The television flickered in the corner of the small café, its screen casting a pale glow over the half-empty tables. Y/N sat with her untouched coffee, scrolling absently through her phone, when the broadcast cut to static. A shrill alarm tone followed, sharp enough to make her flinch.
"Emergency Alert," the anchor's voice trembled, words spilling too fast. "Citizens are advised to remain indoors. Do not approach infected individuals. Repeat—do not approach—"
The screen went black.
For a moment, the café was silent. Then came the murmurs. Chairs scraped, phones buzzed, someone laughed nervously as if it were a prank. But outside, the world was already unraveling.
A scream split the air.
Y/N's head snapped toward the window. Across the street, a man staggered, clutching his arm. Blood streamed between his fingers. Another figure lurched after him, jaw snapping, eyes glazed with something inhuman. The man fell, and the figure dropped onto him, tearing into flesh with a guttural snarl.
The café erupted. People bolted for the door, knocking over chairs, spilling drinks. Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs, her breath shallow. She couldn't move. Couldn't believe.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
But the screams outside multiplied, echoing down the street. Sirens wailed, car horns blared, glass shattered. The city she knew — vibrant, alive — was collapsing in minutes.
Her first thought wasn't escape. It was family.
Her father's laugh, her mother's gentle scolding, her sister's teasing voice — they filled her head all at once. And her little brother. He'd be home, probably scared, waiting for her.
Y/N shoved her chair back and ran.
The streets were chaos. People shoved past her, some bleeding, some dragging loved ones. A woman screamed for her child. A man swung a bat at something that used to be human. The air stank of smoke and iron.
Y/N's legs carried her faster than she thought possible. Every corner revealed more horror — a man pulled from his car, a woman dragged into an alley, blood smeared across walls. She wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't. She had to get home.
Her apartment building loomed ahead, familiar and foreign all at once. The front doors hung open, one cracked, glass shattered. She stumbled inside, taking the stairs two at a time.
"Please," she whispered, breath ragged. "Please be okay."
The hallway was eerily quiet. Too quiet. She pushed open the door to her apartment, her chest tight with dread.
The smell hit her first. Metallic. Thick. Wrong.
Her father was slumped against the wall, eyes glassy, chest unmoving. Her mother lay sprawled on the floor, her hand outstretched as if reaching for help that never came. Her sister — her beautiful, loud, stubborn sister — was crumpled near the couch, blood staining her shirt.
Y/N's knees buckled. A sound tore from her throat, raw and broken. She crawled forward, shaking her mother's shoulder, whispering, "Wake up, please, wake up." But the bodies were cold.
Her vision blurred with tears. The world tilted. She wanted to scream, to tear the walls down, to undo time itself.
Then — a sound.
A whimper.
Her head snapped toward the bedroom door. Slowly, it creaked open. A small figure peeked out, eyes wide, face streaked with tears.
"Y/N?"
Her little brother.
She stumbled to her feet, rushing to him. She dropped to her knees, pulling him into her arms. He clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder.
"I thought you weren't coming back," he whispered, voice trembling.
"I'm here," she choked out, holding him tighter. "I'm here, I've got you."
For a moment, the world outside didn't exist. It was just the two of them, clinging to each other in the ruins of their home.
But the silence was fragile. Beyond the walls, the growls and screams grew louder. The dead were coming.
And Y/N knew — she wasn't just a sister anymore. She was all he had left.
Her brother's sobs quieted, but the silence that followed was worse. Y/N's chest heaved as she looked back at the bodies of her parents and sister. She wanted to stay, to cradle them, to pretend this nightmare wasn't real. But then — a sound.
A wet, guttural rasp.
Her mother's fingers twitched. Her father's chest jerked. Her sister's head snapped to the side with a crack.
Y/N froze, horror flooding her veins. Their eyes opened — cloudy, lifeless, yet burning with hunger.
"No…" she whispered, voice breaking.
Her little brother clung tighter to her arm. "What's happening?"
The bodies began to move, slow at first, then jerking violently. Her mother's lips peeled back, teeth bared. Her father's hands clawed at the floor. Her sister let out a shriek that was no longer human.
They were turning.
Y/N's heart shattered all over again. She wanted to run to them, to stop it, to scream that they were her family. But they weren't anymore. They were gone.
She grabbed her brother's hand. "We have to go. Now."
He shook his head, tears streaming. "But—"
"No!" Her voice cracked, but her grip was firm. "They're not them anymore. We can't stay."
The growls grew louder. Her mother's body lurched forward, dragging itself across the floor. Her sister's nails scraped against the wall. Her father's mouth opened wide, a grotesque snarl.
Y/N pulled her brother toward the door. They stumbled into the hallway, slamming it shut behind them. The sound of claws and teeth against wood echoed, but she didn't look back.
The stairwell was chaos — blood smeared across the walls, bodies twitching on the steps. She tightened her grip on her brother's hand, forcing her legs to move.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "No matter what, don't stop."
They burst out into the street. The city was unrecognizable. Fires burned in the distance, cars lay overturned, and the infected roamed freely, tearing into anyone they found.
Her brother whimpered. "Where do we go?"
Y/N scanned the street, panic clawing at her chest. She spotted a narrow alley between two buildings. "There!"
They ran, feet pounding against cracked pavement. But halfway through, shadows moved. Three figures staggered into view, their mouths dripping red, their eyes locked on them.
The infected.
Y/N shoved her brother behind her. Her hands trembled as she grabbed a broken pipe lying on the ground. It was heavy, awkward, but it was all she had.
The first infected lunged. Y/N swung with all her strength. The pipe connected with its skull, a sickening crack echoing. It fell, twitching, but the others kept coming.
Her brother screamed.
Y/N's arms burned, her breath ragged. She swung again, striking another across the jaw. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic. The third lunged, grabbing her arm. She shrieked, shoving the pipe into its chest, forcing it back.
Her brother picked up a rock, hurling it at the creature's head. It stumbled, giving Y/N the chance to slam the pipe down again.
Silence.
Her chest heaved, sweat dripping down her face. The bodies lay still, broken. Her brother clung to her, trembling.
"You're okay," she whispered, though her voice shook. "We're okay."
But they weren't. Not really.
The night was falling, shadows stretching across the ruined city. They couldn't stay in the open.
Y/N scanned the alley, spotting a small storage shed tucked behind the buildings. Its door hung loose, but it looked empty. She pulled her brother inside, shutting it tight.
The space was cramped, smelling of dust and rust. Broken shelves lined the walls, and a single lantern sat abandoned in the corner. She lit it, the faint glow casting trembling shadows.
Her brother curled against her side, his small body shaking. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
Outside, the growls and screams continued, echoing through the night. But inside the shed, for now, there was silence.
Y/N pressed her forehead against her brother's hair, tears slipping down her cheeks. "We'll survive," she whispered, more to herself than him. "I promise. I'll protect you."
Her heart ached with grief, but beneath it burned something stronger — determination. The world had ended, but she refused to let it take her brother too.
And so, in the ruins of Seoul, under the weight of loss and fear, Y/N began her fight to survive.
The lantern's faint glow flickered against the rusted walls of the shed, casting shadows that seemed to breathe. Y/N sat with her little brother curled against her side, his small body trembling, his breaths uneven. She held him close, but her own chest felt hollow, as if her heart had been torn out and left bleeding on the apartment floor.
It had been hours. Just hours.
This morning, she had woken to the sound of her mother humming in the kitchen, the smell of rice and eggs filling the air. Her father had teased her about being late again, her sister had laughed, and her brother had tugged at her sleeve, begging her to play before school. Ordinary. Beautiful. Alive.
Now, they were gone.
Her parents' lifeless eyes haunted her, the way her sister's scream had twisted into something monstrous. She could still hear the rasp of her mother's breath as her body convulsed, the scrape of her father's nails against the floor, the shriek that tore from her sister's throat. They weren't her family anymore. They were something else. Something hungry.
And she had left them.
Her chest tightened, guilt clawing at her ribs. She had run. She had pulled her brother away and slammed the door, leaving them behind. Was that survival… or betrayal?
Her brother stirred, whispering, "Y/N… are we safe?"
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. "For now."
But inside, she wasn't sure. Safety felt like a word from another life, a memory that no longer belonged to them.
She thought of the café, the emergency broadcast, the way the anchor's voice had cracked. She thought of the streets, the screams, the blood. How quickly everything had fallen apart. Hours ago, she had been sipping coffee, scrolling through her phone. Now, she was clutching a pipe stained with blood, hiding in a shed while the world outside burned.
Her mind replayed the fight in the alley. The way the infected had lunged, their teeth snapping, their eyes empty. The sound of bone cracking under her swing. The spray of blood. Her brother's scream. She had killed them. She had killed people. Or what used to be people.
Her hands shook. She stared at them, at the faint smears of red that clung to her skin. She rubbed them against her jeans, but the stains wouldn't fade.
Her brother's small hand slipped into hers. She looked down, meeting his wide, tear‑streaked eyes. He was all she had left.
"I'll protect you," she whispered, more to herself than him. "No matter what."
But the promise felt heavy. Could she really protect him? Could she keep him alive in a world that had ended in hours?
She thought of her parents again, of her sister. If she failed, if she hesitated, he would end up like them. And she couldn't bear that.
The night pressed in, the growls and screams outside echoing like a chorus of nightmares. Y/N leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.
Within hours, she had lost everything. Within hours, she had become someone else — not a daughter, not a sister, but a survivor.
And survival meant never stopping. Never breaking. Never looking back.
She tightened her grip on her brother's hand, her jaw set.
Tomorrow, they would move. Tomorrow, they would find food, water, maybe even other survivors. Tomorrow, she would fight again.
But tonight, she let herself grieve.
She let the tears fall silently, her body shaking as she held her brother close. She let herself remember the warmth of her mother's smile, the sound of her father's laugh, the way her sister had teased her. She let herself ache for the life that had vanished in hours.
And when her brother finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Y/N whispered into the darkness:
"We'll survive. For them. For us."
The lantern flickered once more, then steadied, casting its fragile light against the shadows.