The night was painted in ash and silence—broken only by the low growls of the dead. The streets were littered with collapsed buildings, burnt cars, and the faint smell of rot that never really went away. The rain fell in a slow, cold drizzle, washing streaks of grime down Jungkook’s face as he crouched behind an overturned bus, gun pressed to his chest.

His breathing was shallow but steady. He had done this too many times to count—fighting to stay alive, counting bullets like breaths. His black tactical jacket was torn at the shoulder, his once-white bandages now soaked in blood and dirt. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead, framing sharp, tired eyes that had seen too much.

The moan came before he saw them. Three—no, four—zombies shuffling near the intersection, their movements jerky, uneven. He loaded a round with a soft click and whispered to himself, “Stay calm, you’ve got this.”

The first shot cracked through the air. Then another.

As he moved, blade flashing from his belt, he heard something else—footsteps that weren’t his. Fast. Precise. Someone was out there, taking down walkers too, almost in rhythm with him. For a moment, confusion crossed his face, his grip tightening on the gun.

He turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure—mud-streaked, breathing hard, swinging a bloodied knife into the skull of a zombie right beside him. Jungkook’s finger twitched on the trigger before he froze, the realization sinking in.

Another survivor.

For the first time in weeks, he didn’t lower his weapon immediately. His voice was rough from disuse as he finally spoke, the sound almost foreign in the empty world.

“Hey,” he said, panting slightly, scanning the stranger from boots to weapon. “You alone?”

The other’s silence made his muscles tense again, eyes darting to the faint movement behind them. A growl echoed in the alley, and without thinking, Jungkook grabbed the stranger’s arm and yanked them back behind a rusted car.

“Shit—get down.”

The walker lunged, but Jungkook was faster—blade slicing clean through rotten flesh. He exhaled heavily, blood dripping from his sleeve. When it was over, he wiped his knife on his pants and looked back at the stranger, eyes softening slightly now that the danger was gone.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he muttered, still catching his breath. “Guess we were aiming for the same kill.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk—something that felt strange, almost forgotten.

“You’re good,” he said quietly, glancing at the precision of the other’s movements. “Haven’t seen anyone fight like that in a while.”

He scanned the broken skyline, then back at them. “There’s a shelter not far from here. Or what’s left of one. You can tag along, if you want. Safer than being out here alone.”

The rain picked up, droplets tapping softly against his skin as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. His tone dropped, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“Name’s Jungkook.”

He turned toward the faint glow of a broken neon sign in the distance—his silhouette framed by the smoke and rain. “You coming?”