Humanity is terrified of the unknown. It’s even more terrified of the known, mixing myth and fact to create something physical to be anticipated, fought, and feared. It’s just human nature. As a scientist and doctor, Joonmyun understands that. He has his own healthy fears, but they are real and present things.

Unlike zombies.

“They’re real, hyung,” Chanyeol insists, spinning on his chair while playing a game on his phone. “The horde walks among us, hungering for brains and the fall of capitalism.”

“You’ll be safe, then, Chanyeol,” Joonmyun assures. He can see the driving appeal of the supernatural, but that doesn’t mean he believes in it. Witches exist in the Wiccan sense more than Harry Potter. Werewolves can be ordinary people suffering from Hypertrichosis or clinical lycanthropy. Vampires can be individuals living with Renfield’s syndrome. Given time and patience, everything can be explained.

Even zombies.

Joonmyun’s new hobby is supernatural science and history, if only to disprove his friends’ groundless fears and beliefs. Most of his office is filled with anatomy and physiology and forensic science texts, but there’s a shelf and a growing pile of books behind his door dedicated to his growing hobby.

“Ouch. Sometimes words hurt, hyung.”

“Yes, they can. Remember that when you call someone a zombie. They may prefer waking undead; don’t be so insensitive. Did you know,” he continues, picking up his office rabbit, “that zombies date back to the 1800s, in Haiti? Black magic reportedly brought back the dead to do the bidding of whomever brought them back as zombis. The belief now is that, more likely, plantation owners made their slaves work long hours with few breaks, making them seem unresponsive and mindless. Zombies.”

“Okay, I think you’re making fun of me...I sense something about my residents, but with your sense of humor, I can’t tell.”

“I’m only teasing you a little. It is true about the Haitian slaves. Since then, Americans have adopted black culture as something fearsome and adapted the zombies to encompass the overarching fears of the time. Now, it’s biological warfare, so zombies are created through disease and infection rather than magic.”

Chanyeol’s hands are folded over his phone on his belly, and he nods, actually absorbed. “That...is actually pretty cool. Also,” he points victoriously at his colleague, “you said yourself that zombies are real.”

“Only in the sense of misconception. When I leave here most nights, I feel like a zombie.”

“You also work until, like, morning. It’s okay to put the bodies on ice and continue when you’re actually with it and awake.” Chanyeol is an orthopedic surgeon; he has actual appointments and patients. Joonmyun doesn’t have those luxuries as a forensic pathologist.

“Sometimes I do. I really just want to get the answers we need, and that takes time.”

“Have you gotten permission for the fat guy’s autopsy, yet?” Early last night, a 254-kilogram corpse arrived packed so tightly in its bag that Joonmyun feared the zipper would burst. Because it can’t fit in the typical refrigeration drawer, the corpse is sitting out in Joonmyun’s laboratory with bags of ice outlining it.

“Not yet, which is part of why I’m up here.”

“That is just nasty. On all levels, man… Can’t you, like, ask someone to expedite the process a little?”

“Not with all these drug deaths. No one gets special treatment; he’s on the waiting list.”

“Well, I hope the wait ends soon.” Chanyeol spins on his chair. “I can only take so much of your resident coming up here and complaining to my resident about how gross it is. We have our own problems, you know. Sometimes I have to physically catch my patients.” Chanyeol's favorite story to regale his residents with is about an elderly patient so against their hip replacement surgery that they tried to wheel themselves out of the hospital the day of their surgery. Chanyeol caught them in the elevator and merrily escorted them into the operating suite himself.

Kim Jongin, one of Chanyeol's residents, knocks on the door frame. “Sir, they're ready for you.”

Chanyeol stops spinning and nods. “Thanks, Jongin.” The resident leaves, and Joonmyun holds out Chanyeol's white coat for him to put on. “I've got a family in, now. Mom and Dad with their daughter who managed to fracture the distal part of her right radius after falling off her bike.” He tugs the lapels of his jacket flat and runs a hand through his hair. “She'd tied the family dog to her bike and couldn't keep up.”

Joonmyun scoffs. Karma.

“You working late, tonight? It's Sehun's day off, right?”

“Yeah.” Joonmyun follows Chanyeol into the hall. “I've got paperwork to finish and a suspicious death on my table. Probably another overdose.”

“What an exciting night ahead of you.” He hits the elevator button for Joonmyun, leaning against the hall to wait with him. “Don't overdo it, okay? If you finish early enough, text me, and we can have dinner.”

“I doubt I will.” Chanyeol's been asking Joonmyun out one way or another since they met. He's nice, but something about workplace relationships doesn't bode well to Joonmyun, so he lets him down as kindly as he can. “Maybe another time. We can treat our residents.”

The elevator dings, and Joonmyun steps inside. “Good night, Chanyeol.”

“Night, hyung.” He always feels a little bad, seeing the dejection on Chanyeol's face. Kind of like he's kicked a puppy, but rather than being afraid, the puppy tries to ingratiate itself and be super sweet.

It takes a couple floors for the feeling to go away. As the elevator passes the main floor, Joonmyun feels the air grow chilly and lets his emotions cool as well. The morgue and autopsy are in the basement. Without windows, it's easy to lose track of time, and Joonmyun is most often by himself when Do Kyungsoo, the diener, and Oh Sehun, his resident, are off.

Kyungsoo is at a computer, filling in a death certificate, when Joonmyun enters autopsy. “Hello, Doctor,” he greets.

“Hello, Kyungsoo! I have a joke for you.” He ignores the less-than-enthusiastic reply. “A monster and a zombie went into the undertaker’s. 'I’d like to order a coffin for a friend of mine who has just died,' said the monster. 'Certainly, sir,' said the undertaker, 'but there was really no need to bring him with you.'”

Kyungsoo ignores him; Joonmyun is used to it but is still determined to make him laugh at least once. “I haven't moved 18-0517, the suspicious death, yet. I wanted to wait for you, to collect and document evidence.”

“That's fine. Go ahead and finish that certificate. I've got some papers of my own to finish.” He scowls at his desk, covered in the offending papers. He enjoys his work, gruesome and morbid as it is. He enjoyed school and his residency at a smaller hospital. Never has he met anyone who actually enjoyed the paper side of it. Whether filling in reports or writing up findings for a journal, the writing is just tedious.

So Joonmyun is particularly grateful for Kyungsoo, who has an incredible work ethic and very motivating aura. Without him, Joonmyun can spend an hour sitting beside a corpse and playing on his phone.

He flinches when his chair squeaks; everything echoes in autopsy. When one of the sinks dripped, he nearly went crazy. He also ended up breaking it when he tried to fix it himself, but he got a completely new setup out of it, so it wasn't all bad.

The positive side of his waiting paperwork is it's predominantly fill-in-the-blank. He cleans his glasses on his tie and clears a spot for his elbow to lean on, using the mouse and typing one-handed.

After a while, he's typing nonsense, just to make it sound like he's working. Thankfully, Kyungsoo says he's finished the certificates.

“Okay. Let's get to work.”

Kyungsoo nods and saves his work, pushing away from the counter to retrieve a file off a table. “18-05-17, male, 24 years old. Cause of death unknown.”

“Then let's find out and get...” Joonmyun reads over Kyungsoo's shoulder, “Mr. Byun's family some answers.” His gloves snap around his wrists, and he ties a surgeon's cap over his hair. Kyungsoo prepares similarly and stands by the appliance cart, ready to pass tools or take whatever the doctor hands to him.

Joonmyun cuts away the corpse's clothing and sets each article into a waiting plastic bag. He takes scrapings from under the fingernails and gets a full set of fingerprints before Kyungsoo cleans the body.

“No external wounds... No tattoos... No bruising...”

But Kyungsoo notices something. “Sir.” He points to the corpse's thigh and pushes the magnifying lens across the table to the pathologist. “Insect bites or needle marks?”

“Good eyes, Kyungsoo. These are needle marks. Small gauge needles.” Aside from the puncture marks, there are no wounds on the body, and the X-rays only show evidence of long-healed bone fractures in both legs.

“Overall,” Joonmyun says, “he is a physically fit and healthy young man.” It appears to be another overdose. A sad end to any life. “Take those samples upstairs. I'll open him up while you're doing that.”

The diener takes the box of sampled tissues and clothing and backs out of the swinging blue doors. Joonmyun pulls off his gloves and washes his hands before grabbing a fresh pair. He hates how sweaty his skin feels in gloves; it's something he's never gotten used to.

Before he starts the internal autopsy, he double-checks Kyungsoo's notes, comparing them to the body on his table, and sets both pen and file aside.

“Alright, Mr. Byun. What else can you tell me? Sorry to keep you waiting,” he adds. “Just let me prepare a little, and we’ll get to it.” He dabs some more mentholatum beneath his nose and pulls his mask up over his mouth and nose, dropping the wide plastic mask down over his face. He always holds his left hand over the corpse’s sternum, leaning over the body and wielding the scalpel with his right to make the most precise cuts. “Forgive me for getting a little personal here, but it’s all a part of the process.

“You’re lucky, at least, to be all in one piece. I just had a patient delivered in two bags this afternoon—one containing his body and the other his head. Motorcycle accident. One of the reasons I used to avoid them, but you only live once, right? And it was a quick, painless death…” His commentary continues as his blade slides into the skin with mild pressure, slipping into flesh easily and sliding down at an angle. It’s routine; it’s familiar.

He never expects his patients to reply to his commentary.

He never expects them to say anything, actually, much less ”ow.”

Maybe he imagines it, but the corpse moves and raises its arm to touch the cut in its chest. “Geez, what the hell? Am I dead or something?”

“I was lead to believe so, yes.”

“What?” The corpse sits up, holding its chest as though afraid his heart will fall out—which is ridiculous, because Joonmyun's barely begun his incisions—and looks around the morgue.

It's not much to look at. The walls, ceiling, and floor are all white. Cabinets are glass-fronted, mounted onto the walls with stainless steel countertops that match the autopsy tables, scales, tools, and sinks. The doors are blue, which Joonmyun appreciates, although it's a common color in his smocks, gloves, scrubs, computer monitors, and frozen corpses.

“This looks nothing like Heaven. No offense. Pretty sure I'm a good person, so I'd like to file a complaint.” He looks at Joonmyun, as if he has all the answers. “How did I get here?”

Joonmyun checks the file. “According to this, you were discovered in your home.” He looks at the man, Byun Baekhyun, over his glasses. “What do you remember?”

His eyes roll back and squint at the sharp fluorescent light. “I...I don't know.”

Joonmyun closes the file. He has a suspicion. “What is your name?”

Baekhyun shakes his head, eyes wide and stricken. He notices the tag on his toe and leans forward to read it.

Name of Deceased: Byun Baekhyun Case No. 18-0517
Age: 25 : M Race: A Height: 174cm
Place of Death: Seoul, South Korea Date of Death: 05-16-2018
Cause of Death: Unknown
Physician: Dr. Kim Joonmyun
Comments: Do not release; open investigation

“Byun Baekhyun...?”

“Alright, Mr. Byun. I'm calling one of my colleagues. Something got messed up along the way—it does happen, every once in a while—usually not this bad,” he mutters. “We'll get this cleared up, because you obviously should not be on my table. Just sit tight; I'll find you some clothes, first. I had to cut through yours. I am sorry.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not the first time it's happened.” He's apparently an anxious chatterbox. “When I was really little, my mom dressed me in this cute little suit with a belt that just loops? Like, no notches or anything; it pulls tight. Well, I had to pee really really bad, and until then I was so proud of mastering toilet training. My grandma had to come into the bathroom with me and cut my belt off. After that, when I was fourteen or something, I got in a care accident with my friend's family. Paramedics had to cut my pantlegs off to see the damage. I cried harder about ruining those pants than landing in the hospital; my mom kept saying she was happy I was alive, but she had literally just bought me those pants.”

“You remember all that,” Joonmyun remarks, handing a set of scrubs to him, “but you don't remember your name or what you were doing recently?”

Baekhyun shakes his head. He scoots to sit with his legs over the edge of the table, pulling the scrub pants on to tug them up his legs when he stood.

“Can you think of anything else about yourself? Hobbies? School?”

He chews a fingertip, staring someplace between his nose and the wall. Finally, he states, “I love dogs.”

“Do you have a dog yourself?”

“Yes.” He pulls the scrub top over his head and smiles when he's tugged it in place. “A little dog. A Corgi. I love him a lot, but I hardly get to see him...”

“Alright, well, it could be anything. It has been a very long time since I had any psych courses, but maybe amnesia, shock, drugs...”

“I once heard a joke about amnesia, but I forgot how it goes.”

Joonmyun smiles but continues as though he'd heard nothing. “I did find needle marks in your skin, but they were on your thighs. Not unheard of in drug users. I'll get my resident down here, and he'll take you upstairs. They'll want to do some simple tests—nothing that hurts.”

“Before that, Doc,” Baekhyun says, pulling the tag off his foot, “are you going to sew me closed? I mean, I'm not bleeding or anything, so whatever, I guess, but it is kind of weird.” His chest bears the initial branch of the Y incision and, like he says, it isn't bleeding.

Which is strange.

His flesh is pale, almost colorless, stretched like parchment over the map of his blue veins.

Maybe Joonmyun's suspicions are wrong.

“How do you feel right now?”

“Physically or emotionally? Because I am pretty tired, and my chest feels a little funny, but there is this lovely hole here. Cold, I guess, too, but isn't it, like, refrigerated down here?”

Joonmyun pockets his phone and turns to his desk. It's organized chaos, like usual, bordering closer to chaos. Somewhere in the drawers, he should still have the tools his family gifted him when he began medical school, tools he's not needed to use since going into pathology since there's no need to measure the pulse on a corpse.

Although he may need to start checking.

His stethoscope is buried beneath old papers and snack wrappers. One of the ear pieces is missing, sitting in the middle of some old medical tape in a far corner. “I'm going to listen to your heart.”

Baekhyun hops onto the table again.“Checking to see if it's still there?”

“Quiet, please.” Joonmyun takes Baekhyun's wrist as well, turning it to hold his fingers over the pulse point.

It's very strange.

He barely feels anything. For most adults, a normal heart rate is 60 to 100 BPM, although some well-trained athletes can have a normal heart rate of 40 to 60 BPM. Joonmyun isn't even counting 30.

“Well? Good news and bad news: Good news for my widow? If I'm married...” He laughs, kind of awkwardly and obviously trying to hide his anxious curiosity.

“I'll be honest, Mr. Byun—”

“Call me Baekhyun. I feel like I'm in trouble, otherwise.”

“Baekhyun. I honestly cannot explain it, but your heart rate is severely low.” He hangs his stethoscope over the back of his neck. “But you seem fine! Aside from presenting as dead and only waking up when cut with a scalpel, you are a healthy young adult.”

“So the belief is I'm an experimental drug user?”

For lack of better response, Joonmyun shrugs. He pulls his mask off his mask and drops the stethoscope onto his desk. “I can talk to my colleagues upstairs—they at least deal with living patients. I'm out of my depth, here.”

Baekhyun sighs and rubs his gut. “Man, I'd kill for a burger.”

“I feel bad that this has happened to you. I haven't eaten yet, either, though; I'll buy you dinner—” He falls forward as he's barreled into from behind and seized around the waist. Stepping back, he trips Baekhyun, and they fall into the cart, sending it clattering against the next table.

Hot breath steams against his neck. Instinct throws his head back, and it stings, probably less than how Baekhyun's nose feels, but it's not enough to get the man to release his hold.

And he can't feel it in himself at the moment to be proud of diagnosing Baekhyun as physically fit. The demonstration is not needed.

Joonmyun manages to drive Baekhyun into a wall and drives his elbow into his gut. He turns and it grabbed again. Baekhyun leads with his teeth, snarling and snapping. He's never seen such single-minded focus. It's not even hate; Joonmyun can't tell what it is driving Baekhyun's madness. Even during his psych rotation as a student, the patients were all reasonably with it or could be brought back with careful words.

Baekhyun seems beyond reach. He's tapped into inhuman instinct and is slowly overpowering Joonmyun, forcing his elbows to bend and bring them closer.

The ding of the elevator has never been so welcomed.

“Kyungsoo!”

The diener lunges through the doors, slamming them against the walls, and immediately grabs a steel tray of tools, scattering them across the room when he heaves it over a shoulder and brings it down on the back of Baekhyun's neck.

“Restrain him,” Joonmyun gasps, plan in mind.

Kyungsoo wraps his arms beneath Baekhyun's, lacing his fingers behind his head. This bends Baekhyun backwards a little, and he tries to turn his head to bite Kyungsoo's arms.

“Hurry, please.”

They keep epinephrine auto-injectors on hand in case of unexpected allergic reactions in staff. Joonmyun's never had to use it before but grabs two—Baekhyun's heart rate is so slow it's practically non-existent; speeding it up could be the key.

If not, there's a Stryker saw plugged into the wall and ready to go.

“Two shots of epi, Kyungsoo. Hold tight.” He pulls the plastic caps off either container and drops to a knee, slamming an injector into both of Baekhyun's thighs. He kicks back, and Joonmyun falls on his .

Slowly, Baekyun stops struggling. He regains focus.

Kyungsoo reluctantly releases his hold—Baekhyun stands on his own and doesn't swing at him, which is good—and leans against a wall. Even in the chill of autopsy, he's sweaty and pink-cheeked. Joonmyun pats his knee in lieu of praise.

“Chanyeol was right. It's a pain when you have to catch your patients.” He huffs a sigh. “Man, I'm out of shape... You alright now, Baekhyun?”

He looks at himself, all there and accounted for. “I think so. I-I'm sorry. I don't know...”

“You went ing nuts and attacked Dr. Kim,” Kyungsoo provides. He rubs a hand over his head, although there's not much hair there to fix.

Baekhyun turns to Joonmyun, shaking his head. “I didn't mean to?”

Joonmyun holds out his hands, palms out. Baekhyun gently takes his wrists and helps him to his feet. “Thank you. Kyungsoo, I don't want you to tell anyone about this. Not just yet,” he pleads, flinching a little at the look he receives. “Something strange,” for lack of better word, “is going on, and locking him up for assault won't solve anything.”

“Dr. Kim, I know a drug overdose when I see one. I was gone for maybe fifteen minutes, and he went ballistic.”

“After being perfectly catatonic and showing no signs of life. I had a scalpel in him before he so much as twitched.”

“He,” Kyungsoo nods to Baekhyun, “is dangerous.”

“Maybe so, but he may also need help, and he won't get that if he's arrested.”

Static fills the space between them. Baekhyun rubs his hands on his thighs nervously. He inches closer to Joonmyun; Kyungsoo is obviously not on his side and is very strong for someone his size.

“I want to see the report of whoever found Baekhyun,” Joonmyun says. “I've got a friend at the station who can get it for me. For now...” For now, what? He can't stay in the morgue. He's not a corpse-corpse; he'll freeze. He could be admitted as a patient, but they wouldn't shoot him up with adrenaline as an initial treatment; a sedative would probably aggravate his violence. Not good. “I'll take him with me. If anyone asks about any of this, Kyungsoo, you know nothing about this very elaborate student prank.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and returns to his desk, casting a wary eye towards Baekhyun. “What about the samples in the lab?”

“I'll take care of those. Easy enough to say they're from a John Doe, but they could reveal some answers.”

“Good plan, Doc. While you're breaking whatever laws and medical boundaries, I,” he picks up his jacket, “will be at home. Good night.”

“Atta boy. Plausible deniability.” He thanks Kyungsoo again, receiving a rather cool look, and finally sits down. He pulls off his cap and gloves. “All things considered, Baekhyun, you have been my most interesting patient as well as my first live-ish one in a very long time.”

“Live-ish?”

As much as Joonmyun wants to deny it, for the time being, it makes the most sense out of nonsense.

“Mr. Byun Baekyhun, I think you may be a zombie.”

---

a/n: Written for Suhoney. (prompt no.13 Kim Joonmyun is a forensic pathologist and firm believer that the possibility of zombies existing is really stupid. It just so happens that on a normal day in his job Joonmyun cuts into a body and the body says "ow." )