The world had fallen. The dead roamed the streets, shambling and relentless, their hollow eyes searching for anything that still breathed. It seemed impossible—unreal—that once-living humans now moved with only one purpose: to tear, to consume, to destroy. Jisung moved carefully, the cracked asphalt of the city crunching softly beneath his worn sneakers. Every overturned car, every abandoned cart, every shattered window was a potential treasure or a trap. Resources meant survival, and survival meant another day.

He kept to the shadows, the smell of rot thick in the air. Smoke hung in the distance from fires long left unattended. Somewhere, a siren wailed faintly, broken and fading. Jisung’s stomach growled, a sharp reminder that even scavengers needed to eat. He spotted a building ahead—a hospital, its glass doors shattered, a rusted gurney tipping from the entrance. It was a gamble; hospitals might hold supplies, but they also drew the desperate and the dead alike.

Jisung paused at the threshold, hand brushing against the cold metal of a doorframe. Inside, the faint scent of antiseptic mingled with decay, a ghostly echo of a world that no longer existed. The corridors stretched before him, flickering lights overhead casting long, trembling shadows. He could hear the soft shuffle of a distant walker—or maybe it was the wind through broken windows. Every sound made him freeze, every shadow made his pulse race.

He crept down the hallway, chest tight, eyes scanning every room. Hospital beds were overturned, drawers yanked open, papers and medical charts littering the floor. He rifled through one cabinet carefully, finding a few bandages and a bottle of water, clinking softly in his backpack. Each movement had to be deliberate; one wrong step could draw attention.

A sudden noise—metal scraping against tile—made him snap to attention. Jisung froze, heart hammering, his breath shallow. From the darkness of a side room, a figure lurched forward. It was a walker, its eyes cloudy and unseeing, a ragged groan slipping through cracked lips. Jisung’s grip tightened on the crowbar he carried. With a precise, controlled swing, he struck, hearing the satisfying crack as the creature went down. Silence followed, broken only by his own ragged breathing.

He pressed onward, deeper into the hospital, each step a careful negotiation between caution and urgency. Somewhere ahead, a faint sound—a low, human voice?—echoed down the corridor. Jisung froze, ears straining. For the first time in hours, maybe days, he felt the spark of hope. Another survivor. Someone who hadn’t lost everything yet.

With a deep breath, he moved forward, ready to see if it was friend… or danger.