his youthful face, he was the most senior of them all.

One of the few civilians who came from Jeju.

“They’ll inspect the cargo soon.”

Jo Yong-gu said, face tense.

“A sensory-type Awakened will do it. Don’t know how, but they always sniff out stowaways.”

A detection ability user, apparently.

Soon enough, a group with a faint glow in their eyes approached the truck and scanned it.

“······.”

A faint pulse stirred inside the pocket of my jacket.

My partner—John Nae-non.

Jo Yong-gu had warned me about the inspection procedures, so I’d prepared accordingly.

I think the prep was sufficient.

“······Hm?”

A young woman in Kang Han-min faction gear tilted her head, looking my way.

I wasn’t worried.

After staring blankly for a moment, she moved on to the next truck.

Once the sensory user left, I asked Jo Yong-gu,

“Are there really that many people sneaking in?”

He nodded.

“Followers sometimes bribe their way in, hiding among the cargo to get inside the Crack.”

“Followers?”

“Yeah. Before the government reclaimed the Paju Crack, this whole area was crawling with cultists. After they were driven out, where else would those Crack-crazed nuts go? They offer everything they have to sneak back in.”

Back in the day, the Paju Crack was home to the most devout fanatics.

If it had been Defender, he’d have slaughtered them all—but the government moved in before Defender’s power peaked.

They probably scared them off instead—and some of those kicked out must have lingered nearby, trying to get back in.

I nodded.

“Makes sense.”

“Some of them might even be among us.”

He looked around and muttered quietly.

“Followers, I mean.”

Inspection ended.

Beeeep—

The Crack vehicles began moving one by one into the Crack.

A train slowly followed behind us.

Strangely, nearly a hundred F.O. laborers were walking alongside it.

What were they planning to do?

With that mystery in mind—we passed through the Crack.

That familiar ashen gray—an infinite hellscape—unfolded once more before me.

“······.”

Finally, the Crack.

I’d prepared for this moment for a long time, yet felt nothing special.

As the convoy crawled forward, a sudden clank rang out.

The train had uncoupled its cargo car and entered a separate track.

Jo Yong-gu smiled.

“Watch closely. It’s gonna be interesting.”

Roughly a hundred F.O. laborers all lifted something simultaneously.

Massive ropes.

They began to pull.

No commands, no signals—perfect synchronization.

Screeeeech—screeeeech—

The cargo cars began to move.

With nothing but human strength.

But to my eyes, it looked inhuman. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Like the alien world surrounding us.