Chapter Text
His new life was peaceful. Or at least, peaceful enough. He’d been discharged from the hospital after what felt like years—though in reality it had only been a month. Now he had an apartment tucked away in a quiet corner of Seoul, and a cashier job that paid just enough to keep him afloat and even tuck away a little for savings.
His life? It was… good. Good in a way he never expected it could be again.
The alarm jolted him out of his daydream. Lunch break was over.
He’d been losing track of time lately, though he chalked it up to some leftover side effect of Eden—the kind of lingering damage therapy was supposed to cover. Not that he went. Therapy was a waste of money. Nearly 50,000 won for another person’s opinion on his life? No thanks.
He tucked away the remnants of his food in the fridge, then stepped out to let his coworker know it was his turn. Jaeyun was a good kid—kind, attentive, the sort who let Jongwoo take longer breaks on the rougher days. Jongwoo liked people like him. But today was a good day.
“Jaeyun-ah! Your turn,” Jongwoo called, flashing him a smile.
Jaeyun startled at the sound, then glanced up from his phone. “Hyung… look at this.”
He turned the screen toward Jongwoo. At first it looked like the usual noise—some random news station droning about nothing important. But then the anchor’s voice shifted, reporting something Jongwoo could barely process.
“Staff found dead in the hospital. Scientists and doctors are calling it the start of a zombie outbreak. Patients near death have been observed growling, and after a few hours—even with constant care—they flatline, only to rise immediately with signs of hunger. Doctors confirm this is… not normal. Here is one now—”
“Hyung, do you believe this?” Jaeyun’s voice was shaky, eyes wide.
Jongwoo frowned, torn. Things like this happened all the time—some medical anomaly hyped into panic before it fizzled out with a cure or explanation the next day. Still… he couldn’t stop the unease curling in his stomach.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Just keep watching.”
The store was slow today. Breaks or not, their only real tasks were cleaning every few hours and keeping shelves stocked—already done.
The broadcast droned on:
“For now, none of these ‘zombies’ have escaped. But we recommend you keep your eyes peeled. SKCN will report any new information as it develops. Now, global warm—”
Jaeyun clicked the screen dark before the anchor could finish. “It can’t be real… right? Hyung?”
“Of course not.” Jongwoo waved him off. “Go eat your lunch before it gets cold.”
Jaeyun nodded reluctantly and headed to the back, leaving Jongwoo alone behind the counter.
“Keep your eyes peeled.” The phrase stuck in his mind, no matter how little he believed it. He told himself it was nothing—probably just a fluke, a one-off case blown out of proportion. Nothing to waste energy on.
And yet, throughout the day, worry grew in the cracks. By the time he was walking home, it had already bloomed into paranoia. He caught himself scanning alleys, wondering if a zombie might lunge out of the dark. Wondering if he had enough food in his cupboards to last a few months. Wondering if he should stock up on water. Wondering if these zombies would be like the ones in movies—or worse, if they’d be smarter.
The news never updated. Jongwoo couldn’t decide if that was a good sign, or the worst one possible.
By the time he got home, the paranoia had only grown heavier. Thoughts of Eden crept back uninvited—the people he had killed, the ones who had died by their hands, and Jieun. What if they hadn’t actually died? What if someone was keeping them alive just to extract information for the police?
And Moonjo. He’d heard rumors that Moonjo wasn’t dead—that maybe this was why he’d escaped charges—but Jongwoo had dismissed them. The police probably said nothing was found just to avoid seeming incompetent. Which, of course, was true: Moonjo’s body had been on the fourth floor, right where he had left it.
Then there was Jieun. What would she think of all this? They had broken up about a week after his hospital discharge. Not as heartbreaking as he’d imagined, but she still drifted through his thoughts. She would probably think he was insane for even entertaining these fears. Still… she might be worried herself.
Every creak around the apartment became a potential threat. He imagined zombies lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike. He left the news on for the rest of the day, sitting in front of the TV as if its light and chatter could shield him from the outbreak. Yet no further reports came. Maybe it was a false alarm.
Ridiculous, he thought, looking at himself from some distant, outsider perspective. No wonder they almost locked him up in a mental health facility. He looked insane.
Eventually, he turned off the TV, got ready for bed, and fell asleep not long after—though the unease didn’t leave him entirely, lingering in the corners of the dark apartment like a patient shadow.
A few days passed, and it seemed like the whole thing had been a false alarm. No new reports on the hospital case, no zombie sightings, no more dead bodies.
It was the weekend, and he didn’t work weekends. The hospital required him to come back every three weeks for checkups over six months, just to make sure nothing was wrong—mentally or physically. A hassle, sure, but on quiet weekends like this, it wasn’t too bad. Besides, he didn’t have to pay. He’d threatened not to go if they tried to charge him. He hadn’t thought it would work. It did.
He decided to take a taxi, even though the hospital wasn’t far. The ride gave him inspiration to write for his novel. He hadn’t brought his laptop, but a small notepad and pen accompanied him. He had scratched out his last novel during Eden; it gave him too much déjà vu. About five and a half pages had already been discarded, and he didn’t have the patience to start over.
This time, the story was about a swimmer who choked his victims before throwing them into a pool. It wasn’t as compelling as his other works, but it would have to do for now.
He watched the city through the taxi window—children playing, couples arguing, the quirky signs of small restaurants. Then he saw something… off. A seemingly normal person was approaching a child, tapping on the shoulder to get its attention.
The child looked back. And then—its head was gone.
Jongwoo heard it from the car: the crunch of bone, the squelch of brain matter, the sickening slide of eyes dangling free. It was grotesque. And yet, Jongwoo didn’t react. Not outwardly. Inside, he was screaming—why here? Why a child? Was this normal cannibalistic behavior?—but outside, he was still, staring.
The taxi driver jumped out immediately, running toward the chaos. Jongwoo stayed in the car.
Walking toward someone who had just decapitated a child was… not smart. But to each their own.
Jongwoo locked the doors and kept watching. The crowd’s horror was palpable, but it wasn’t just fear of a killer—it was something else, something primal, something that froze them in place.
And then he saw it clearly. The figure—its skin unnaturally squishy, almost loose. Its eyes were ghostly white, pupils pinpoints, lifeless. Lips smeared purple and red with fresh blood. Everything clicked.
This was a zombie.
The realization hit him like ice water. And then chaos erupted.
The zombie began tearing through people, eating, stabbing, moving from victim to victim with brutal, methodical efficiency. Screams filled the air. Blood splattered across streets and walls.
Jongwoo’s stomach twisted. He could be next if he stayed still. His license had long been suspended, but he remembered how to drive. Hands steady, heart hammering, he gripped the wheel, spun the car into a quick U-turn, and floored it straight toward his apartment, eyes darting to make sure nothing followed.
He was worried. Of course he was. It's the same feeling from a few days ago on drugs. He felt his life was at risk and he couldn't do anything to help it. But, he also felt a bit of a thrill. If he could survive this, it would mark the second time he saved himself from something life-threatening and he didn't mind that at all. But, if he were to die...that would be a different story.
The moment he pulled into the car park, he saw people flooding out of the building, running like their lives depended on it.
His first thought: the zombies had gotten inside.
He stepped out of the car and stopped a woman sprinting past him.
“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but why is everyone running? Is there an infected person in the building?”
The words came out too blunt, too forward for someone already panicked. But Jongwoo didn’t care.
The woman froze, eyes darting over him before she asked, “Do you have food in your apartment? Enough to last a few months?”
The very question that had haunted him during the ride home.
He considered his options. Tell the truth, and maybe she’d trust him—someone he could use later if things got worse. Lie, and risk her deciding he wasn’t worth keeping alive. His mind flickered between the two before he chose a third option: avoidance.
“Ma’am,” he repeated, voice steady, “why were you running?”
She let out a sharp breath, almost a scoff, and then bolted past him without another word, disappearing into the chaos outside.
The fact that he still didn’t know why was hardly comforting. And yet, he told himself he would find out soon enough.
He headed for the staircase. Getting trapped with a zombie in an elevator was as good as signing his own death certificate. Stairs meant the chance to run, and even if they were smarter than the movies made them, he doubted they had super speed.
His apartment was on the fifth floor. Not too much of a climb, more a nuisance than a burden. He carried nothing but his pen and notebook—useless as weapons, though maybe they could serve as a distraction if something crept up behind him. At least they were light.
By the fourth floor, a child stepped into the hallway and turned to him.
“Ahjussi, what’s going on outside? My parents won’t tell me.”
The boy’s voice was flat, almost bored, as though already tired of everyone’s evasions.
“Oh? Don’t you think there’s a reason they won’t tell you?” Jongwoo asked.
“They think I’m a baby. Won’t you tell me?”
“How old are you?” Jongwoo couldn’t believe he was wasting precious time humoring someone else’s child—but it was… oddly entertaining.
“Eight.”
“Well… there are zombies.”
“I knew it. Thank you.” The boy nodded and disappeared back inside his floor.
Jongwoo continued upward, oddly amused. The boy reminded him of himself when he was younger—curiosity gnawing at him no matter how much his mother tried to shield him. She always gave more of her care to his brother. Jongwoo hadn’t liked it then, but he understood. His brother was sick. Jongwoo was healthy. His brother had no friends. Jongwoo did. His brother was fragile. Jongwoo, privileged.
What if the zombies reached Busan? He hadn’t spoken to his family since Eden. The silence had felt like a weight lifting, yet he still wondered why his mother hadn’t called to check if he was alive. Stress, maybe. But still—weren’t mothers supposed to care? They were the ones who wanted children, after all.
Finally, he reached his door. He punched in the code, slipped inside, and locked it tight. First thing, he went straight to the bathroom, filling both sink and tub with water. He had a few bottles in the fridge, but who knew how long the government would let this outbreak burn? To him, it was obvious—population control.
And he had no intention of being controlled.
Then came the question of what else to do. It was his first apocalypse, after all.
He started with the food. To his surprise, he had more than he thought: a few packs of instant noodles, some prepackaged kimchi, plenty of rice, a bag of flour, and protein in the form of eggs and beans. Careful rationing put it at roughly two months’ worth. If it ran out sooner, he could probably raid the store—assuming it wasn’t a death trap by then.
Weapons, too. Not many, but enough. Knives, a hammer, things that could hurt a human. Maybe a zombie. If the movies were right, they only died when you broke the skull or destroyed the brain. Stabbing the body would be a waste of effort. He’d bought them for another reason entirely—for protection against men like Moonjo. He thought of him too often. Especially in moments like this. He knew that. But it was different now. This wasn’t longing. It was defense. Nothing more.
He turned on the news. The anchors spoke with dead faces about how the infected had “unexpectedly” escaped hospitals, how they had “everything under control.” Meaningless words. Comfort for idiots.
But he had food. He had water. His laptop had been charging all night. He knew the situation.
He was okay.
His phone read 90%. He needed to plug it in while there was still power. But first, a call.
“Hello?”
“Jaeyun-ah. How are you?”
“Ah, I’m good, hyung. Have you seen the news?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Are you safe?”
“Of course. I haven’t left today. Me and my girlfriend are going to stay home until this whole thing ends, hopefully.”
“Make sure you ration your food. It’ll be harder since it’s the two of you.”
“Will do, hyung!” Jaeyun hung up before Jongwoo could say goodbye. He did that sometimes—it didn’t bother him much. But the thought of Jaeyun and his girlfriend together in this mess left a sour taste. They were young. Jaeyun barely twenty, the girl nineteen. Not as responsible as they wanted to believe.
Jongwoo only hoped they were responsible enough to survive.
He went to his room and straight to the windows. The view wasn’t much, just the street below, but if he could see the zombies, they could see him. He ripped out a handful of pages from an old notebook and taped them across the glass. Crude curtains, but better than nothing.
His phone went into the charger, along with a taser—another thing he’d bought to protect himself from people like Moonjo—and he dropped onto the bed.
He had no intention of sleeping. He only wanted to think. Which never helped him before, but that didn’t stop him.
This might be worse than the goshiwon. At least that horror had walls, doors, boundaries. This could spread just by touching the wrong surface. Or maybe it wasn’t real at all—just some elaborate joke everyone, himself included, was falling for. Maybe it was worse than anyone imagined: zombies that could act like humans, talk like humans, live beside us until the moment they ripped us apart. Or maybe it was nothing but the dead crawling from their graves, drawn to blood from a mile away. Or maybe it was only those few patients. Or a science experiment gone rogue. Or—like the news kept insisting—a situation “under control.”
He would never have a real answer until the end. He hated that most of all.
So he packed a bag. Essentials only. In case he needed to evacuate. He had just started zipping it when the doorbell rang.
“Ahjussi. Open the door.”
The kid from earlier.
It had been about an hour. Why was he back?
Through the peephole, Jongwoo saw the boy’s mother with him. His stomach sank. Trouble.
“What is it?”
“My mother wants to see you.”
Jongwoo sighed. Definitely trouble. Maybe maneuverable.
He opened the door. “Hello,” he said, bowing politely.
The mother bowed back. Her expression was unreadable.
“I heard my son spoke to you earlier. Is that true?”
“Ah. Yes. I was walking up the stairs, he came out and asked me what was happening outside. We had a short conversation, then he went back in.”
“Oh.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, not at all. Normally my son doesn’t talk to strangers, so you can imagine my surprise when he told me you were… nice.”
Not in trouble, then.
The boy stared at him with the same expression as his mother’s—flat, unreadable. The apple didn’t fall far.
“How did you know which door was mine?” Jongwoo asked. Strange question, but relevant.
“My son found out. I don’t know how. Maybe he followed you?” She glanced at the boy.
“Your book has your name. Yoon Jongwoo ahjussi. I went downstairs and looked at the paper with all the residents,” the boy said.
His book didn’t have his name on it, but whatever. Kids got things wrong.
“Well, did you want to ask me something?” he said to the mother.
“I was wondering if you could take care of him one day. I just want to see if he really likes you, or if it was just once. Since we can’t leave the apartment, it’s a good chance. How about tomorrow?”
Wow. No shame. First meeting and she was already fishing for a free babysitter. No thanks.
“Um. I’m not sure if I can. I’ll let you know if I’m free, but I’m busy for the next two weeks.”
“With what?”
“Yes. Thank you. Bye!” Jongwoo shut the door before she could press further. Obviously he wasn’t busy. But as much as he didn’t mind the kid, he wasn’t about to do anything for free.
The sun was gone now, the sky swallowed by night. Around 7 p.m., Jongwoo switched on a lamp and made his way to the bathroom. He wondered absently if the water would stay on much longer. The tub and sink were already filled with reserves, so brushing his teeth in the kitchen was the new routine. It wasn’t bad. Just… different.
By the time he finished, the apartment was soaked in darkness. Only the lamp lit the short hallway. From next door came the familiar sounds of his neighbors fighting—like clockwork, every night. Their voices used to irritate him, but now they were just background noise. He turned off the lamp, sat at his desk, and wrote.
Two hours slipped away. At 9 p.m., exhaustion took over. He checked the locks, double-checked the emptiness of his apartment, and finally retreated to bed.
That was when the scream came.
A single, piercing sound that cut through the night. It lasted seven seconds before breaking off abruptly.
Jongwoo froze. He didn’t want to know what that was.
He climbed into bed, pulling the duvet tight over his shoulders. Sleep refused him. The creak of pipes, the footsteps above, the thud of a neighbor returning—all became zombie noises in his head. Eden had wired him for paranoia, and now his own body betrayed him.
At last, he sat up. His eyes searched the room, tracing the corners until they landed on the door. A shadow stood just outside it. He recognized it immediately.
The same shadow from Eden.
It stayed there, perfectly still, until the footsteps came—delayed, as though the sound hadn’t caught up to the image.
Then: knock.
Knock.
Knock.
His chest tightened. It was too familiar, too much like Moonjo’s games. The bastard didn’t even have to lift a finger to terrify him.
He tried to lie back down, but heat brushed the back of his neck.
“Jagiya… did you miss me?”
Jongwoo whipped around. Nothing. The room was empty. The shadow was gone.
Imagination, he told himself. Insomnia. Stress. But then came the growl. Low, guttural. The same sound he’d heard before speeding off in the taxi. Right outside his apartment.
He bolted upright, snatching the taser from its charger. He knew it was stupid—fighting was pointless when hiding would keep him alive—but instinct pushed him forward. He unlocked the door, raised the taser—
—and found a couple in the hall, pressed together, groaning into each other’s mouths.
Oh.
Insane. He was going insane.
Without a word, he closed the door, locked it, turned on the lamp, and collapsed on the couch. The light would keep him safe.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him into a shallow sleep.
Until the knock came.
Loud. Calculated. Precise.
Jongwoo didn’t move. He wasn’t opening it again. Not tonight. He let the sound pass, shut his eyes tighter, and finally, finally fell under.