"Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back." -Marcus Aurelius
Hudson's eyes, veined with crimson, stared up into the indifferent sky. His chest rose slowly. A breath he never thought he'd take again. A breath that no longer burned with effort.
He was awake. He was alive. Or was he? Perhaps this 'life' was something conjured by a dying mind in it's final moments. Perhaps...all of them were already dead.
Everything was different. Sharper. Quieter. Colder. There was no fear. No pain. No chaos. Only a strange, serene clarity. Not unlike the freedom from guilt when one commits atrocities in a video game.
Slowly he sat up, pushing aside a mangled corpse like it weighed nothing. One of his legs dangled uselessly, twisted in the wrong direction. With a casual grunt, he snapped it back into place, the joint cracking loud enough to echo.
"Neat," he muttered, testing the weight. "Still got it."
A groan rasped nearby. One of the infected, a student whose name he'd long forgotten stumbled from the school entrance and spotted him. Snarling. Teeth bared. It sprinted, only to suddenly stop just inches from his face. Twitching. Salivating. But remained just standing there. Its blackened eyes blinked in confusion. Fear?
It cackled. A broken, breathless thing, more animal than human.
Hudson grinned, eyes burning with blood-colored clarity. "Go on… try. You won't get another chance."
The thing shrieked before sprinting in the opposite direction.
He cracked both his neck and back as he turned toward the school like it was just another Monday. The halls were thick with rot and ruin. Blood smeared across lockers. The undead shuffled, snarling, snapping and groaning.
He walked amongst them. They didn't touch him. One looked his way. Its head tilted like a curious dog. Another sniffed at the air but didn't move.
"Well…that's handy."
He made his way to the principal's office, his steps unhurried, casual. A man taking a stroll. The room was dark. Wrecked. Chairs overturned. Papers scattered like fallen leaves. Under a large wooden desk was the faint sound of shallow breathing, a heart pounding like that of a trapped rabbit's. Principal Hwang.
Hudson didn't rush. He didn't need to. His nose twitched. He could smell the man's sweat. The salt. The iron...The fear.
He opened a cabinet beside the desk, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and twisted the cap off. Took a long, slow swig. He'd never liked the taste. But now? Now it dulled something. Some strange craving in the back of his throat.
"Just so you know," he said without looking at the desk, "I always hated you as our principal." Getting only a muffled gasp in return.
Hudson sighed in relief while watching the golden liquid swirl in the bottle's neck.
"So… now what?" he muttered to himself. "Save who I can? Hunt what I can't? Or just…"
His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. Crimson. Inhuman.
"…walk with death for a while."
Meanwhile in Seoul.
The suite at the Lotte Hotel in Seoul was luxurious, polished oak paneling, soft mood lighting, and a view of the city that glimmered like stardust spilled across the earth. Amelia sat cross-legged on the couch, barefoot and relaxed, a plate of grilled bulgogi and garlic shrimp on her lap and a glass of red wine in her hand.
Her laughter rang out like a bell, light and unburdened as her best friend, Yuna Kim, poured herself another drink.
"I swear to God, Lia," Yuna chuckled, "that intern was about five seconds away from crying when you corrected the contracts clause. You've still got that 'stern Aussie mum' thing going strong."
Amelia grinned. "Well, if he can't handle constructive criticism without sniffling, corporate law might not be his calling."
They both laughed again, sinking into the plush sofa with the ease of two women who hadn't shared an evening like this in far too long. No work emails. No timelines. No responsibilities.
Just wine, food, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the windows.
For the first time in months, Amelia felt… still. Peaceful. Safe.
"You ever think about going back to Brisbane?" Yuna asked casually, spearing a dumpling with her chopsticks.
Amelia looked out the window. "Sometimes. But Hudson likes it here. We've been here most of his life. He's made it work. And… so have I, or at least I like to think I have."
Yuna gave her a soft look. "He's a good kid."
"The best," Amelia said, her voice warm with pride. "Strange, brilliant, stubborn little bugger. But he's my whole world."
"Cheers to that" Yuna smiled before they both clinked their glasses.
Then the TV screen flashed white, cutting off the rom-com background noise. A loud emergency broadcast tone blared through the suite. Amelia blinked, the red wine halfway to her lips.
"What the…?"
The screen changed. An anchor appeared, pale and sweating, his tie loosened. Behind him: aerial footage of the Hyosan area, swarming with emergency vehicles, smoke, and what looked like bodies.
"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news from Hyosan. Authorities have confirmed an outbreak of violent assaults and unexplained behavior. Reports believe the point of origin is Hyosan High School. The district has been placed under quarantine with citizens in the city cautioned to remain alert until further notice."
Amelia's wine glass slipped from her fingers.
It hit the carpet with a soft thud, crimson soaking into white.
"Hyosan…" she whispered, barely breathing. "No. No, no! Hudson's still at school…"
Yuna was already fumbling for her phone. "We'll call him. It's probably a misunderstanding, he's probably already home!"
But Amelia wasn't listening. She was already dialing. One ring. Two. Three. Straight to voicemail. Again.
"Hudson, baby… pick up," she murmured, her voice breaking.
Static echoed from the television. Then screams. The live footage cut to a blurry clip of people covered in blood, running. Some… attacking each other like animals. Then, only adding to her dread, some clips of Hyosan students.
Yuna's face had gone ghost-white. "This can't be real."
Amelia stood frozen. The room felt miles wide. The carpet was soaked. But not from wine anymore. Not in her mind. All she could see… was red.
Ten minutes later.
"Students and teachers of Hyosan High School. I'm Park Sun-hwa, the English teacher. Something strange is happening throughout the school. Some students are attacking others indiscriminately. So please flee and find a safe place. And if any student or faculty hears this and is able to, please call the police and the fire department.
Students, hide somewhere safe until help arrives. If you can get out of the school, please get out. I'll say it again. Some students are... Hey, everyone... You're okay, right? You're not hurt? I don't know what's going on in here or how this whole thing happened, but... Still, find a safe place and hide I... I'm sorry... I can't help sniffle Don't get hurt, okay? Please, let's stay alive and meet again. Okay?"
Meanwhile with Hudson.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the whiskey bottle from earlier. It landed with a dull thud just inches from the cowering principal's feet, rolling slightly but miraculously not breaking on the carpet.
"Bit of a shame," Hudson muttered as he turned away. "Would've made for a better send-off. I advise you drink the whole thing, teeth hurt"
He made his way down the corridor toward his locker. The halls that once buzzed with morning chatter were now a mausoleum of silence and bloodstains. He didn't bother with the combination. With a flex of his newfound strength, he ripped the metal lock clean off, tossing it over his shoulder like trash.
Inside was his personal cache. Most important of all being his phone, a bulky portable charger capable of juicing it up three times over, and a change of clothes, plain black, simple and clean. Just in case something happened to his uniform. Like bite marks, blood and dirt.
He glanced down at the state of himself. His school blazer looked like it had survived a war, and in many ways, it had. Tugging it and the rest of his clothes off, he walked to the showers.
The showers were thankfully empty, quiet except for the occasional drop of water echoing through the tiled chamber. He turned the hot tap on, steam rising in a thick cloud as he stepped under the spray. The warmth was surreal, human, almost. Something he hadn't expected to feel again.
He stood still, letting the heat soak into his skin.
His eyes traced the crescent scars that dotted his arms, shoulder, and one along his side where a zombie had latched on hard. Already, they'd mostly healed. What should have been festering wounds were pale and closed. His muscles had become more defined, his once-lean build hardened into something more powerful, more... durable.
He chuckled to himself, rubbing a towel through his hair.
"Terminator I might just be, Dae-su," he said aloud, a grin tugging at his lips. Clean, dressed in his new black gear, Hudson left the locker room and made his way toward the cafeteria. The smell hit first—burnt food, rotted meat, coppery blood. It lingered thick in the air like the aftertaste of a bad dream.
The scene inside was no better: tables overturned, trays scattered, blood streaked across every surface.
And then he saw him.
In the far corner, tucked behind a table flipped on its side, was Gwi-nam. Once a tormentor, now reduced to a shivering wreck. The self-proclaimed king of bullies clutched a pipe with trembling hands, eyes wide as he watched a pair of undead shuffle past, oblivious to his presence.
Hudson stopped in the doorway, leaning on the fire axe like a walking stick, his silhouette half-shadowed in the broken light.
"Well," he said, voice dry with amusement. "Talk about turned tables."
Gwi-nam's head jerked toward him in shock, his face pale, disbelief etched across every inch.
Hudson offered a smirk, eyes gleaming red beneath the dim lights. "Never thought I'd see you on the menu." He said continuing on.
The soft thud of his boots echoed down the hall as he approached the supply pantry, the scent of old oil and disinfectant hanging thick in the air. Light filtered dimly through a broken window, casting fractured shadows across the floor, illuminating the aftermath of chaos. The dead, in their state of usual meandering, with slack jaws and twitching limbs, parted before him unconsciously, like waves retreating from the shore.
Inside the pantry, things had remained surprisingly intact despite everything. Rows of dry goods, bottled water, and packaged foods aplenty lay waiting like forgotten treasure in a bunker. Hudson scanned it all with a calculating eye before cracking a smile.
"Jackpot," he muttered.
He yanked a hundred-liter storage tub from the corner, its lid already half-off. Working quickly but precisely, he stacked in several tetra packs of instant ramen, a full 24-pack of bottled water, some dented cans of mixed vegetables, and an assortment of sweet biscuits. Efficient. Nutritious. Carbohydrate-heavy. Survival 101.
Returing the the kitchen, he took the electric kettle and placed it in the container before looking back to Gwi-nam, still cowering in the dark corner.
"What the hell... are you?" Gwi-nam croaked, his voice raw.
Hudson cocked his head, amused. He closed and casually lifted the heavy container with one arm and slung it over his shoulder like it was filled with feathers. Then he looked back, really looked, and grinned.
"Still figuring that out," he said coolly.
He turned to leave but paused, something like pity, or mockery, tugging at the corner of his mouth. Reaching into the tub, he pulled out a single packet of instant ramen and tossed it in a lazy arc across the room. It landed near Gwi-nam's foot with a light tap.
"Good luck… King," Hudson said with a theatrical bow, voice dipped in sarcasm and smirking mischief.
And with that, he walked out, whistling lowly, the container bouncing on his shoulder with every step, death in his wake, but not on his heels.
Before turning back to the school and whatever nightmare awaited inside, Hudson veered off the cracked pavement toward the garden storage shed. The sky hung grey above, heavy with smoke and distant sirens, casting a dim shroud over the once-peaceful grounds. The shed sat alone, locked and undisturbed, until he arrived.
With little ceremony, he reached for the rusted padlock and wrenched it off with a short metallic snap. The door creaked open as if groaning in protest, revealing a collection of tools, bags of soil, and rusted gardening equipment. Though the interior was nearly pitch black, it was of no consequence to Hudson anymore. Even in the dark, everything was clear, every corner visible in his eyes like it was noon.
Still, out of sheer habit, human habit, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to use as a flashlight. The screen flickered to life. A simple lock screen. The kind he'd never thought twice about before.
His heart stopped for a beat.
Mom — 8 missed calls. 13 messages.
His thumb hovered over the notifications, then shifted to the small green icon. Return Call.
A part of him didn't want to press it. Not because he didn't miss her, God, he did, but because of what he'd become. What would she hear in his voice now? Would it be her son? Or the monster that had somehow survived what should've killed him?
Still, he tapped the button.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Click.
"Hudson? Honey, you there? Are you okay?...Sweetheart?"
Her voice...
Cracked from fear, laced with exhaustion, but still the same warm, motherly tone that had sung him to sleep for years, that had soothed his scraped knees and teenage heartbreaks.
He opened his mouth.
But the words wouldn't come.
His lips moved, quivered, but no sound emerged. Something in him, a weight, a wall, a dam, refused to let the words free. His throat clenched. His breath hitched.
"Hudson? Please… say something, sweetheart. I just want to know you're..."
Click.
The line cut out.
Frowning, Hudson stared down at the screen. The bars had vanished. No Reception. He tried again. Call Failed. Then again.
"Calling unavailable at this time. Please try again later."
He lowered the phone, arm dropping to his side.
The wave came all at once.
Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. His knees buckled slightly as the weight of it all crashed over him, the change, the deaths, the silence. The not-knowing. What he was now. What he might become. He wanted to believe he wasn't a monster. But monsters didn't get to have mothers waiting for them to call back.
Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Hudson straightened. His eyes caught sight of a long-handled sledgehammer leaning against the far wall. Without hesitation, he walked over and picked it up, fingers curling around the grip with purpose. Outside, the wind shifted. The sound of distant screaming drifted faintly through the trees. But Hudson stood tall again.
He had no control over what he'd become. But he still had friends trapped in that building. He could still choose who to fight for.
Sometime later.
The hallway outside the broadcasting room was eerily still. Hudson's footsteps echoed softly as he approached the heavy wood door. His heart, or whatever part of it remained untouched by what he'd become, beat with a slow, cautious rhythm.
He stood still before the door. A breath in. A breath out.
And then, three knocks...
Muted voices whispered behind the door. A shuffle of feet. Someone asked, "Who is it?" the tone strained with fear.
Hudson leaned close.
"Guys… it's Hudson."
Even as he said it, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It sounded ridiculous. I died, he thought. I'm not supposed to be here. And yet he was. Alive. Changed. But undeniably him.
A long silence followed. Then, slowly, the door creaked open.
Cheong-san stood there, frozen in the frame, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. His eyes were bloodshot, tears having dried into trails down his cheeks. Hudson's smirk faded slightly.
Something had happened. Something else.
Hudson raised his sledgehammer hand slightly in a gesture of peace. "It's me… I know, it's fucking insane, but…" He paused, catching the way a few of the students in the room instinctively took a step back. The fear in their eyes wasn't subtle. And yet, it wasn't hatred. Just confusion. Wounded disbelief.
Then he saw her.
Nam-ra...
She was standing next to Su-hyeok near the front of the room, her ever-composed expression partially broken, tears streaming silently down her face, hands clenched at her sides. Her eyes met Hudson's… and didn't look away.
She looked down, almost ashamed to speak. Her voice was calm, but brittle, as she nodded toward someone on the floor.
Na-yeon.
And then, quietly, she told him everything.
After escaping down the side of the building and finding brief refuge in the broadcasting room, the class had settled into a fragile, tense calm. But it hadn't lasted. Gyeong-su had a wound on his hand, minor, but suspicious enough for panic to take root. Na-yeon, already unraveling under the pressure, had accused him of being infected.
No one had known what to believe. They waited. Thirty minutes. Gyeong-su showed no symptoms. They started to calm.
Then Na-yeon pulled a blood-soaked handkerchief from her pocket. She'd pressed it into his wound while everyone was distracted to feign making up with Gyeong-su.
Minutes later, Gyeong-su turned.
Cheong-san was the one who had to throw him from the window.
Hudson didn't speak. He didn't move.
The grief on his face was cold and controlled, like frost on a windowpane. His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching just enough to show the storm he was holding back. But he said nothing.
Na-yeon, sitting now in the center of the room, finally cracked.
"WHY ISN'T ANYONE QUESTIONING WHY HE'S ALIVE? HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" she shrieked, voice cracking under the weight of desperation and guilt. "WHAT IF HE'S A ZOMBIE?! WHAT IF HE'S JUST LIKE GYEONG-SU?!"
No one answered her.
She stood, eyes darting between them, realizing how alone she'd become.
"Fine," she spat, tears blurring her vision. "You can all die for all I fucking care."
She marched toward the door, swinging it open without hesitation. On the other side, Hudson stood like a statue, towering, still. She stopped in her tracks, looking up at him, expecting resistance or judgment.
Instead, after a long, heavy silence, Hudson simply stepped aside.
She blinked.
He stared at her, eyes sharp and unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he might say something.
But he didn't.
And so, Na-yeon walked into the silence, into the shadowed halls, into the mouth of death. Alone.
The door closed behind her.
The room was left in silence, the kind only deep trauma can forge.
Hudson, having entered the room with hammer and container of food still in-hand, looked up at the class to ask a good question.
"Where's I-sak?"