Niyana's chest burned as she bolted through the narrow alley, her sneakers slapping against the pavement, each step echoing like the gunshots in the ruins of the ruined city. Her breathing came ragged, torn between sobs and gasps, the bag of flour banging against her hip while her knuckles whitened around the kitchen knife she refused to let go of. She had been running for what felt like hours. Every corner she turned, every door she tried, slammed in her face. Shops, restaurants, houses—no one wanted her, no one dared open their doors to the unknown, especially not a foreigner. Shadows twitched in the windows, eyes staring out at her, only to vanish when she begged for help.
Her mind reeled back to the supermarket—the sirens blaring, the staff screaming as they forced people out before the lockdown sealed the doors. She'd only gone in for flour, her last memory of normalcy before the world collapsed. She remembered the explosion, the sound ripping the air apart as fire and smoke swallowed the aisles. She remembered crouching beneath a counter, hands over her head as the ceiling crumbled. When the dust settled, half the store was gone, bodies strewn in pieces across the floor. And then... that man. His skin was pale, splitting at the seams, and gosh.. the veins writhing black up his neck. His eyes were empty, hungry. He came at her with inhuman strength, slamming her to the ground.
Her scream had torn from her throat before instinct drove the knife through his skull. She still felt the weight of his corpse, still smelled the rot in her hair. She had thrown up until bile burned her throat and tears rimmed her eyes. Now, the city felt endless. Every street was filled with smoke, sirens, and the distant wail of creatures hunting. She darted toward a bakery, pounding on the glass until her fists bled. "Please! Please, let me in!" Her voice cracked, but the lights inside flickered out, the figures hiding deeper in the shadows. Her pulse thundered. A low groan crawled up behind her, followed by another, and another—shuffling feet dragging across asphalt. Her stomach dropped. She turned and saw them: a cluster of the infected spilling into the alley, eyes gleaming in the dark. Her legs moved before she could think. Sprinting. Clutching her knife so tight the blade bit into her palm, leaving streaks of blood across the handle. She didn't know where she was going anymore, only that every second slowed her heartbeat into the rhythm of pre y. All she needed was one door. One lock to click behind her. One miracle, if they still existed.
Niyana broke into a sprint, her lungs screaming as her legs threatened to give out beneath her. Ahead, she spotted him—a man hammering boards across shattered store windows, his shoulders tense, movements sharp with desperation. Hope ignited in her chest for the first time in hours.
"Please," she gasped under her breath, stumbling over cracked pavement as she pushed herself harder. By the time she reached the front, the metal gates screeched down, slamming shut like a guillotine. Panic clawed at her throat. She spun, knife clutched tight, and bolted around the building. The alley reeked of smoke and blood. She froze in place, her grip tightening on the knife. A lone walker slammed its rotting fists against the back door, snarling through torn lips. The creature stilled, its head twitching before it locked its blackened eyes on her. Niyana swallowed hard, her body trembling. Just as the infected lurched toward her, the back door creaked open. She stopped dead. Changbin stood in the doorway, spear and hammer in his clutch, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts. For one chilling heartbeat, both froze—his eyes wide at the sight of her, her own gaze darting between him and the monster closing in.
He acted on impulse, swinging the hammer into his old boss's head before striking it through the stomach with the spear. When the walker fell, he snatched the key from around its neck, ready to go back inside. She rushed forward, grasping him and shaking her head. "Please—let me in! I'm not bit, I swear, I'm clean!" Her voice cracked, desperation spilling out with every word . Changbin's grip on his weapon tightened. His jaw flexed. He didn't move. Skepticism clouded his eyes—because if he let her in and she wasn't clean, it meant death. Her pleas stumbled over each other, but he gave nothing back.
The silence between them was heavy, suffocating. And then the groans rose. More shadows staggered into the alley, half a dozen shapes crawling out of the dark, their broken jaws snapping, their wet feet dragging closer."Please!" Niyana screamed this time, terror slicing through her voice. Changbin's decision was shattered in that instant. He lunged forward, driving the spear through the first walker's face with a sickening crunch. The corpse collapsed against the wall, black ichor dripping. He grabbed Niyana's arm, yanking her through the door just as the horde surged closer. The door slammed shut. He shoved heavy boxes, crates, anything within reach, against the frame, his muscles straining as the pounding started immediately on the other side. The store was filled with the sound of their growls and fists hammering against the barricade. Niyana collapsed against the wall, clutching her chest, her knife slipping from her trembling hand. Her eyes darted up to him, wide, wet, thankful. Changbin finally turned to face her, sweat dripping down his temple, his weapon still clutched tight. He didn't say a word. Just stared—unsure if he'd just saved an ally... or let death inside.
The banging on the back door rattled the shelves, but inside, the air was thick with silence. Niyana's breath came in ragged bursts as she pressed her back against the wall, still trembling, while Changbin stood planted in front of the barricade, his weapon at the ready. His eyes stayed fixed on her—watching for a twitch, a sign, any proof she wasn't infected.
"I told you... I'm not bit," she whispered, voice hoarse. She lifted her arms slightly, tugging up her sleeves to show clean skin, though her hands still shook. She lifted her pants legs to show she was clean, pulling her collar slightly down. "I came straight from the supermarket."
Changbin's stare lingered, then softened just a fraction. "...What's your name?" His voice was low, guarded.
"Niyana," she said quickly, clutching the bag of flour like it could anchor her. "And you?"
"Changbin."
For a moment, the names just hung in the air, two strangers trapped in hell. Then Niyana blinked, her breath hitching, recognition sparking in her exhausted eyes. "Wait—Changbin? You... you're in the International Studies program, right? At SNU?"
His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. "You too?"
Her lips parted into the smallest, shaky smile despite everything. "Yeah. Culinary track. Room 204. I think I remember you from student orientation."
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, though it was sharp and disbelieving. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Business management. Room 312."
For the first time since the world fell apart, something warm—almost human—passed between them. A smile, faint but real, at the absurdity of meeting like this: survivors, students, strangers who'd unknowingly walked the same campus halls.
The pounding on the barricade grew louder, but neither of them moved. They just stood there for one fragile moment, clinging to the realization that maybe, just maybe, they weren't as alone as they thought.