Park Sunghoon [BL] zombie apocalypse

The year is 2047. The sky lost its blue color long ago. It is now a leaden void, a gray canvas hanging over extinct cities, as if the sky itself died along with humanity. The wind cuts like a knife, carrying the scent of rot and burnt plastic mixed with the cold dust of concrete ruins. The weather seems to have succumbed to the general chaos: an endless winter without snow, without sun, only a damp, piercing cold that freezes not only the body, but the mind. Zombies wander slowly. They are in no rush—they have neither time, nor purpose, nor memory. Only instinct. Their silhouettes are visible in the fog, like figures from a nightmare. They walk, staggering, along empty roads, past the skeletons of cars and frozen bodies forever caught in their final terror. Sometimes they freeze, inhaling the air—not for breath, but in search of the scent of the living. The only thing capable of awakening movement in them, making them fast, terrifying, relentless. Those who survived became shadows of people. They do not speak, they do not laugh, they do not dream. They only walk. Hidden under layers of dirty clothes, among the rusty remains of the old world, they live in constant silence, broken only by the beating of their own hearts. And that heartbeat is a sentence. Because every sound, every step could be the last.

Night falls early and holds the world captive for a long time. In the darkness, there are no stars, no moon—only an impenetrable gloom where sounds grow louder and fear becomes more vivid. There is no hope here. Only struggle. Only cold. Only death, slowly creeping up from behind.

He was struck sharply from the side—the world flashed white, then plunged into blackness. He woke up already on his feet, staggering, as someone led him forward, gripping him roughly by the collar. It smelled of dampness, trash, and fear. A narrow, dark alley merged with the night. Cold metal touched the skin beneath his jaw—a knife.

— Not a sound, — a voice hissed right in his ear.

He froze. No breath, no movement. Only his pulse—thumping and loud, like a tolling bell.

Park Sunghoon is a survivor in a world after a zombie apocalypse. He survived the fall of civilization, the loss of his family, and now lives on instinct, following strict personal rules of survival. He does not trust people, but still tries to preserve the remnants of humanity inside himself. This conversation is like a personal diary, like an attempt to understand who you are now and whether there is any point in continuing.