Chapter Text
Date: February 20, 2019
Time: 8:12 A.M.
Location: Haneul School of Arts
The hallway outside the guidance office smelled like chalk dust and floor cleaner, the scent of trouble. Yubin sat slouched on the bench, arms crossed, sneaker tapping restlessly against the floor.
“This is so stupid,” she muttered. Across from her, Gong Eunbin sat perfectly still, legs tucked neatly together, hands folded on her lap like she belonged there, which, in her mind, she didn’t.
“Unnie,” Eunbin said quietly, “you shouldn’t say that.” Yubin scoffed. “Why not? It is stupid. I didn’t even do anything that bad.”
“You rewired the speakers in the music room,” Eunbin noted in a calm voice. “And played that awful song during morning announcements.” Yubin’s face broke into a wolfy grin. “It got everyone laughing.”
“It also interrupted the principal’s announcement,” Eunbin added, her voice soft. “And made her spill coffee on the podium.”
“…Okay, but that part wasn’t intentional,” Yubin muttered. Eunbin cast a sideways glance at her sister, an unimpressed mask that couldn't quite hide the delicate affection shimmering beneath her ringing silence.
The door opened. “Gong Yubin. Gong Eunbin.”
The teacher glanced between them, brows raised. “Both of you inside.” Yubin jolted upright. “Wait—Eunbin didn’t—”
“Inside,” the teacher repeated. Yubin clenched her jaw but followed, Eunbin trailing silently behind.
The room felt too small. The counselor adjusted her glasses, flipping through a thin file.
“Yubin,” she began, “this is your third incident this semester.” Yubin shifted. “I was just—”
“And Eunbin,” the counselor continued, turning her gaze to the younger girl, “why were you involved?” Yubin pivoted toward her with defensiveness. “No, she wasn’t involved.”
Eunbin swallowed, nervously. Her heart beats fast, not from fear about the consequences of this, but for what she’s about to say.
“…I helped,” Eunbin’s voice was soft, but it shattered the silence that covered them. Yubin’s entire form was frozen. “What?”
“I helped her,” Eunbin repeated, voice steadier now. “I told her how to connect the cables.”
“EUNBIN,” Yubin hissed under her breath. “No you didn’t!” The counselor tilted her head. “Did you?”
Eunbin nodded. “Yes.” Silence.
Yubin’s gaze remained fixed on her sister, a white flash of disbelief shattering her usual composure. “Why would you—?”
The counselor observed Eunbin’s expressions for a while, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Eunbin,” she began, “you're one of the most outstanding students in your grade. Top marks, excellent behavior, teachers praise you constantly.”
Eunbin’s gaze turned towards the floor, as humiliation slipped in throughout her body. “As for you, Yubin…” The counselor’s voice shifted. “You’re talented, but reckless.”
Yubin bristled. “I’m issuing a light punishment,” the counselor concluded. “Community cleanup duty after school. One week. For both of you.”
Yubin blinked. “…That’s it?”
“Yes,” the counselor said. “Now go. And please— no more experiments.” As they left the office, Yubin grabbed Eunbin’s wrist the moment they were out of earshot.
“What was that?” she demanded, her voice a low, ringing silence of authority. Eunbin’s soft features shifted as she looked up at her. “What do you mean?”
“You lied.” Eunbin hesitated for a moment. “…Yes.”
Yubin’s anger began to shatter, peeling away to reveal a mixture of concern and guilt. “…Why?”
Eunbin didn’t answer immediately. She rarely did.
Time: 8:40 P.M.
Their shared room was dim, lit only by the glow of a desk lamp. They sat on the floor, backs pressed against Yubin’s bed, legs stretched out in front of them. Eunbin was counting stars on the ceiling.
Yubin broke the silence first. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Eunbin kept counting. “I know.”
“You could’ve gotten into more trouble.” Yubin pointed out. “Yes.” Eunbin replied, her voice filled with certainty.
Eunbin finally looked at her sister’s face. Her expression was booming with a quiet, thoughtful depth, the kind of maturity that didn't shout.
“Because,” she said simply, “you always get in trouble.” Yubin winced. “Hey.”
“And because,” Eunbin continued, voice gentle, “I didn’t want you to get blamed alone. Again.” Yubin stared at her younger sister.
“…You’re just ten,” she said quietly. “You know that, right?” Eunbin gave a delicate shrug, her voice of certainty. “I know you.”
That admission struck Yubin more than scolding could. Yubin let out a breathless laugh, scrubbing her hand over her face to peel away the tension.
“You’re… unbelievable.” She reclined, her gaze bolting to the ceiling as her mind hit a total silence.
“…Thank you,” she said after a moment. “Really.” Eunbin nodded, accepting it without ceremony.
Yubin turned to her, grin slowly forming. “I owe you one. Actually, a lot.” she declared.
Eunbin tilted her head. “You always say that.”
“And I mean it,” Yubin insisted, her voice gaining a sudden weight. “One day— if something bad happens— I’ll take the hit for you. I swear.” Eunbin looked at her sister’s expression for a moment, before breaking into a grin.
“I hope you don’t have to.” Yubin let out a breathless laugh.
They remained like that for a prolonged duration, the too much noise of the school day replaced by a silence that was entirely comfortable.
Date: April 6, 2026
Time: 11:36 A.M.
Location: Hanlim
The hallway outside the faculty wing smelled faintly of paper and cleaning solution, the kind of clean that made everything feel controlled. Gong Eunbin walked briskly, arms filled with neatly stacked papers stamped Student Body Affairs. She moved with purpose, steps even, posture straight, someone who had learned how to be calm in front of adults and dependable among peers.
Beside her, Joobin adjusted the clipboard under her arm, eyes drifting across the corridor, not passively, but attentively. “Did you hear,” Joobin said softly as they walked, adjusting her grip on the clipboard, “they moved the order of performances for the spring showcase?”
Eunbin nodded without turning her head. “They swapped dance and music again. It’ll mess up the equipment reset.” Joobin hummed in agreement. “I thought so. They didn’t update the rehearsal schedule either.”
“They never do,” Eunbin said calmly. “They assume it’ll sort itself out.” Joobin glanced toward the bulletin boards lining the wall. “I don’t think anyone’s noticed yet.”
“They will,” Eunbin noted, adjusting the paper stack in her arms. “when the music starts playing over the wrong performance.” Joobin’s expression hit a faint smile. “You already fixed the timetable, didn’t you?”
Eunbin hit a frozen pause for a heartbeat. “…I sent an email this morning.”
“I figured,” Joobin said, her voice soft with certainty. “That’s why things usually don’t fall apart.” Eunbin didn’t respond, but the corner of her mouth lifted just slightly as they continued down the hall.
They were used to being overlooked. They were also used to being right.
As they passed the faculty room, Joobin slowed. “…Eunbin.”
Eunbin followed her gaze. Through the glass window, teachers stood crowded around a desk. Voices were raised, not angry exactly, but frantic. Disorganized.
A man positioned toward the rear sector suddenly hit jerking movements, his entire frame going rigid. His spine arched violently.
He clawed his own chest, as if trying to breach his own skin. Then, he lunged at the nearest person he could see.
“What—” Joobin’s voice was shaky. The teacher slammed into another faculty member, producing a wet, rattling and horrible impact. A flash of a scream shattered the room. Coffee spilled across the floor, and chairs toppled all over the place.
Eunbin felt her stomach drop. “That’s not—” she started.
Before she could finish, the door burst open. A female teacher staggered into the hallway, blood soaking her sleeve.
“Help—” she gasped. A student caught in the narrow hallway of the corridor, shivered.
The teacher slammed into his frame. They collapsed together, hitting the floor with a hard impact.
The teacher’s body underwent a convulsing simulation of a seizure. Then, she jerked into an upright posture, her eyes hitting a white flash of cloudy film, her mouth peeling back into a feral snarl, and initiated a bite at the student.
The student screamed. Eunbin dropped the papers.
They scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Joobin’s hand tightened around hers.
“Eunbin,” Joobin said, voice shaking but clear, “L-Let’s run!” They pivoted with desperation and began to bolt.
Joobin’s head was in a haze, she didn’t know if this was still reality or she’s just dreaming. But still she gives all of the effort she can to run fast.
They passed by multiple students, confused as to why and who they were running from. “Why are they running—?”
A scream provided the answer, breaching the silence of the hallway. Behind them, the bitten student stumbled up, face already changing.
People started shouting. Someone fell.
Someone else tripped over them. And then the hallway exploded into panic.
“RUN!” a scream tore through the corridor. Eunbin felt Joobin’s grip on her tightened as they transitioned into a full sprint.
Their shoes hit hard against the polished tiles, as bodies surged around them. A faculty member started screaming commands.
Another student fell to the floor and failed to get up. Eunbin’s breathing turned into a burning sensation.
“W-What in the world is happening?!,” Joobin panted. Ahead of them, two infected burst through a classroom door, grabbing the nearest students.
“Don’t look,” Eunbin whispered, pulling Joobin forward. They burst outside into the quad.
Fresh air hit them like a shock. The environment they typically mapped as a safe sector for assemblies and mid-day chatter had devolved into a total breach of order, a flood of students barreling toward every exit. Some were shaking with tears, some were emitting a scream, and others had hit a shivering fixed point, frozen exactly where they stood.
The sirens wailed from a distance. “We need cover,” Eunbin stated, her eyes scanning for a safe place for them. “Classrooms or stairwells.”
“Or we could get out of here.” Joobin insisted, pointing at the gate nearby but… “The gates!” A nearby voice shattered their calculations.
For a second, it looked like an escape. Then—
BANG.
A massive metal truck smashed through the outer gates, sending steel bars bending and snapping like paper clips. The truck skidded across the paving stones, right toward them.
Eunbin shivered and was frozen in her place. Same as Joobin’s form.
Their minds initiate them to move, but somehow their bodies can't “UNNIE—!”
A grip clamped onto Joobin with a force, yanking her backwards, violently. Eunbin felt a pull also.
They hit the ground hard, rolling as the truck slammed into the building behind them in a thunderous crash. Debris rained down.
Someone swore loudly nearby. “What are you two doing?” snapped a familiar voice. “Trying to get your asses killed?”
Jeong Haerin stood over them, breathing hard, eyes blazing with adrenaline. “You freeze in front of a moving truck like that, you die,” she stated with a flat voice.
Eunbin quickly recovered, pushing herself up. “Haerin—” Eunbin was cutted off when an infected suddenly saw them and sprinted at them.
With a little self defense that Haerin knows, she kicks it straight in the chest making it fall back, letting them have the momentum to escape. “We can’t just stand here,” Haerin stated.
She initiated the run as the two followed. “We have to move— now.” They bolted into a run.
Past fallen benches. Past dropped bags. Past students screaming into useless phones.
An infected lunged close enough that Eunbin felt its breath on her neck. Joobin shoved her aside and sent a not so clean kick in the infected’s leg, sending it crashing into a trash can, luckily.
“Never thought I’d do that,” Joobin muttered. They cut around the side of the building and skidded to a stop behind a maintenance shed.
A vertical structure of rusted ladder leaned against the wall, a fixed path leading toward a second-floor window. Haerin looked at the ladder and smiled, she pointed at it.
“We climb.” Joobin blinked. “You’re sure?”
Looking back at them, a plenty of infected followed. Haerin was definitely sure.
Time: 11:39 A.M.
Location: Hanlim Arts School Cafeteria
The cafeteria was loud in the way Hyerin hated it. Too many voices layered on top of one another, metal trays clattering, chairs scraping, laughter bursting too suddenly and too sharp. The smell of fried oil and steamed rice clung heavy in the air, mixing with something sweet, artificial juice, probably—and something sour she couldn’t place.
Hyerin sat across from Soomin with her hands folded loosely on the table, posture neat, eyes unfocused. Soomin didn’t notice.
“…and I swear, Chaewon nearly dropped her project when Hayeon said— oh! Hyerin, are you listening?”
“Yes,” Hyerin said, her tone sounding like an automated message. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her mind has heard every syllable, she just doesn’t have the power to process it as of now. The entire world felt shaky, as if it was lagging behind by a second.
Soomin leaned in, her elbows hitting the table as her chopsticks wave dangerously close to Hyerin’s face. “Okay but seriously. Yeonji hasn’t even talked to me yet.” Hyerin’s fingers twitched.
“…She hasn’t?” she inquired, her voice soft. “No! Not even a ‘hi’.” Soomin huffed, puffing her cheeks. “She confessed like, boom—emotional damage—and then vanished. I don’t know if she’s nervous or avoiding me or if I imagined the entire thing and I’m actually losing my mind.”
“You didn’t imagine it,” Hyerin said before she could stop herself. Soomin blinked, then smiled. “See, that’s why I brought you. You ground me.”
‘You ground me.’ Those words kept repeating in Hyerin's mind, like a broken record. The word scraped.
Hyerin’s gaze drifted past Soomin’s shoulder. There, a distance of two tables away.
Kwak Yeonji sat in a stiff posture amongst her teammates, her hands clamped together in her lap, tension was very present. She laughed when a teammate nudged her, but couldn’t even meet Soomin’s eye. Every few seconds, she would take a glance at Soomin’s direction, but would quickly look away if she found herself staring for too long.
Hyerin felt a sour twist in her chest. ‘She’s feeling awkward,’ Hyerin thought.
Soomin bolted into an upright position. “I’m getting food before the line gets worse. Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” Hyerin said. Soomin grinned. “Promise?”
“…I promise.” Soomin bounced off toward the counter, humming something cheerful and off-key.
Hyerin exhaled. The cafeteria noise began to swell again, pressing against her skull with intensity. Her fingers hit a grip against the table as her mind slipped, not in the future, but back to her dreams last night.
Smoke shrouded her vision. A loud screaming.
Soomin was frozen on the floor, helplessly. Hyerin flinched, her frame shaking with the impact of the memory.
‘It was just a dream,’ she tells herself. Then, the doors burst open with a total force.
Not casually. Not like students late for lunch.
They slammed open. A wave of bodies crashed through the entrance, students stumbling over one another, some screaming, some crying, some bleeding.
“LOCK THE DOORS—”
“DON’T LET THEM IN—”
“OUTSIDE— IT’S OUTSIDE—” Hyerin initiated herself to stand, her chair screeching backward in a shivering friction against the floor.
“What…?” her voice hit a whisper. One male student staggered past her, clamping onto his own arm. A flash of blood soaked through his sleeves. His eyes were wild.
Behind him, a girl fell onto her knees, shaking with sobs as she scratched frantically on the bite in her calf. ‘A bite…?’ Hyerin thought, confused.
Hyerin’s stomach dropped. Someone screamed, not fear, but pain. A deep, animal sound. Glass shattered.
The cafeteria doors bowed inward as something hit them from the outside. Once. Twice. Then again, harder.
Shadows slammed against the glass. And then they came through.
The doors gave way in a violent crash, infected bodies tumbling over one another like a grotesque avalanche. They didn’t stumble like people. They scrambled, jerking limbs, snapping jaws, shrieking with wet, broken sounds.
The emergency alarm screamed to life. Sprinklers burst open.
Freezing water descended like rain, plastering hair to skin and transforming the floor into a shimmering, slick surface of blood and spilled foods. Total chaos swallowed the entire room.
Hyerin’s breathing hit a lock in her chest. ‘This is— This is just like my dream.’
“Hyerin—!” She spun.
Soomin wasn’t at the line anymore. Panic tore through her like cold fire.
“No— no— no…” Hyerin shoved through the crowd, shoulder slamming into a panicking student. Someone grabbed her back, she ripped free blindly. An infected lunged near her left, she reacted on instinct, slamming a tray into its face and sprinting past as it reeled, shrieking.
Her hands hit a shivering tremor. A ringing silence shattered her internal thoughts.
“Soomin!” she emitted a scream. Across the cafeteria’s room of chaos, there was Soomin.
Soomin stood frozen near the center aisle, turning in place like she couldn’t decide which nightmare to run toward. “Soomin— MOVE!” Hyerin shouted, her throat tearing raw.
Too late. A student collided into Soomin’s side, sending her crashing to the floor. Her tray skidded away, food splattering uselessly across the tiles.
Time slowed. An infected nearby lifted its head, its focus hitting fixed at Soomin’s direction.
It locked on with a predatory gaze.Hyerin’s heartbeat skipped for a second.
“No,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. Her legs refused to initiate a movement.
Her dream screamed inside her skull. Hyerin—!!
The infected sprinted. Soomin looked up.
And then—
An impact collided with the infected from the side.
Hard.
Two frames tumbled with a violent momentum across the floor, crashing into a shattered cluster of chairs. Yeonji.
Hyerin’s breathing slammed back into her lungs. Yeonji grunted as they hit the ground, teeth bared, panic raw in her eyes. She scrambled upright, grabbing a metal chair and swinging it wildly as the infected lunged back up, snapping inches from her face.
“GET BACK!” Yeonji screamed, voice raw with terror. Hyerin’s paralysis shattered.
Her body finally obeyed. She ran.
She clamped onto Soomin, hauling her to stand with shivering her hands. “Can you stand? Soomin— look at me— can you move?”
“I— I—” Soomin’s voice shattered. “I don’t—”
“Yes you do,” Hyerin stated with a fierce resolve. “You need to. Follow me.” Yeonji slammed a chair again, cracking the metal across the infected’s skull. It staggered but failed to collapse.
“I-I can’t kill it!” Yeonji shouted, desperately. “You don’t have to!” Hyerin yelled back, scanning frantically.
There. The side windows.
Small. High. Usually sealed. But the emergency impact had cracked them open, hinges warped.
Hyerin shoved a table forward, muscles screaming as it scraped across the wet floor. “HERE! UP HERE!” Yeonji nodded, abandoning the shattered chair and clamping onto the table, pushing the heavy furniture with a desperation-fueled surge of strength.
“Go!” Hyerin urged Soomin towards the escape. Soomin climbed, slipping once in an error of footing before Hyerin shoved her upward. “Keep going! Don’t look down!”
Yeonji positioned her frame as defense, swinging a broken table leg as another infected student lunged. The crack of bone throughout the cafeteria, the infected dropped but twitched giving signs of movement.
“I’ll go last!” Yeonji shouted. “BEHIND YOU!” Hyerin screamed.
The infected knocked from earlier, howled again. Soomin disappeared through the window.
Hyerin followed, scraping her arm badly on shattered glass, barely noticing the pain. Yeonji vaulted after them just as fingers clawed into her jacket.
Time: 12:01 P.M.
Location: Mapo-gu, Hongdae
The maintenance room didn’t feel smaller until the noise outside began to thin. At first, the banging had been constant, hands slamming metal, bodies throwing their full weight against the door in mindless persistence. The vibration crawled through the floor, along Nakyoung’s boots, straight into her bones. She’d stayed standing, back to the shelves, staff angled and ready, eyes never leaving the door even when her muscles burned.
Then, something changed. A pause.
Not silence. Never silence. But… space. Gaps between impacts. A wandering shuffle instead of a concentrated force.
Dahyun was the first to notice the shift in the environment. “…They’re leaving,” she whispered, her mind shaking with hope.
Nakyoung’s response was delayed. She tilted her head, focusing on the sounds that were coming from outside.
The infected didn’t lose interest. They were simply distracted.
They were being drawn into a different area entirely. A scream tore through the building—raw, shrill, panicked. Human.
Dahyun flinched violently. “Someone— someone’s out there!” Nakyoung’s jaw tightened. “And shouting.”
The scream came again, closer this time, desperate and uncontrolled. Footsteps followed, running, slipping, crashing into walls, and then, the flood.
The infected initiated a response. Directional. Purposeful. Their scattered moans unified into a single sound, barreling away from the maintenance room toward the loudest point in the building.
Dahyun’s hand hit a shivering tremor around the piece of wood she had been clamping for hours. “…They’re going to kill whoever that is.” Nakyoung’s gaze did not meet Dahyun’s. “That person’s going to get themselves killed.”
“…That’s worse.” Nakyoung inhaled slowly. “It is. But that scream just bought us a chance.”
Dahyun swallowed. Her chest felt tight. Guilty. Terrified. Alive.
Nakyoung stepped closer, lowering her voice instinctively. “Before we move, I need you to listen.” Dahyun nodded immediately, frantic. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Their weak point is the head. Always. Don’t aim for anywhere else unless you have no choice.” She met Dahyun’s eyes. “Don’t scream. Don’t hesitate. Every sound calls them.” Nakyoung hesitated, then asked bluntly, “Have you ever killed someone?”
Dahyun met Nakyoung’s gaze with intensity. “…What?”
Nakyoung’s eyes shivered. “...I—” She exhaled sharply. “Sorry. That was— wrong.”
“That’s not a normal question,” Dahyun whispered, her voice shaking. “I know.” Nakyoung corrected herself. “Forget it. Do you know any self‑defense?”
“…I watch Seoyeon train sometimes.” Dahyun winced. “I don’t do it. I just… watch.”
“That’ll have to work.” Nakyoung demonstrated quickly, short, controlled movements with the staff. No flourish. No wasted motion.
“Don’t over-swing. That gets you killed. If you miss, move. And if one grabs you— don’t pull away. That’s how they bite.” Dahyun nodded again. Faster this time.
They armed themselves, initiating a transition into combat readiness. Dahyun looked at the piece of wood in her grip… then dropped it, shattering her reliance on the fragile material. Her eyes turned to a large wrench leaning against the wall.
“…This.” Nakyoung approved with a sharp nod. “Good.”
Nakyoung clamped her metal staff on her dominant hand. A knife is tucked into the inside pockets of her jacket where her muscle memory could easily find it. She positioned herself by the door.
“Like I said earlier, I take point,” she said. “Stay on my flank.” Her hand closed around the handle.
The hallway greeted them with rot and iron. Three infected lingered, confused, sluggish, turning toward other sounds. One dragged a leg behind it. Another swayed too close to the wall.
Nakyoung moved first. She didn’t show any hesitation. A precise and fast downward arc—
CRACK.
The structural integrity of the skull gave way. No need for a second strike.
The second infected turned too slow. She flowed into it, her staff snapping sideways into the temple, dropping it into the floor instantly.
The third initiated a fast lunge—
Dahyun screamed. “Don’t—!” Nakyoung barked too late.
The wrench swung wide, awkward, desperate, but it connected. The impact sent a shudder up Dahyun’s arms. The infected staggered.
“Again!” Nakyoung shouted. Dahyun swung a second time, hard, vertical—
The bone collapsed. The body hit the floor hard and was not moving.
Dahyun froze as her eyes scanned the scene. “…I did that.” she whispered.
“Congrats. Let’s Keep moving,” Nakyoung stated with sharpness. “Don’t think too much.” They bolted through the hallway.
Fourth floor, six infected. Tight corridor. One crawled along the tiles, nails scraping. Nakyoung crushed its skull without looking back. Another rushed Dahyun; Nakyoung intercepted, staff snapping ribs, then head.
Dahyun missed once, panic flaring, but she recovered, wrench slamming down again and again until the body stopped twitching. “Good,” Nakyoung grunted. “You’re doing good.”
Then—
The fifth floor was worse. Nakyoung felt it the moment they cleared the last step, too many blind spots, too much open space, the smell thicker here. Bodies stood scattered across the corridor, some upright, some dragging themselves forward with nails clicking against tile.
“Stay close,” Nakyoung muttered. She advanced first.
Her staff snapped forward, crushing a skull before the infected fully turned. She pivoted, sweeping another off its feet, ending it with a downward strike that echoed too loudly for her liking.
Then, a fast infected sprinted. Not from the front.
From her side. The infected didn’t grab, it jumped high.
It slammed into her. Its full body weight collided with her torso at an awkward angle, a shoulder check powered by dead momentum and feral speed. Nakyoung was mid‑step, her boot skidding on blood‑slick tiles, balance already compromised from the previous strike.
She went down hard. There was no graceful fall, no chance to roll.
Her shoulder hit first. Concrete.
The impact was violent enough to knock the air out of her lungs, pain detonating instantly as her right shoulder absorbed the full force of the fall. She felt it give a deep, sickening shift inside the joint, followed by a dull, hollow pop that made her vision white out.
Nakyoung screamed. Her staff flew from her hand, clattering across the hallway.
The pain wasn’t sharp, it was overwhelming, radiating down her arm and up her neck, sending sparks behind her eyes. Her right arm hit the floor wrong, twisted beneath her, utterly useless. Dislocated.
Her system screamed at the unnatural crack of the joint. She initiated an attempt to push herself up, but hit a blackout when her shoulder refused to cooperate. It was hanging at an awkward angle it absolutely should not occupy.
“Nakyoung!” Dahyun’s voice cracked. The infected that knocked her down was already scrambling back up, jaws snapping, but Dahyun swung the wrench desperately, buying them a second.
Nakyoung rolled onto her back with a sharp gasp, cradling her arm instinctively, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. Sweat burned her eyes. The world narrowed to pain and noise.
‘You cannot use that arm.’ Her training cut through the panic like steel.
She forced her left hand into her jacket pocket, fingers shaking as she found the knife. The motion sent another jolt of agony through her shoulder, making tears leak despite her best effort to suppress them.
“Still up,” she rasped, more to herself than anyone else. Her breathing turned ragged.
Another infected surged. Dahyun acted.
She grabbed the fallen staff, swung with everything she had. The metal cracked skull. Another came, another strike.
“Go!” Dahyun shouted, voice breaking. “Go— to the roof!” Nakyoung staggered backward, clamping onto her shoulder as she tore open the rooftop door.
The noise of their struggle had multiplied its consequences. A swarm of infected poured from the lower floors drawn by the screaming, panic, and fighting.
Dahyun spotted a folded tarp near the rooftop door. Her mind raced. She flung the tarp down the stairs just as infected surged upward, limbs tangling, bodies slipping and collapsing over one another.
Dahyun burst through the rooftop door. She slammed it shut and jammed a discarded piece of wood through the handle just as bodies crashed against it.
The door shuddered violently. They froze.
Dahyun leaned in, whispering, “If we make noise… they’ll break it faster.” Nakyoung slid down the wall, teeth clenched, breathing uneven. Sweat soaked her hairline.
“M-My shoulder,” she whispered. “It’s out.” Dahyun’s hands trembled. “I— I don’t know what to—”
“Reset it.”
“…What?”
“Put it back.” Fear paralyzed her.
Dahyun pulled her hoodie off. Nakyoung looked at her confused.
“W-Wha—” Dahyun shoved it towards Nakyoung.
“Bite this. To suppress the noise.” Nakyoung did it without hesitation.
Dahyun swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll count,” she said.
“One,”
“Two—”
SNAP.
Nakyoung screamed into the fabric, her tears spilling like a flood as pain spread throughout her entire body. Her breathing shattered into shivering, broken gasps.
“You didn’t even say three,” Nakyoung hissed. Dahyun laughed warily, “Sorry.”
The infected continued their pounding against the door, but they didn’t pound harder. It worked.
Nakyoung wiped her face with shaking fingers. “…Emergency stairwell,” she rasped. “Down. Now.” Dahyun noticed it before Nakyoung said anything.
The way her arm hung too low. The way she kept her body turned, protective, like she was guarding something already lost. “Nakyoung— your shoulder—”
“I know,” Nakyoung cut in, breath tight, jaw clenched. She didn’t slow. Couldn’t afford to.
But when another jolt of movement sent a sharp tremor through her arm, she hissed despite herself, stumbling half a step. That was enough.
Dahyun grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. “Wait— wait.” She quickly got her hoodie, hands moving before her fear could catch up with her thoughts. She folded the fabric quickly, looping it awkwardly but securely around Nakyoung’s torso, guiding her injured arm against her body.
“I may not know much about injuries,” Dahyun whispered, voice shaking but determined, “but I think you need this.” The hoodie pulled snug, pinning Nakyoung’s arm in place.
It didn’t fix anything. The joint still felt wrong, heavy, unstable, like it didn’t belong to her anymore, but the weight wasn’t dragging at her shoulder now. The pain dulled just enough for her to breathe through it.
Nakyoung closed her eyes for half a second. “…Good thinking,” she muttered.
Next Chapter:
“You hesitate,” Seoyeon said flatly.
“You act without consensus,” Jiwoo replied just as calmly.
A beat.
Neither bristled. Neither apologized.
“Delay gets people killed,” Seoyeon said.
“And recklessness does too,” Jiwoo answered.