Chapter 2: The Stranger with the Bone Mask

I don't move.

The stranger is gone, swallowed by the ruins of Busan like a ghost. But his words linger.

Who the hell are you?

I exhale, trying to steady my breathing. My hands are still slick with blood, my heartbeat way too loud in my ears. The dead creature at my feet smells like burnt metal and rot, and the realization hits me—I killed it. Me.

And I should be horrified, right? Except I'm not. There's something inside me, something wired differently, something that makes me feel stronger instead of afraid.

I wipe my hands on my already-ruined shirt and glance down at myself. I look… rough. My clothes are torn, barely covering what needs to be covered, and my skin is smudged with dirt and blood. But underneath all that, I feel alive.

And also hungry.

Like, ridiculously starving. My stomach growls, reminding me that I have zero clue when I last ate.

Priorities:

Find food. Find out what the hell happened to the world. Figure out why I feel like a walking beast mode.

I take one last look at the dead creature before turning away, gripping the rebar like a lifeline as I move deeper into the ruins.

Busan is dead.

The streets are cracked, buildings gutted, nature creeping back like it's reclaiming the land. There are no people—no voices, no signs of normal life. Just wreckage and the occasional distant, inhuman scream.

I don't know how long I walk before I spot something that should not be there.

A fire.

It's small, flickering inside a half-collapsed building, the kind of controlled flame that only humans make. My pulse kicks up. Either this is good news—aka, survivors—or very, very bad news.

I creep closer, stepping lightly, careful not to make noise. Peering inside, I see him.

The stranger.

Bone mask. Battle-scarred arms. The guy who walked away like I didn't just take down a mutant demon dog.

And he's cooking. Actual food.

I don't even realize I've moved until my stomach betrays me with the loudest growl of my life.

He looks up instantly, body tensing, hand flying to the wicked-looking knife at his hip. For a second, we just stare at each other, the firelight flickering between us.

Then, his gaze flicks down—to my bare feet, the ripped clothes, the rebar still clenched in my fist. I must look like a half-wild animal.

"…You followed me," he says, voice calm but sharp.

I cross my arms, even though it does nothing to hide how hungry I am. "You left before answering my question."

He lets out a short, amused breath. "And you think I'll answer it now?"

I glare at him. "I just killed a monster. I think that earns me at least one answer."

He considers that for a moment, then gestures at the fire. "Sit."

I hesitate. I don't trust him—not even a little—but I also don't have any other options right now. So, gripping my makeshift weapon tight, I lower myself onto the ground, keeping just out of reach.

Up close, I can see more of him. His mask covers most of his face, but his eyes—dark and sharp—watch me carefully. He looks like he belongs in this apocalypse, like the world fell apart and he adapted without missing a beat.

He pulls something from the fire and tosses it to me.

I catch it on reflex. It's meat, slightly charred, but food is food.

I don't even hesitate—I tear into it, ignoring the heat, barely chewing before swallowing. My body is starving, and I'm not about to be picky.

He watches me eat, silent, unreadable.

When I finally slow down, he leans back slightly. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

I pause, chewing slower. "…No."

He nods, like he expected that answer. "That's normal."

I frown. "Normal?"

He gestures at me. "You're not the first."

Chills crawl up my spine. Not the first?

"What does that mean?" I demand.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment, then he stands. "It means you're not alone."

And then he does it again—walks away.

This time, I don't let him. I shoot up, blocking his path. "Oh, hell no. You're not just dropping cryptic one-liners and leaving. What's happening to me? What happened to Busan? Where is everyone?"

His jaw tightens slightly, like he's debating something. Then, finally, he sighs. "Fine."

He looks me dead in the eyes and says, "Welcome to the new world. You better start running."

And in the distance, something howls.

Loud.

Close.

Too close.

The stranger grabs my wrist, his grip strong, and firm. "Move. Now."

And this time, I don't hesitate. I run.