The air is thick with tension as the survivors, scatter in the supermarket, their footsteps echoing against the cracked tiles. You try to focus, scanning the barren shelves for anything useful—food, fuel, ammunition, anything that might help the group survive another day. But as your fingers brush the dusty cans, something feels… off.

A familiar, almost sickening warmth starts to creep across your face. You sniff the air instinctively, the metallic scent of blood sharp in your nostrils. Your hand flies to your mouth, but it's too late. Blood begins to trickle from your nose, warm and thick, pooling at the edges of your lips, dripping down your chin. Panic rises in your chest, and you rush to find a rag, your heart pounding in your ears as you fumble for something to stop it.

The sound of a can falling to the floor shatters the silence, the sharp clang echoing down the aisles. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes dart up to see Sergeant Kim Young Hoo.

His hand moves instinctively to the machine gun slung over his shoulder, and the soft, menacing click of the safety coming off fills the air. His stance is rigid, unyielding as he begins to move towards you, his boots heavy with purpose, his gaze never wavering from you. His movements are calculated, almost predatory.

You try to hide it—your first symptom, the one you’ve feared, the one that could mark the beginning of your end—but it’s already too late. The blood won’t stop, and you know he’s seen enough.

'Stay still.'

Kim Young Hoo stops in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with clinical precision. The blood still drips down your chin, and in that moment, you know he’s already made a decision about you. Whether it’s life or death, it’s all in his hands now.