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Dead Air:A Survival Story

Titan_0p
49
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 49 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Han-su is a man defined by numbers: his bank debt, his delivery quotas, and the hours of sleep he misses. When a rabies-like viral outbreak turns Seoul into a slaughterhouse in under six hours, Han-su finds himself trapped in his 2.5-ton delivery truck. In a world without "Systems," "Levels," or "Awakenings," Han-su has only three things: a heavy-duty truck, a cargo hold full of undelivered "loot boxes" from the wealthy Gwanak-gu district, and a desperate drive to survive that borders on the cold-blooded. Dear Readers you may found the story fast pace at start but I can assure you as the story progress we will surely dive deeper in scenarios.
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Chapter 1 - Prologue: The Weight of a Package

The notification on Han-su's cracked smartphone screen was the only thing glowing in the dark cabin of his delivery truck.

[New Delivery: Unit 402, Gwanak-gu. Priority: High.]

Han-su wiped the sweat from his brow. It was 11:45 PM. His legs felt like lead, and his eyes were stinging from the neon glare of the city. In the distance, he heard a siren—nothing unusual for Seoul—but this one didn't stop. It was joined by another. Then a third.

He stepped out of the truck, the cold night air hitting his face. He grabbed a heavy box from the back—bulk-order canned tuna. It weighed nearly 15kg.

"Last one," he muttered. "Then I sleep for twenty-four hours."

He didn't notice the bloodstain on the elevator button until he had already pressed it. He didn't notice the absence of the security guard at the front desk. He only noticed the weight of the box and the debt he needed to pay off.

The elevator doors opened on the 4th floor. The hallway light flickered. At the end of the corridor, a man was hunched over something, his back to Han-su.

"Excuse me? Delivery for 402?" Han-su called out.

The man didn't respond. He was making a wet, rhythmic sound. Slap. Squelch. Slap.

Han-su took a step closer. "Sir? You okay?"

The man turned. He wasn't a man anymore. His jaw hung at an impossible angle, held on by a single string of muscle. His eyes were milky white, reflecting the flickering fluorescent light. He wasn't crying or screaming. He was chewing.

Han-su dropped the box. 15kg of tuna hit the floor with a bone-shaking thud.

The thing in the hallway didn't care about the tuna. It wanted the delivery man.