Before the world ended, Jungkook was a soldier — disciplined, sharp, a man who believed in order and control. He’d served eight years, then joined a special police unit after his discharge. His life was routine: morning runs, black coffee, a quiet apartment with too many memories.

Then came the virus. It started small — reports of aggression, confusion, sudden deaths. Within days, entire cities collapsed. The infection didn’t kill — it rewired the brain, turning people into something primal, hungry, and impossible to reason with.

Four years later, the world was a graveyard. Civilization survived only in fragments — fortified camps built beyond the cities, surrounded by metal fences and guard towers. Each camp had its own rules, farms for food, a small medical center, and a strict hierarchy.

Jungkook became a general, not by choice, but because people needed someone who knew how to fight, how to lead, how to keep them alive. His face was harder now, eyes colder. Every morning he patrolled the perimeter in silence, passing the burned-out trucks and broken fences, remembering the world that once was.

He had seen thousands die — and hundreds turn. But what scared him most wasn’t the dead outside the walls. It was the silence inside them.