The world had fallen. The dead roamed everywhere, grotesque forms staggering through the chaos of what used to be ordinary life. It was impossible—unthinkable—that the dead walked the earth, yet here they were, dragging themselves across the cracked asphalt, eyes vacant and lifeless, mouths agape for any living flesh. Seungmin moved cautiously across the sprawling parking lot, the remnants of a once-bustling city stretching around him in ruin. Rusted cars sat abandoned, some with doors hanging open, tires shredded, glass crunching underfoot. The wind whispered through the empty streets, carrying the faint stench of rot, and every shadow seemed to twitch with unseen danger.

He tightened the straps of the backpack slung over one shoulder, feeling the weight of the supplies he had scavenged. Each step was deliberate, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots amplified in the heavy silence. His mind drifted briefly back to the first night the world had ended—the chaos, the screaming, the sudden realization that the people he had known were gone. He remembered barricading himself in his apartment, the metallic scent of blood mixing with smoke from the burning city below.

The memory of the first walker he had encountered—a neighbor, vacant eyes fixed on him, skin pale and torn—was burned into his mind. Panic had almost claimed him then, but quick thinking and sheer luck had carried him through. He had escaped down the fire escape, stole a backpack from an abandoned car, and kept moving ever since, each day a careful balance of scavenging and evasion.

Ahead loomed the supermarket, its sliding glass doors shattered, fluorescent lights flickering intermittently, aisles of forgotten goods stretching like tombs. The automatic sensors had long since given up, leaving the entrance to gape open like a maw. Seungmin approached slowly, crouching slightly as he moved between overturned shopping carts, wheels squealing faintly in the eerie quiet. His hand hovered near the makeshift weapon strapped to his side—a metal pipe wrapped with torn cloth.

Inside, the supermarket smelled of decay, mingled with the faint chemical tang of spilled cleaning supplies. Shelves were toppled, products strewn across the floor, a chaotic testament to the panic of those who had fled. Seungmin’s boots echoed softly against the linoleum as he scanned each aisle, searching for anything useful—cans of food, bottles of water, medical supplies. Each creaking shelf or shifting can made his heart spike; he froze several times, convinced a walker would lunge from the shadows.

He paused to inspect a half-full crate of canned beans, the metal slick under his fingers, and allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Resources meant survival, and survival was everything.

Then, a faint noise caught his attention—a whisper of movement near the frozen food aisle. Seungmin froze, every muscle taut. It wasn’t the slow shuffle of the dead, but something lighter, more careful. His pulse quickened as he strained to listen. Perhaps, against all odds, he wasn’t alone in this ruined world.