Myungsoo wished he could say it all began with the nightmares, but that would only be half true. His dreams started less than a month after the real nightmare began, the virus that swept through to drive hundreds of thousands insane before killing them, leaving the few survivors scarred and angry with the ones who were immune to it. There was no feasible explanation for where the virus had come from: everyone seemed happy to blame this country or that, and yet it had struck so quickly worldwide that it almost seemed as if it were an act of God. 

At least, that was what the radicals were saying. And when one of the immune ended up being a prestigious preacher's daughter, the radicals had their messiah in hand. The world changed overnight from being scared and sick to flocking to the churches, desperate to make themselves pure and holy so as to save their lives. Anyone who didn't go to church was surely damned, and fires and chaos broke out all over the world in the name of God.

It ony took about a month before everyone realized that the churches were susceptible, too, and seemed to finally come back to their senses. Doctors were working hard to try and find a cure, people began to reconcile with the fact that they were going to die, and the immune began to gather like carrion waiting for the rest to die. And that was when the dreams turned into nightmares.

Myungsoo had woken in the middle of the night, his skin cold and clammy and his pulse racing faster than he could have thought possible; he could feel the pound of blood in his ears and it took him a long few moments to begin to calm down. He found himself standing in the middle of his kitchen, half dressed and with a backpack in hand. The door to the cabinet was standing open and he had a jar of peanut butter in hand; when he tried to put it back on the shelf, he found the inexplicable urge to drop it into the bag.

"What the hell?" he mumbled to himself, finally forcing the jar back onto the shelf and moving to take a seat at the table. His pulse was racing again, his eyes darting nervously though he couldn't even begin to say why, and all he could really remember was the nightmare.

Or at least parts of it. He could remember a face, heavily scarred from the virus, and a terrifying sense of dread, but that was it. Well, that and the desperate need to run, the feeling that he had to get out of there right then. He was still struggling with that, his feet jumping nervously on the floor, his hands still clutched tightly around the straps of his bag. The longer he sat there the worse it got, until finally he stood with a heavy sigh.

Honestly, there was nothing keeping him there anyway. His parents had succumbed to the virus, his friends, practically everyone he knew. Why not follow this crazy feeling? Maybe he had finally caught the virus, too, maybe he was just going insane, but either way, maybe leaving would be better. He stopped fighting the urges and watched in a morbid fascination as his body seemed to take on a mind of its own, once again moving to the cabinet and pulling out the peanut butter to drop it into the bag. Several other foodstuffs were added, and then his body turned and headed for the door.

That was where he forced himself to stop once more; he wasn't about to go out into the world wearing a tee-shirt and boxer shorts. He set the bag by the door with great difficulty, his hands unwilling to lose the strap, and dressed quickly. Grabbing a small blanket from the bed as he passed, he rolled it up as tightly as he could and tied it with a shoelace from an old tennis shoe. If he were going crazy, he might as well be warm. 

The once bustling city of Seoul was devoid of movement; everyone with any sense left was either locked in their homes or in the now overflowing hospitals. The only people who wandered the streets now were those that were best avoided, those who had succumbed to the insanity of the virus and just let go of all pretenses. They were dangerous, roaming the city streets in search of food like animals, ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Myungsoo had the sudden thought that he should have grabbed a weapon of some sort, but it was too late now. Try as he might, he couldn't make his body stop; it seemed like whatever madness had seized him inside of his home had taken firm control once outside, and now his steps were quick and sure as he made his way through the city.

All he could really tell was that this had, indeed, started with a dream. As with most dreams, he couldn't remember much of it, but the one thing he could remember was a blazing beacon that called for him. He couldn't say if it were fire or something else, couldn't say if there had been people around him; all he knew for sure was that he had to go.

And so go he did, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket in an effort to keep warm as his feet took him to some unknown place. Maybe he ought to be scared, but he honestly wasn't. If it were the illness come for him at last, then there was nothing he could do to avoid it. May as well meet it head on with the last remaining shreds of dignity he had.

He walked for hours before the sun came up over the city, and with the warm rays came the infected. Movement from the corner of his eye as he moved briskly down the center of the street spooked him, and he tried to turn his head to look and see if he were being pursued. His body wouldn't allow it, though, firmly keeping hold and forcing his gaze to be ever forward, and panic ran through him as he realized that the strange hold would likely be the cause of his death. The pack on his back practically screamed for the infected to attack him, but try as he might, he could neither quicken his steps nor turn to look for attackers.

To his shock, though, he was not attacked; in fact, the infected seemed to taken little notice of him even as their numbers swelled until they swarmed in the streets. His feet took him swiftly and steadily through them, weaving in and around them, and yet not a single one looked in his direction. When he finally stood on the edges of the city, the sun nearly at its peak and the mountains ahead of him, he could have cried from the relief.

If only his body would allow it.

He felt the control on his body fading the further he got from the city, until finally he was able to snap free and stop in his tracks. He looked to find that the sun was well past its zenith now, already near the horizon, the deep colors of sunset beginning to creep across the sky like tendrils afraid to reach out for fear of the world. The again, that fear was probably him projecting his own thoughts onto things.

He turned all the way around to see the city stretched out in the valley below him, a sprawling monstrosity of towers and buildings, and a strange feeling of freedom struck him then. Ever since leaving the city, he hadn't seen another soul, a rare thing for someone used to seeing the streets literally covered with people wandering for a chance to find something to eat. Fear was still there, thick within him, but so was a sudden hope that maybe this infection wouldn't follow to wherever this pull was taking him.

Yes, taking him. It was still there; he could feel it within him, growing impatient with his pause, and he already had to fight the urges to turn and continue on with his journey into the mountainside. If only he'd known that his strange journey would lead him this direction, he would have grabbed a coat instead of the fall jacket he now wore. With a heavy sigh, he gave up the fight, and his body turned of its own accord to continue the trek into the