The world was quiet.
Too quiet.
Raon's eyelids trembled as the sound of flowing water reached his ears. His body felt heavy, his mind foggy—as though he had woken from someone else's dream. Cold droplets ran down his cheek when he sat up. A river stretched beside him, dark and endless under a sunless sky.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
The last thing he remembered was the train—the red emergency light, the people screaming, that thing crawling along the windows—and then… nothing.
He touched the ground. Wet soil. Real.
"…Where am I?"
There was no answer.
He pulled his cracked phone from his pocket. The screen was shattered but somehow still glowing faintly. A single notification blinked in the corner, frozen mid-animation.
> [System Booting…]
He stared.
"System…?"
The words glitched, broke apart, and then reformed.
> [Skill Menu: Access Granted.]
A small blue window unfolded before his eyes, floating in the air. His pulse quickened as he focused on it.
> [Skill Window]
Skill 001 — Unlocked
Skill 002 — Locked
Skill 003 — Locked
Static flickered across the window like a dying screen.
He tried to open the Status Window.
Nothing. Only another flicker.
> [Access Denied.]
The entire interface dissolved into shards of light and vanished.
Raon stared at the empty air. "Am I… still dreaming?"
He waited. But the world stayed silent.
---
He pushed himself up, wincing at the ache in his ribs. A faint city skyline loomed ahead—gray and motionless, like a painting fading in the rain. He began walking toward it, his steps slow, each one echoing too loudly in the quiet.
The closer he got, the more wrong it felt. The air was heavy, metallic. The wind didn't move.
Cars were scattered across the streets, some half-buried in dust. Billboards hung crookedly from crumbling towers. Not a single bird in the sky.
It looked like the set of an apocalypse film that had forgotten to end.
---
Raon found a shopping mall at the edge of the main road, its glass doors cracked open. Inside, the floor was littered with abandoned bags, broken phones, a stroller tipped sideways.
He moved quietly, listening to the hollow echo of his own footsteps.
A pharmacy on the first floor still had its shelves intact. He tore open a first aid box, wrapped a strip of gauze around his arm, and splashed bottled water on his face.
He caught his reflection in a mirror behind the counter.
A pale man with tired eyes stared back—his once-clean office clothes smeared with mud and blood. For some reason, the image made him laugh quietly.
"…So much for an ordinary day."
In the men's section of a nearby store, he found a gray suit jacket that almost fit. He put it on, tore the tag off, and slipped a few energy bars and a lighter into a backpack. He didn't know what he was preparing for, but his instincts told him to move.
The world outside was not something he wanted to meet unprepared.
---
The Sound
As he left the mall, the city groaned.
At first, he thought it was the wind.
Then came a scream—raw, animalistic—and a man's voice shouting for help.
Raon froze near a broken bus stop. The sound came from two blocks away.
Curiosity fought terror.
He edged closer, keeping low. Between two overturned cars, he saw it—
a pale creature crawling on all fours, dragging something that used to be human.
Its skin was stretched too tight, its mouth too wide.
It wasn't real—couldn't be real—but the blood pooling on the asphalt said otherwise.
Raon's heart slammed in his chest. He backed away slowly. The creature lifted its head, sniffing the air.
He turned and ran.
---
The Shelter
By the time he stopped, his throat burned, his legs numb. He found himself before a half-buried entrance—an old underground passage. Rusted letters above it read: CIVIL DEFENSE SHELTER.
He hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.
The corridor was narrow, dimly lit by a few flickering bulbs. The air smelled of metal and damp concrete. He followed the faint voices echoing from deeper within.
At the end of the passage, a steel door stood slightly open.
Raon pushed it—and every head inside turned toward him.
There were maybe a dozen people.
Men, women, two children. Dirty, exhausted, eyes sunken from fear.
A single lamp hung from the ceiling, casting everyone in a pale yellow haze.
A man with a graying beard stepped forward cautiously. He carried a wrench like a weapon.
"Another survivor?" His voice was hoarse. "Where did you come from?"
Raon swallowed hard. "The… the river. The train crashed, and—"
The man's expression flickered with something between pity and disbelief.
"You made it out of that?"
He didn't answer.
A woman sitting near the corner spoke without looking up. "Let him stay. We need all the people we can get."
The man grunted and stepped aside. "Fine. Find a place. Don't cause trouble."
Raon entered, the door shutting heavily behind him.
He sank against the wall, listening to the low murmur of exhausted people—some whispering prayers, others just staring into space. No one smiled. No one asked names.
Somewhere in the distance, something scraped against metal.
Everyone froze for a second.
Then the sound faded.
Raon exhaled and looked down at his trembling hands. The world outside might have ended—but somehow, the story was still going.
And for the first time, he wondered—
Was he still the reader?
Or had he become the one being read?