The morning arrived not with sunlight but with a dull gray haze that seeped through the cracks of the warehouse walls. The fire from the night before had long since died, leaving only the faint smell of smoke clinging to their clothes. Everyone stirred slowly, their bodies heavy with exhaustion, their minds already bracing for what lay ahead.
Preparation was not a single act — it was a ritual. Every movement carried weight, every decision carved into the fragile thread of survival.
Jin crouched near the pile of supplies, his hands moving with practiced precision. He counted each can, each bottle, his lips pressed into a thin line. Namjoon joined him, spreading out the rough map they had scavenged weeks ago. The paper was torn at the edges, stained with dirt, but it was their lifeline.
"Four cans of beans, three of corn, two of soup," Jin murmured, his voice steady but grim. "Seven bottles of water. That's… not enough."
Namjoon's eyes flicked to the map. "If we ration carefully, it might last until Busan. But it means no mistakes. No waste."
Jin sighed, his shoulders heavy. "Mistakes are human. But we don't have the luxury of being human anymore."
The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter.
Across the room, Jungkook and Beomgyu laid out their weapons. The bat Jungkook carried was scarred with dents, each mark a memory of survival. Beomgyu sharpened a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound of metal against stone echoing like a heartbeat.
Jungkook tested the weight of the bat, swinging it lightly. "Still good," he muttered. His eyes flicked to Y/N, who was watching from a distance. He caught her gaze, held it for a moment, then looked away.
Beomgyu broke the silence. "We don't have enough bullets. Two guns, maybe twenty rounds. That's it."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. "Then we make every shot count. And when the bullets run out, we fight with what we have."
His voice carried determination, but beneath it was fear — the kind that gnawed at the edges of courage.
Soobin and Taehyun slipped out to scout the perimeter. The warehouse sat on the edge of a forgotten district, where buildings leaned like broken teeth and streets were littered with rusting cars.
They moved quietly, their eyes scanning every shadow. Taehyun's hand rested on the hilt of his knife, while Soobin carried a makeshift spear.
"Clear for now," Soobin whispered as they returned. "But the air feels… wrong. Too quiet."
Taehyun nodded, his expression unreadable. "The infected are moving. I can feel it. They're never still for long."
Their words added another layer of tension to the already fragile atmosphere.
Y/N and her brother worked side by side, packing essentials into worn backpacks. Every item was chosen with care: a roll of bandages, a small bottle of antiseptic, a flashlight with weak batteries.
Y/N's Brother hands moved quickly, but his eyes kept flicking to his sister. "You're quiet," he said softly.
Y/N paused, her fingers brushing over a can of beans. "I'm thinking."
"About Busan?"
She nodded. "About everything. What if it's real? What if it's not? What if we're walking into another graveyard?"
Y/N's Brother voice was firm, but gentle. "Then we'll face it together. That's all we can do."
She looked at him, her chest tightening. He had always been her anchor, even in this broken world.
Namjoon spread the map on the floor, calling everyone to gather. The group formed a circle, their eyes fixed on the fragile paper.
"We're here," Namjoon said, pointing to a smudge near Daegu. "Busan lies southeast. The highways are suicide — too many infected, too many traps. We'll cut through smaller towns, forests. Less obvious, less crowded."
Jin tapped the coastline. "If we reach the shore, maybe we'll find boats. Safer than roads."
Yeonjun shook his head. "Boats are risky. If the shelter is inland, we'll waste time."
The argument stretched, voices rising and falling.
Jungkook: "We stick to land. We can fight if we have to."
Beomgyu: "And if we're surrounded? Boats give us escape."
Soobin: "We don't know what's waiting at the shore. It could be worse."
Namjoon raised his hand, silencing them. "We'll move by land. Backroads, forests. We stay hidden, we stay alive."
The decision was made, but unease lingered.
As the group dispersed to finish preparations, Y/N found herself sitting near the fire pit, staring at the ashes. Jungkook approached, his steps hesitant.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She gave a small, bitter laugh. "Define okay."
He sat beside her, his bat resting across his knees. "I know you're scared. I am too. But… I'll protect you."
She turned to him, her eyes searching his face. "You can't promise that."
His jaw tightened. "I can try."
The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken words.
Preparation was more than packing — it was saying goodbye. Goodbye to the fragile safety of the warehouse, goodbye to the illusion of stability.
Jimin lingered near the doorway, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Do you think they'll have music there? Instruments? I miss singing."
Soobin smiled faintly. "I miss books. Stories that aren't about survival."
Taehyung's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I want to laugh again. Really laugh."
Their words were fragile dreams, spoken into the gray air.
Final Check
Namjoon stood at the center, his voice steady. "We leave at dusk. Check your packs, check your weapons. Once we step outside, there's no turning back."
The group moved with quiet urgency, each checking and rechecking their belongings.
Y/N tightened the straps of her backpack, her fingers trembling. Her brother placed a hand on her hand. "We'll make it," he said firmly.
She nodded, but her heart was heavy.
As dusk approached, the warehouse filled with a strange energy. Fear and hope intertwined, pulling at their hearts.
Jin looked at the group, his voice low. "Hope is dangerous. But it's all we have."
Namjoon folded the map, tucking it into his jacket. "Busan is our chance. We take it."
The firelight flickered one last time, casting shadows across their faces.
Y/N closed her eyes, whispering to herself. "Please let it be real."
The warehouse was silent once more, but this silence was different. It was not suffocating — it was waiting. Waiting for footsteps, for decisions, for the journey to begin.
Each member of the group carried their own fears, their own hopes, their own fragile dreams. Together, they would step into the unknown.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, Busan waited — whether as salvation or ruin, none could say.