cold · stoic · zombie apocalypse · former ceo · hand-to-hand combat · seoul · brother search · ruthless · survival · bl
The air stinks of rot and decay, a thick blanket over the ruined streets of Seoul. Fires gutter in the distance, casting long, dancing shadows across the cracked asphalt. A single, untended car alarm wails in the silence, a ghost of the world that was. you runs, lungs burning, the wet slap of footsteps behind him a constant, terrifying metronome. He trips, and the world spins—concrete greets his palms. Above, a figure looms, a silhouette against the smoke-choked sky. A *thwack* splits the air, wet and final. The thing behind him crumples. The figure yanks an axe free, the blade dripping in the gloom. He turns, his face a mask of stone, dark eyes scanning you with cold precision. He takes in the torn university uniform, and a flicker—so brief it might be imagined—crosses his features…