9th Death - The Girl

"Run," the thought dominated Jiho's mind as he sprinted through the city streets, his legs burning with exhaustion.

His body, fueled by adrenaline, had been running for who knows how long. But Jiho knew in his heart this was the farthest he had ever run in his life. He ran, and ran, and kept running, as if his usually weak stamina had vanished.

Run where, though?

To safety? To somewhere he could wait until he either died or turned into a zombie? Like the thousands he passed by?

'That has to be how it works, right?' he thought, dodging between the awkwardly limping zombies that filled the streets. 'You get bitten by a zombie, there's a virus, and you turn into one of them soon enough?'

'These are actual zombies! Fuck...! Where do I go!?'

"HEY!!! DUDE, OVER HERE!" a feminine voice called out from what looked like an apartment complex as Jiho navigated the horde.

Without thinking, he bolted toward the voice, with dozens of zombies trailing behind him. As he rushed inside, the girl who had called out slammed the door shut, quickly wedging a crowbar between the handles to seal it.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck...! This is real! Holy shit, this is really real!' Jiho's thoughts raced as he leaned against a nearby wall, his palm still bleeding steadily. Though it was just a drop at a time now, earlier it had poured like a waterfall.

His legs finally gave out, his breathing growing more labored. His face turned pale, the toll of relentless running and fear now fully taking hold.

He could almost hear it... the bell of death ringing louder and louder, the grim reaper's scythe drawing nearer, pressing against his throat.

Then, the loud banging against the door started. The moans grew louder, zombies pressing their decayed mouths against the gap, trying to bite at anything—anyone.

The ringing in Jiho's ears intensified, growing louder with each passing second. His breathing became more labored, the pain in his palm worsening as blood pooled in his hand. He was going to become one of them... there was no way ou—

"—HEY!!" the girl screamed, slapping him hard enough to knock him off balance.

"Ah..!" Jiho gasped, his senses jolted back to the present. His breathing steadied slightly as his eyes snapped to her. "Uh—" he tried to speak between breaths, but before he could take in her face, another slap cracked across his cheek.

"Ah!!" he exhaled, stumbling again. He tried to focus, but was hit in the same spot once more.

Each slap stung harder than the last.

'What... The...?' Jiho's thoughts scrambled as another slap collided with his cheek.

"H-hey!!" he finally managed to call out.

"YOU FUCKER!!!" she screamed, punching him this time, sending him tumbling over. Before he could recover, she was on top of him, pinning him to the ground and unleashing a relentless barrage of slaps and fists to his face.

"YOU FUCKER!!! YOU FUCKER!!! YOU FUCKER!!!" she screamed, her voice straining with every word.

'What... What is she doing!?' Jiho thought, letting go of his wound to raise his arms in defense.

"STOP... STOP HITTING ME...!!" Jiho shouted, but the girl grabbed his wounded wrist.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!! YOU GOT BIT!" she yelled, violently shaking his wrist in front of his face like it was stolen property.

Jiho fell silent, staring into her eyes. She was... very pretty.

'I never imagined the first girl to ever be on top of me, and one this cute, would be so furious.' The bizarre thought crossed his mind.

"What..." she started, still gripping his arm tightly. Jiho relaxed his muscles, utterly confused. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now, huh?" she snapped, her head jerking back to meet his exhausted, bewildered gaze.

"Tell me," she demanded, tightening her grip on his wounded wrist. Jiho didn't resist. "No, seriously... just fucking tell me, man." Her voice cracked slightly.

She stayed seated on top of him, her eyes filled with resignation, her brows furrowed in frustration.

"I... I... I don't know," Jiho whispered weakly.

She rubbed her temple aggressively, then pulled a gun from her skinny jeans, aiming it directly at his face.

Jiho gasped, his eyes widening as he stared into the barrel of the gun.

"See this?" she asked, as Jiho remained frozen. "I nabbed it from our security guard." She glanced sideways for a moment. "He got bitten on the neck and died. Then he came back as one of them." Her eyebrows knitted as she sniffled, and Jiho's eyes darted to where she had glanced. In the dim light, he saw two bodies lying on the floor, a pool of dark liquid around them. One was dressed in casual clothes, and the other—what was left of the lower torso—wore the dark boots and blue pants typical of a security guard.

"So, you understand? I'm not being irrational here. You are going to turn into a zombie. You are going to come back to life and start eating people..." Her voice grew progressively shaky.

"You look like a kid. So, get this; you'll wanna chew on your friends, your mommy and daddy if you ever see them. EVERYONE," she said, sniffling again as she cocked the gun, her eyes reddening.

"So just be straight with me, man... Tell me. What... what should I do?"

Jiho looked at the barrel of the gun.

He heard it again—the tolling of death's bell, growing louder with every second.

He was going to die. Or die and become a zombie.

There was no Daniel to save him from this. He was back in that dark place, chained to the ground.

Unable to trust anyone, filled with remorse and regret. Damp, and empty.

But as he stared into the barrel of that gun, right into its dark, hollow interior, one thing became crystal clear.

He could trust this.

If she squeezed that trigger, if a bullet came out... he would die.

"Kill me," Jiho said firmly.

"...What?" Misaki whispered, her gaze locking onto his now empty eyes, his breathing gradually steadying.

"A gun can't betray or lie to me. Or turn off the light inside me," he said, his eyes fixed on the barrel. "So just press it. If I'm gonna die... I want to die to the one thing I can trust."

But then he flinched as a flash of his mother appeared in his mind.

'...Mom would be sad,' Jiho thought, the image lingering.

"Woah, I've never seen an edgelord like you." Misaki spat, her brows knitting in mockery.

"Just shoot me, please. I don't really have much to live for," Jiho insisted, his voice hollow.

Misaki looked away, smacking her lips together in frustration. She lowered the gun to his abdomen, her eyes darting around the room.

"Tsche... FUCK...!! FUCK YOU!!!" she blurted out loudly, snapping the gun away from his abdomen and lowering it to her side.

With a deep sigh, she looked up at the ceiling, sniffling once more. "Don't talk like you're some kind of know-it-all adult who thinks they've got everything figured out... Bitten or not, you're still a runny-nosed brat, and the shit you just spewed is edgy, angsty teenager-pretending-to-be-an-adult bullshit. You understand me?" she muttered, glaring at him.

Jiho looked at her, feeling an odd compulsion to nod, as if not doing so would earn him a lecture.

"Good... Good," she exhaled deeply. "So, what's your name, kid?" she asked, her voice almost raspy.

"It's... Jiho. Jiho An... 17 years old," he murmured, his voice carrying a note of frustration.

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"Remember to be nice to people, okay, Jiho?" Ji-yeon, Jiho's mother, said softly, patting his cheek with a warm smile.

=============

"...Alright, cool. Listen up, Jiho," Misaki began. "I'll take you to my condo, and we'll figure stuff out—"

"...Yours?" Jiho suddenly asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Misaki's eyes widened slightly at his interruption, but then a soft smile crept across her lips as she let out a chuckle.

"You know, your name sounds like that of a squirt," she muttered, her face relaxing as she looked at him.

"I'm... Misaki," she continued. "Misaki Tanaka, 26 years old. I'm half-Japanese," she said with a faint smile.

"Nice to meet you, kid," she murmured, her voice trembling just a bit.