The Ryuzaki Household

[Nai]

It was at some point between Dazai’s incapacities and overzealous actions that he found himself sprawled haphazardly, not two feet away, from the very same corpse he’d managed to stab headfirst with his blade. Frightened by the bugged eyed, death-lamented runner, he shot back onto a backwards crawl, before harshly rearing his lower back against the starting steps of the staircase. He hissed after the harsh sting on his back, serving as a reminder of what he was currently doing. He was suppose to be gathering Chrys and Anthony. But the burning sting on his back and the trembling aftershock of his an inevitable game of kill or be killed, felt him with his breathing faster than he’s ever felt it his life.
 


His chest honing a storm beneath his rib cage, and his eyes were swarming with the overwhelming senses that hung heavily across the room. It felt like an open canister of acrid leaking musk clouding his senses, but at the same time bathing him in it. He almost didn’t hear it, Chrysanthemum’s bone cackling cry, but he did. Whip lashing at the sound he was left with his senses feeling like pin-pricking needles, after each hysterical pitch jabbed at his sense. Is this what it felt like to get shot? A burning sensation that felt all too hot, but all too cold. He felt sick; the fear, the adrenaline, the anger, and most of all … The Dead It was proving to be all too much. But he swallowed his reservation and managed to stand. With a heavy sigh and a hand nursing at his back, he looked to the others. But really looked, the dead were chasing after them like wolves, Anthony clobbering them like dolls and Chrys steering him with a heavily clasped hand around his collar. He hadn’t even realized he was staring before Chrys had called him out on it. He hadn’t even realised he wasn’t breathing, before he managed to swallowed a gulp of spit after hearing Chrysanthemum’s scolding. "If yer just gonna sit there like yer brain damaged, then go back upstairs! But if ya wanna help then grab an arm and help me drag him up stairs before we die. “... I,” He tried, but found himself muted by the pungent smell in the air clouding his senses of cinnamon and spoiled milk: Runners. He wanted to yell, but it was too late, they had managed to finally breach the porch. Their greedy hands trying to pry themselves through the gaping entrance like a angry mob.
 


Dazai found himself shielding the lower half of his face, right as Anthony had managed to jerk himself free of Chrys’ grasp. "I'm fine! I don't need help, dammit. Let's just get the hell ..." He’d fallen silent, his words falling flat just before the first ear-screeching cry ripped through the room of what was to be the beginning of their grand retreat. Anthony was the first to chamber up the steps, Chrys not following shortly after, only she was more considerate, or at least in her attempts, she was. Her hand had found itself tightly latched around his bicep and trekking him up the stairs, two at a time, and just barely letting Dazai receive the ending graze of what was to be the first lunge of attack by a speeding runner. “Shit,” That woke him up. He was nearly up the steps before he spotted Carter, already peeking his head out of the room, obviously awaiting their return. Although what he didn’t expect, was the sudden grip on his ankle before he lost his footing and fumbled down the steps. Oh no, He thought, as his eyes never once left Carter's. What was he going to do now? Was Carter going to make it without him? What does Chrys and Anthony's face look like right now? Are they as shocked as he is? Are they going to try to fight for him? Or are they going abandon him just like his father.
 


—No. He isn't going to die here, not now. Dazai didn’t miss a beat before he managed to flip himself over and slam his foot heel-first into the runner's face. An elder woman, by the looks of it and decayed by the cordyceps, gurgle a grunt before flipping backwards and sending the rest of the dead that were trying to run up the steps fall like dominoes. The kick served as a propeller for his footing, and it managed to settle him back onto his feet. His hand latching onto the railing for support before abandoning it to reach for his blade, only to realize it was still lodged into the previous runner’s head. Well then, He finally took a moment to realize his erratic breathing before he managed to dodge a lunge that left him bouncing back and practically flying up the steps before shoving everyone into the room, and slamming the door behind them.

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

After Dazai slammed the door, Chrys let her anger hide away behind her charming smile. That's not to say it wasn't there anymore, it was just under the surface roiling and churning like an ocean before a storm. And boy was that going to be one huge shitstorm when her happy-go-lucky facade broke again. But for now she was far more focused on getting out of the house. She cast a cursory glance around the room, taking in the rope in Carter's hand and Taro crouched down and rummaging. Carter looked a little less pathetic which would probably be good for getting something done or if anything, getting him to move out of the way. She half limped over to him and patted his cheek condescendingly as she took the rope from his hands. "Oh how cute, you can actually be helpful!" She shot him a sickeningly sweet smile before stalking up behind Taro.
 


The comment was definitely unnecessary but she couldn't help herself, it was funny watching others' expression change with their emotions whether those emotions showed happiness or self doubt. She watched Taro for a moment as he continued to rummage then planted a not so gentle heel in his side and shoved him to his right. She felt a twinge of pain shoot up her bad leg as she used it to balance but she was too irritated to care. She'd probably regret it later, she was regretting it now, but the dumbstruck looks on everyone's faces (they didn't actually look that way at all, she was just generalizing because they were all making her angry) wasn't making it easy for her to feel anything. As Chrys scanned the debris she started muttering curses under her breath. "if my leg wasn't fucked...walk down there...their shitty heads...shoulders...fucking soccer..."
 


Dark brown eyes settled on a small but heavy looking piece of debris and she snatched it up and started tying the rope around it. When she was sure it was secure, she turned her mirthless expression on Anthony and tossed the rope to him. "I hope you can throw better than you swing dipshit because if you can't then we are sorely and utterly fucked in the ass." She chuckled to herself a bit while sauntering, yes sauntering, over to the wall by the door. Her eyes wandered to the door knob, as they slid shut. She wondered what would happen if she were to just open it. Would she be grabbed and dragged away? Would her death be quick or very painful? The idea was oddly thrilling and she realized with a start that the beginnings of hysteria were encroaching on her mind. "Ha, as if."
 


Chrys hissed when she laid her head against the wall reveling in the cool that emanated from it. Being cruel, as well as over exerting herself was starting to take a toll. However she refused to be seen as the weak link, someone who dragged others down, who needed constant supervision. Leave that to Carter or Taro. It was bad enough that she was the only girl and already assumed to be weak. She wouldn't let herself become a hindrance so while she could, in the most inconspicuous manner she could manage, she gave herself some rest. All she wanted was to live to see the sun rise a few more times at least. If she had to become a demon to do so, she was willing to become the incarnation of cruelty itself.

 

[Nai]

Perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing off, or the heat of his blood now running cold like the settling fatigue he felt languidly muddling in. Dazai was beginning to struggle, and the door was starting to weigh heavily against his stoned back. He winced as it surged forward and collided with the bruise of his lower back, amplifying the seething ache that throbbed beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. He collapsed with a cry and managed to hinge his foot against one of the nightstands, holding himself in place. Across the room, Anthony stood with the weight of his comrade’s —friend’s lives in his hands. With the rope securely latched in hand, courtesy of Chrysanthemum, he stepped forth towards the already opened window and with a heavy breath, adjusted his footing and clenched the rope roughly in his palms. “This is the only way out,” he harshly reminded himself.
 


The throw itself was haphazard, at least from Anthony’s perspective, but the results of all those years of baseball proved to be fruitful. The debri, which had been creatively attached to the end of the rope, latched itself inside of the neighboring window. Anthony managed a sigh of relief that was shared throughout the room, before another hard thrust to the door had Dazai bracing himself and the group urging to get across. Taro was first to cross, his hands trembling as he looked down between the gaping trench that separated the two houses. It was a steep fall, one which none would survive unscathen. Yet, regardless of the risk, Taro took the rope and with another secure tug of the rope by Anthony, began to cross. Taro was the smallest of the group and the idea of crossing by a mere rope was already a hazardous idea; but if the rope was going hold any of their weights, he would of been the most likely. There wasn’t anytime to dwell on the proper technique to cross, or even consider the potential successes of their faithful endeavor. Taro was trembling by the time he managed to let his weight sink the rope; on the opposite end stood Anthony, holding the boy’s weight as he crossed. There was no leverage to secure the rope, so as Taro managed to hop over the window sill, Chrysanthemum was next.
 


As illogical as it was for someone of her sort of character to even consider going second, choosing to go second was the bravest thing she could do, it was crucial that someone be there to help Taro if need be. Even with the injury to her leg, she was one of the strongest assets they had and a force to be reckoned with. Humorously enough, it wasn’t long ago she’d briefly considered her death, 'It was the most probable that out all five of us, I would die first,’. Yet, with tightly secured hands, and Anthony managing the rope, she had no trouble making the cross. But as the moment came for Carter to do the same, he wavered with uncertainty. Those once chocolatey brown eyes seemed dulled and muddled with the trepidation for his friends and most undoubtedly, Dazai, who met his gaze with a beckoning, “... We can still look at the clouds together,” and a promising nod, convincing Carter to cross as well. That left Anthony and Dazai; Anthony holding the rope and Dazai still struggling to secure the door.
 


It became evident with their beckoning silence what their situation came out to be: only one of them would have the luxury of living, and once the door was left unattended, the room would be flooded with infected. In this case scenario, Anthony was in the best position to leave, yet Dazai was a greater asset to the group as a whole. Do we even talk about it? What is there to talk about? ‘My life is more valuable than yours, sucks to be you?’. In the end, someone would have to hold the rope, while the other would escape most likely having to watch the latter being eaten alive. Yet, the silence in question didn’t last for long, for it was a groan and staggering thrust that left Dazai hunching over in pain. An inaudible groan came from Anthony as he watched Carter make his ungraceful tumble into the distant window. He then began to gently guide the rope as he stepped back against the door with Dazai. “Cross,”
 


“... But,”
 


“I know.” ..
 


You were right, Dazai, I was more ready than you, I always was. I’m sorry that we didn’t get to make that run together.


Dazai said nothing before settling a hand on Anthony’s shoulder and turning to leave with gritted teeth. Behind him, Anthony’s figure stood with the rope tightly woven around his waist and securing the blockade with his own strength. How long has it been since I've seen my own mother? Dazai was already halfway across the rope, when there was two things he heard that made his heart sink: the first was the sound of the blockade being broken down, and the blood-curdling scream that erupted from his lifeline, and the second, was the loud sound of a bang that could only be interpreted as a gun being fired.

“TARO!” He heard in a ear-deafening screech, the sheer volume leaving him dazed and to quickly realize that the rope that was once securing him, was now unraveling before his very eyes. He braces himself from the sudden swaying drop gravity has on him, losing his grip the moment he slams into the adjacent wall, and managing to fall unceremoniously below, with a mild hit to his left leg.
 

 

[Ophirius]

 


 The corpse was nearly devoid of skin, its stomach pitted by burrowing flecks of doughy white that were feverishly squirming in the chunks of gore. Beneath the protruding ribcage on the verge of decaying into nothingness, its heart was resting eerily still while the other essential parts had been splayed out on the floor in a twisted artwork. The contours of its face were beyond recognition, battered into a disfigured mess and its gaping mouth pierced by the leg of a chair. Nevertheless, its current physique was the remains of a human being, though but now, needless to say, nothing more but a mere shadow of its former self. Putrid, revolting and highly unsightly. The scent of death hung heavy in the air, its elements able to make one's gut lurch. Towering over the corpse with his indigo gaze was a young male. However, neither fear nor disgust could be distinguished in the expression he wore as he viewed the gruesome sight. If anything the orbs glimpsed with a rather peculiar curiosity, his slender fingers itching with the desire to experience the same demise that this stranger had. Assured, that his or hers last moments had been that of absolute terror. Alas, yet it was far too soon for him to meet the end of his journey like this sir or madam right here.
 


Regardless of the excitement that made his blood curdle and the slightly elevated breaths the male came to the conclusion that he had no more time to waste and continued his search in the same blithely manner as before. In this time and age, a time of age that no one had expected to come for that matter, it was either kill or be killed. A game that had doomed upon the human race around three months ago when the plague had broken out. The second deluge that would ultimately make the humans perish for their countless sins. It was the punishment they had brought upon themselves, some would say. Though, the tragedy, the pain and terror, for him it was all just a cascade of mysterious that he would never be able to comprehend. Not even when his parents had fallen victims to the sickness that was able to turn children into ferocious beasts had he batted an eyelash. Years of motherly love and fatherly protection proved fruitless, as their offspring had in silence gazed upon the lifeless puppets that were his parents. In the end, not even their affluent ways nor connections had been able to protect them from the merciless doom that had suddenly dawned upon the world one day. As of that moment, Hisoka had realised that he was now truly alone. And boy had it been a troubling event of changes for he who had no ambitions nor a desire to survive. As if someone was watching over him, his restless soul had been soothed by the appearance of a girl that was willing to tag along, the sole reason for his now wandering being.
 


Their relationship was that of a research object and the researcher, at least that was how he would describe it as she was mere, pure entertainment. As of now, thanks to the girl's existence he had decided on living for the sake of seeing more of the despair of humanity as it would continue to strive for its survival. In the full process of scavenging the unfamiliar home of someone else for anything edible, a sudden thump caught him off guard. For a split second, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind as his gaze travelled to the staircase leading to the upper floor. Then, once again, there it was. Another thump, oddly enough resembling footsteps, broke the silence. Step, step. It was all too peaceful, all too careful for it to ever be one of the ghouls and it was for him, incomprehensible, why they would take such a troubling route as through the window on the second floor. Nevertheless, his body tensed ever so slightly by the thought of having the company of someone else in the house than just the girl. While contemplating the situation the scrawny boy rose from his crouching position, indigo orbs fearlessly seeking themselves to the bottom of the staircase. And his heart, who had been sleeping on him this entire time had suddenly awoken to the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. In the realisation to what he would have to do Hisoka glanced at the girl who had frozen on the spot, probably also aware of the sound. The male closed in on her and placed a reassuring hand on her neat shoulder. "Stay here, I'll check it out".
 


With those words, he handed the other one their backpack with cans of food and reached for the gun that was hiding underneath his shirt. Carefully the tips of his fingers caressed the weapon in his hand, playing fearlessly with the trigger as he with the utmost innocent expression proceeded up the stairs. Whether or not it was because he was enjoying the fleeting moment of thrill or if he was just waiting to get killed his gaze held no seriousness as they led him forward. The floor creaked beneath the sole of his shoes and carelessly the male pushed his glasses up to prevent them from sliding down his nose. Meagre and lanky, it seemed like he would not pose any threat to the intruder whatsoever if you excepted the fact that he held a gun. The very same gun he had acquired from his father's drawer to be more accurate. After all, after death, he wouldn't have any use for it so he had figured that he could take it. At the end of the hallway a door stood wide open, now he recalled that neither he or the girl had opened that door before since they had yet to scavenge the whole house so the very fact that it was now open intrigued him to approach the strange scene.
 


"Knock knock~"the male jokingly purred and peeked into the room. Right before him, the figure of a living human presented itself. Blonde unruly hair and a rather small stature for that matter, yet it didn't look like it was a boy. Alas, he couldn't care less, it would be unacceptable though to let someone else take something that could prove to be useful later. However, he didn't want to waste any bullets. Ammunition was becoming scarce due to the recurring creatures that wanted to feast upon their flesh and as of now, he had no other weapon than his father's gun. "Stay still" he demanded and raised the gun to point it at the stranger. The lanky male positioned himself in the door opening to the room, the eyes that had earlier exuded amusement were now stone cold and fearing for his life. It was all nothing more but an act, an act to appear normal in this tense situation. Years spent upon years of observing had paid off after all, even if he couldn't feel the emotions he could pretend he did. In that way, people wouldn't deem or treat him differently and give him a chance to break through their defences for whatever reason he had to do that.
 


The advantages of him pretending to be scared were that if the tables turned around he could pretend to be the four-eyed loser that had no idea what he was doing. In other words, if things went shit he could just plead to the blonde's humanistic side for mercy. "Who are you?". Silence emerged in the room, the blonde seemingly in a state of shock. Though, if it was because of the gun or him just suddenly appearing that he didn't know. Or to be more accurate once again, he didn't care. After all, he had nothing to lose, except supplies if he just let them pass. That's right them', it seemed that the other one was expecting more people. During the time he waited for a proper response two other people had the privilege to join their party. Time to act. In what he made seem like a panicking spasm Hisoka embraced the trigger of the gun, his face contorted into that of despair shortly after.

 

[plumeriaprincess]

 The sound of a gun shot hitting human flesh barrels off the walls, ricocheting until the sound hits her ears. Her fingers drumming ever so lightly against the counter, Mitsu's eyes watched over the boy's figure carefully as he observed a corpse outside of their shelter. She felt her teeth graze her lower lip, wondering what could possibly be so interesting about one of those grotesque...things. The boy she had been traveling with she considered a friend, although she doubted he may think the same. Mitsu had spent the past few days attempting to weasel out even a polite chuckle from him, but with no luck. Huffing, she averted her eyes from the door as he re-entered. She eased herself off the stool she was sitting atop and began to make her way across the room, presumably to go upstairs and scavenge where they had not yet gone. A thump froze Mitsu in her path, and she felt as though she were transparent, her heart a spectacle for all around to prod, poke at.
 


Mitsu questioned if in this final hour that Hisoka could protect her, if she could protect herself. She may have been able to get herself this far in her journey, but she somehow doubted that those boats would ever feel the weight of Mitsu Akiyama. She was not fearless, or surprisingly courageous, or even a hero by nature. She was doomed with the destiny of death, it was all she knew and all she had. A reassuring palm on her shoulder grasped her attention, and Mitsu felt his palm, warm, considerably larger than hers would be, and exhaled a flurry of worries. Her eyes awaited his every step, her nails digging into her fair complexion, her teeth threatening to grind against each other, she waited for a clicker to threaten it's appearance. She felt that in this waking moment, that she was somehow impatient. Impatient for her impending fate. Impatient for her death. She felt a stream of laughter that echoed in the hallway leave her figure as Hisoka disappeared up the stairs. The sound of a gun shot hitting human flesh barrels off the walls, ricocheting until the sound hits her ears.
 


The backpack that was in Mitsu's grip fell from her hands as the shock of the gunshot threw her silent. She listened closely and heard the anguish cries of others. However, they were calling a name, and Mitsu's eyes increasingly grew in size as she wondered exactly who might be waiting at the top of the stairs. Bending down slowly, every move creaking the rotting floorboards beneath her, Mitsu stuffed the sack full once more of their supplies and swung it on her shoulder, climbing the stairs. Every one swirled her head with tension and pressure, and as she neared the door with which the shot had originated from, a sizeable knife left the underside of her thigh-highs and entered Mitsu's hand. Her stance planted, praying that this time her knees did not wobble, she called out, "Hisoka?"

 

[Vaan]

Admittedly, the force of the bullet was enough to bring Taro to his knees, yet the throbbing pain in his arm was what actually accomplished it. Blood began to drain profusely and pour from underneath his sleeve, further staining his dirt-caked clothes. At this point, it wasn’t clear if the shot was poorly aimed, but meant to kill him; or contrastingly enough, precisely aimed and meant to immobilize him. Either way, he laid on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, and it was likely that these could be his last breaths. The pain itself was bearable, what wasn’t bearable was the sickly reminder that this was the same pain he showered upon his father. It was almost ironic that their deaths would be so indistinguishable, the sole difference between the two simply denoted by the amount of bullets fired. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember how many it’d taken to kill his father. He’d surely been dead after the seventh or eighth, but firing the gun just felt so good. It felt good to kill his father, it felt good to belittle Carter and even felt good to listen to Anthony scream.
 


Yet, it wasn’t because he was a sick person who enjoyed the suffering of others. In fact, he cared for the acquaintances he’d been traveling with to some degree. It just felt good to know that it wasn’t him suffering. Taro had survived so long, not because of his: strength, agility or even profound intelligence, but instead because of how he manipulated others. From a scientific perspective, the likelihood of an afterlife was small and that meant this world, this pathetic excuse of a world, was the only thing left to cling to. And maybe if he’d have spoken up, he would have had the opportunity to cling to it longer.
 


Taro’s brown eyes lingered from their reflections on the floor, and up to the male towering above him. He seemed oddly familiar, those green-framed glasses were as queer as Dazai and certainly an uncommon style for students in Natori. And as the door slammed open, the clank of the doorknob against the wall brought Taro’s memories to life. Of course he was familiar, he was none other than: Hisoka Kurosawa, the victorious archer of Iwanumu, the rival team of Natori. Yet, if that was true and precision was definite of Hisoka, that meant that the bullet lodged into Taro’s arm was intentional. Would that girl’s knife lodged into his back be intentional too? “.. Don’t,” Taro muttered lowly, “-…let her kill me.”

 

[Nai]

There’s a treacherous silence that beckons Dazai in the moments he lays on his back contemplating his resolution, and it’s heavy. He’d lost grip on the rope and ended up slamming into the adjacent wall that linked the two houses together. He’s laying there laughing at himself over the brief slip up, and blames it on his sanity for letting such a good man like Anthony die because of his own selfish regard. He falls quiet after a brief moment of staring at the sky as if glaring at it would grant his wishes of all this being dream. But it won’t, not like this. They’ve come so far after managing to survive three months, and managing to lose one of their own because he couldn’t come up with a better plan than someone supporting the rope. He figures now he could’ve braced the door, and they could’ve jumped the rope together, or made a leap of faith towards the ground floor but that would be too good to be true. Someone was suppose to die today and it was because of his self-seeking arbitrary means that he’s breathing and Anthony isn’t. —and he blames himself.
 


Breathing is a luxury I shouldn’t have. He mutters inaudible towards the dark-tainted sky. His breathing regulating and his adrenaline flatlining as he starts to feel the back-bruising pain he received from his earlier heroic act. He scoffs at himself and lets the burning sting of tears slip past the corners of his eyes. He wants to scream, but he knows he’ll only bring the runners, Anthony tried so desperately to save him from, straight to him. Instead, let’s a strangled sob rip from him and rolls onto his side slowly, —vulnerably, catering a hand to his lower back, and hissing upon touching the large bruise he slowly staggers to stand, his right hand managing to hold as leverage as he stumbles towards the front yard of the house in a languid pace.
 


It isn’t until his senses flare that he quickly turns around and dodges a lunge from a nearby runner. He loses his footing and tramples over his own two feet after a second runner is charging at him. It’s cry ripping through the streets like a siren for the rest of the deadly force. Dazai thinks quick, dropping back on his back and raising his own two legs up, he braces for the runner that charges at him and manages to collide the heels of his shoes against the dead’s chest using its own momentum to let it fly right above his head, and face planting into the soil right above him. His adrenaline is back up, and he finds himself back on his feet faster than he expected, although what he didn’t expect was the horde that was once crowding Carter’s old house, now heading for him —and what’s worse, the sound of the horde’s groans had attracted more than just the runners that had it out for his skin, but brought a pair of horridly disfigured clickers that beckoned the surrounding area as if it was their territory to begin with. Dazai felt the blood in his veins drain, he was defenseless in a surrounding army.
 


He wouldn’t be able to see his friends anymore, see their faces when he has to tell them about Anthony, or be able to see …— He wouldn’t be able to see Carter. He wouldn’t be— He wasn’t going to, he affirmed finally, before scouting around the area, the smallest opening of escape meant he’d be able to see them again. But for now… “Wait for me,” He whispers as he manages to make a dash across the street and trying to make as much noise as possible to divert the walkers from getting any closer to the house, to his friends, to his lo- Dazai’s synesthesia flares, and this time the taste of copper and hot spices invade him like a hot summer afternoon. It wasn’t a walker or anything remotely dead, it was alive, it was human. In all it’s exuberant tastes and intangible shapes, the smell and taste, was human.

Yet, upon looking back towards the direction of the smell, right as they both turn to meet each other’s stares, a runner’s scream rips through the air and Dazai is forced to look away feeling the detrimental stare the other befalls on him as he runs the opposite direction. The direction to his friends. “Please don’t let me regret this,” He begs before disappearing into the dark. 
 

 

[Deviced]

 There is usually a point in every person's life when the hurt they experience is more overwhelming than their ability to cope, rendering their thought process to something along the lines of, "Just off yourself already". There have been those who follow through with these ideas and end up terminating their lives, those who try, but end up failing in the end, and still more who believe that it's simply a matter of time before the day comes. For Carter, two of these instances have made an appearance in his life. The third instance will occur either when he's grown tired of running and hiding with his ragtag group of friends, or when the thought of ending his own life outweighs becoming one of the horrible creatures that lurk below. Whichever he decides, Carter sees his only way of escape being by his own hands; he's barely even humored the idea that he'll live to see the age of twenty.
 


Given this, there are some moments that he feels these urges a bit more strongly than others. For example, right now would be one of those moments. A gunshot fired would ordinarily scare the fuck out of Carter, as it would any sane person. The screaming of a teenage boy being devoured by monsters would certainly be enough to grab the attention of bystanders, too. But surprisingly, he did not register these events. The sounds were blocked by his brain, the only thought forming in his mind being 'Dazai... Where is he?'. Had Carter been able to see past the shrubs and greenery, through the dark, and below the window, he would have known Dazai took quite the fall that would probably leave him with a lot of back pain for a while. However, the darkness did not keep Carter from skidding to the window, his torso hanging out of their former entrance in distraught concern for his missing lov-- ahem-- friend.
 


The boy's tunnel vision only created more anxiety in his chest, the frustrated jumble of emotions only angering him further. He wanted to scream for Dazai, but he knew that was unrealistic. In the end, it would only cause more trouble for them all, what with the horde of corpses migrating toward the house faster and faster with every moment. Carter’s heart sank, tears amassing in his eyes as he watched the scene below him, having little faith that Dazai would be able to escape, even with having the advantage of his synesthesia. The boy couldn’t see his friend, but he had imagined enough scenarios to make him release a muffled sob into his hand, his eyes squeezing shut while crumpling to the floor. What if that was Dazai’s last moment? What if Carter’s last memory of the person he loved the most was the twisted expression of pain on his face, back pinned against a damaged door in order to protect those around him? Carter couldn’t stomach the thought.
 


As the young male readied himself to stand and sprint out of the room, his field of vision finally widened to accept the presence of two other people he was not familiar with; a boy with glasses who was planted in front of Taro with a recently fired gun, and a pink-haired girl in the doorway with a knife in hand. Carter sunk back down in shock, completely taken aback by the presence of the two. How long had it been since they had met other survivors? He didn’t remember. All Carter knew in that moment was that he wanted to be gone, to run away somewhere quiet, somewhere with no light and no distractions. “That could qualify as death.” Carter’s thoughts reminded him, his cries being put to sleep by a shaky hand. “Dazai is probably gone anyways. No need to suffer anymore,” the teen tried to rationalize, his fingers brushing over his swollen eyelids to wipe away salty tears. Carter peeked through his hands to finally notice Taro’s collapsed position on the ground next to him, droplets of blood seeping onto the floor from a bullet wound.
 


He would do something, but what? Nobody had a clue as to what was going on anymore-- their life decisions had amounted to nothing more than instinct and intuition, which was something Carter couldn’t say he had. He rested his head against the windowsill, peeking over the ledge to pinpoint the outline of several large pine trees across the street. Carter gazed languidly out the window, sure that his tired eyes had seen a faint silhouette disappearing through the dark brush, but perhaps it was only his imagination.Maybe there’ll be clouds in the afterlife that we can look at together.”

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

Not for the first time, Chrys was thankful she was traveling with blind morons. It wasn't as though they were actually blind, no they all had pretty good eyesight, but because they were all distracted by their own personal tragedies it made it easier for Chrys to be terrible to them. That didn't mean she didn't care for them, far from it actually. In truth, had she not been the second one forced across the rope, no matter how rude she'd been, she would've taken Anthony's place without a second's hesitation. Clearly fate had other plans for her. Hilarious, ironic and unfortunate plans. When she dropped through the window, it took her a moment to register that Taro had been shot and that there was in fact one other living being in the room already. Her brow crinkled in momentary confusion before the situation sunk in and her features smoothed themselves out. She crouched behind Taro just as Carter crawled through the window, and practically coiled herself around the younger boy while she looked over his injury. She wasn't educated in the medical field but she knew that having a bullet tear into you from such a short distance was bound to cause some pain.



She was distracted by a scream that chilled her to the bones and turned to the window in time to watch with sick fascination as Dazai dropped from view. Her eyes flickered to Carter who's entire body seemed to sag as he lost sight of his friend.
 


Fuck you Dazai, leaving me with the two people who can help me the least and now we're at gun point god fucking damn it.
 


She watched Carter for a moment more if only to ensure he wasn't going to toss himself out the window, before turning her attention back to the boy in front of them. He seemed unassuming but she could see the way he held the gun was anything but inexperienced. It made sense though, because well zombie apocalypse and everything. She thought over his question carefully as her feather light fingers danced around Taro's wound. It was a simple question but if he didn't like her answer she was sure he would shoot them all. Chrys was about to answer when movement behind the kid drew her eyes to the door. Well shit, if that wasn't the prettiest girl she'd ever seen. Now wasn't the time to be distracted however, and Chrys, going out on a limb, cast a pleading glance in the girl's direction. If the pair were traveling buddies, perhaps the pretty miss could persuade her companion not to shoot the three unfortunate souls.
 


Chrys glanced down at Taro who she had pulled close to herself at this point and upon seeing Taro's expression, her rage rose anew. She laser focused on the boy's face and let her own slip into a falsified expression of fear and concern. Chrys' lip began to tremble while she was slowly maneuvering so she had Carter to her back and Taro still pulled protectively against her. Her mind worked at fifty miles a second, trying to think of what to say to grant them a longer lease on life. Fuck it.
 


"We...were students at Natori and we've been hiding out in Carter's house the..the one next door. We were overrun and thought it'd be safer over here. If we'd known this was your place we would have asked first!" Lies, we would've come anyway there was no way in hell all of us were dying. She played it up, and her eyes began to tear up while she frantically looked between Taro and the boy with the gun. "We're sorry for intruding but we just need a day or so and we'll be on our way, we don't even need anything!" Another lie but she had the feeling that asking for help at this moment in time would just result in more pain. She really hammed it up then, nearly squeezing the life out of Taro as she hugged him and pleaded that the stranger let them live. At this point she was barely faking, serious concern for their lives beginning to ebb into the waves of anger. Not that the fury was completely gone, and if one looked close enough, her eyes would betray how she really felt. That if this went south, she wouldn't hesitate to remove the kid's head from his shoulder's with her bare hands.

 

[Ophirius]

 


Chemical rose red bloomed from the wound on the stranger's limp arm. Further staining the filthy fabric and his body surely worn out by what was the world's end. The shallow liquid that gathered beneath the boy's body created a twisted version of reality in dreadful red which was his evident favourite shade of life. In all of its grace, he could confidently state that the amount of vital raw iron was enough to fill the golden cup of greed. Then his tongue would ravage every nick of that golden cup, devouring every last bit of the blonde's existence before mercilessly tossing the memories of him into the fire that was his lack of empathy. Meanwhile, as his thoughts were racing the voice that called to him fell on deaf ears. Beneath the very 'human' surface of his, insanity's cruel nails were tearing through arteries, squelching in the hot, ragged tissue that represented a heart. Nevertheless, the eyes of his victims were blissfully unaware of the internal turmoil as Hisoka gently released the trigger from his fingertip.
 


The indigo irises an endless maze of lies as they grazed upon the scene of the begging youths.“.. Don’t", "-…let her kill me". The first plea he received was a weak one delivered by the harmed pile of flesh that laid hunched on the floor. To his disappointment, the one that had caused him to rile up had also been the one to break the cascade of euphoria with the lack of pain expressed. However, the boy had proved to intrigue him in another aspect with his inhuman reaction and therefore Hisoka decided against the idea of killing him off despite the failure he had presented earlier. The second plea came from the womanly figure that was the blonde's companion and now chains with her arms wrapped around him. Behind them as well, he could distinguish the figure of another human. Momentarily the eyes of the predator became relentlessly scrutinising before he let his gun drop to the side of his thigh. "I slipped" he monotonously lied before acknowledging Mitsu's existence "Can you help them patch up?".

 

[plumeriaprincess]

It wasn't the numb of the silence that weighed down on Mitsu, or the heavy feeling of the knife in her hand stained with the blood of whatever else had come into contact with it. It was the five words muttered in the surrounding darkness of the room as her eyes adjusted. It was the five words that were barely audible, but were played on a loop in her ears. "Don't let her kill me." She blinked, her eyes falling down on the knife in her hand. It was swiftly in a grand gesture of minimal motions put back into it's hidden place in her thigh-high. Mitsu wondered what she looked like to others as of that moment. Was she rugged, disheveled, or reckless? Did she have the look of someone who could kill with a generous amount of apathy written across their face? Mitsu was distracted by the muffled sobs of the thin boy in the back, whose figure had crumbled to the floor and was racked with pitiful cries.
 


She felt as if she were a child once more, as if she could cover her ears with her hands to cause the sound to just dissipate. She much rather preferred the deafening silence that had taken place prior rather than the boy's grieving sobs. If it had been the incident of Mitsu knowing all of these travelers better, she may have been currently at his side, attempting to comfort the boy. Although as of that time, Mitsu wondered if there was something that may be going on under the surface that she would not understand. Her eyes wandered around the rest of the room to each person, studying them like Hisoka would, looking for outlying flaws. She made eye contact with one girl whose eyes seemed to peer into Mitsu, leaving her feeling vulnerable. Sure enough, she was met with a look of persuasion and pity which twisted her emotions and left her rooting for this rag-tag group of individuals. She looked on silently as the girl pleaded and tried to reason with Hisoka. Mitsu knew better than to contradict Hisoka, and simply hoped that maybe he would spare these few.
 


Her wishes were answered as Hisoka requested Mitsu help them out. Her head bowed in a nod as she tentatively approached them, offering a reassuring smile that was minimal as she dropped to her knees to observe the injuries between the two. The other boy didn't seem to have any injuries that reached past emotional, so she gave her care to the girl who had her arms draped around the boy Hisoka had armed. She reached out her hands towards the young boys arm, turning it to observe the entrance wound, which had stained the fabric of the shirt a crimson shade and left it damp with the steady flow of blood. Mitsu had found it incredibly ironic that her light reading of a medical journal on the nights she couldn't sleep would ever come in handy. She had found the journal among the belongings of the first real person she had murdered. She thought it would take the edge off if she looked at who she had killed deeper than the surface. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, knowing that one wrong move could cause a worse wound. Mitsu wondered why she felt it so increasingly difficult to not feel sympathy for the boy.
 


She questioned what he may have done to cause Hisoka to shoot him. Hisoka had stated that it was an 'accident', but after traveling with him, Mitsu deemed him too precise for his hand to have slipped. Mitsu rifled through the backpack for gauze, and upon finding it, elevated the boy's arm before applying direct pressure to the wound. Upon stabilizing the blood flow and securing the gauze around the injury, Mitsu gently pulled down his sleeve to mumble, "you're all set. You're obviously going to have to change the gauze every now and then to keep away infection but there's not much else I can do for you without a hospital. I'm sorry." The last sentence was spoken at volume barely above a whisper, so that it would no reach anyone else's ears besides the boy and maybe the girl next to him. With a sizable amount of strength, she ripped off a piece of floorboard that was loose from destruction after the apocalypse, and began to cover it in cloth that she had ripped off from her thigh-highs, to prevent splintering. She applied the splint so that it rested on the joint above and below the injury, which seemed correct enough to Mitsu. After finishing the dressing of the splint, she tied it securely with her belt. "Let me know if it hurts at all," Mitsu added, removing her hands from the girl's leg. "I'm Mitsu."

 

[Vaan]

Page 57, Hospital Windows Two boys, one frequently ill and the other simply injured, occupied the same hospital room. The boy who was injured was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour, each afternoon, to glance out the room’s only window next to his bed. The boy who was ill, on the other hand, spent all his time flat on his back with no such view. They talked for hours on end. They spoke of their parents, their friends, their schoolwork and even the people they wanted to be. Every afternoon when the boy by the window would sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside. His roommate, in the other bed, began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked Sendai Vocational Academy, where they’d both attend if well, and it’s lovely lake. “Ducks play on the water.. and students make their way to class. Couples walk arm in arm amidst flowers.. There is these grand trees, and you can even see the city skyline!” As the boy by the window described all this in exquisite detail, his roommate would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.


 O
ne warm afternoon, the boy by the window was greeted with the smiling face of his mother and father. While he’d never fully recovered, he’d been officially discharged from the hospital; and as Soon as it seemed appropriate, his roommate asked if he too could be moved next to the window. The nurses were more than happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, stood by the door. Slowly, painfully, the boy propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn and look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. He was in rage, of all people, why would his friend lie to him? He didn’t understand, and finally the nurse responded that he’d been hospitalized for a concussion that left his speech damaged, and his vision temporarily blind, “Perhaps he wanted to encourage you, just as you encouraged him to speak.” A year passed, and just as planned, the two once again were reunited at the school adjacent to the hospital. The boy, who once was injured, greeted the familiar face of his friend with open arms. Yet, his friend seemed puzzled and asked for a “reminder of who he was.” Uncomfortably, the boy began to once again describe all the descriptions he’d told him, and surprisingly enough he remembered all of them. But.. still, he had no idea this boy was, or how he’d come to know all the things that “he” described to “his” roommate at the hospital.
 


The thought crossed Taro’s mind of if the bullet was still lodged somewhere in his arm, or if it’d pierced through him entirely and rattled onto the floor. Either way, there was nothing they’d be able to do about it right now and no matter the pain he felt: he was okay. Carter, on the other hand, was not okay and entangled in his own distraught about Dazai’s leave. Ironically enough, it was apparent that both him and the shooter, “slipped.” (Hah.) Honestly, if Carter forgot who Dazai was, it still wouldn’t be enough to make up for everything he’d done. He’d still be the worthless, good-for-nothing best friend that threw away everything that they had. They were the ones that were supposed to “watch the clouds together”, and they were the ones that were supposed to lookout for eachother. He’d given up everything for that life with Carter: He’d even killed his own father. And now, they were nothing. He lost his best friend. “I’m Mistu,” the boy heard into his left ear, and without hesitation almost mechanically replied, “I’m Taro, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

[Nai]

For a moment, the loud bellowing screech of the runner racing right behind him is all Katsuhira can hear. Not his footsteps that trample heavily against the cold stoned pavement, or his heaving-jagged gasps he struggles to get ahold of, no. It’s the runner that’s managed to stay on his trail from the moment he entered the small apartment complex. He knew of the risk, yet he’d seen how abandon the place was, and with such little place to scavenge it only made sense to go for the most unpopulated area. What he didn’t expect was the runner to be so hot on his trail, and given his luck, he triggered the fucker out of his dormant state. It was minimal, it’s movements practically phantom, as it crept up behind him with his guard down. And it wasn’t long before Katsuhira was running faster than he’d ever run in his life, faster than the days when he’d out ran the school gym teachers.



He’d laugh at the pathetic attempt his brain had of trying to make out of a bad situation by reminiscing, but he was too busy dry heaving to actually laugh at his misery. He’s mid-flight over a high fence when he realizes that his actions might have been a little too risky. He’s staggering to an upright stand, and it’s then he feels a tug at his lower back, he’s landed incorrectly and he was definitely going to feel it in the morning. If he makes it to see the morning, that is… He’ll cross the high road when he gets to it, but it’s also then that he realizes he’s accidently dropped his supply bag. Well ain’t that peachy, he croons exasperatedly, and muddles back through his earlier expedition to realize he must have dropped it sometime between the startling gasp with ugly Rosie O'Donnell and/or half way his mid-leap lunge back down the steps of the complex.
 


He’ll have to make a dull note to go back for pick-up duty, when he wasn’t being chased. He’s rounding the corner of the apartment’s main entrance when he’s contemplating Hisoka’s standardized bitch face. He was going to end up returning empty-handed, and he wasn’t sure he was particularly ready to go head to head with mega charizard, when his squirtle wasn’t even fully evolved. The most pitiful part of it all was that regardless if the runner did manage to catch up to him, he’d at least die a retributional death, all things considered. Although, he was plenty confident that the ol’ steak knife, he ripped out of the infected corpse he scavenged not too long back, was as a good enough weapon for his added killstreak.
 


Yet, beneath his ostentatious, charismatic character, Katsuhira has found himself to be a rather somber character throughout his voyage across the plagued seas. The corpse, he spoke about earlier, was a woman in her mid-thirties. Dark chocolatey brown hair, with light-minted viridescent eyes, she was a beauty in all retrospect, yet she was a hopeless case. She was bitten far after he’d met her, sprawled haphazardly against a corroded old stairwell, filled with rust and muck of age. Yet, here she laid serene and peaceful against the stark condition she was in. He managed to stay with her till her time came, speaking about everything and nothing in particular. She wasn’t married, nor did she have children, she was psychology professor at her local university and— She wasn’t important, because she wasn’t human anymore. They weren’t human anymore. Katsuhira makes a sharp turn towards the abandon corner store, cutting his way through the shelves and bursting through the back entrance, before looking behind himself and noticing the noises and wrenching cries seemed to have settled, for now.
 


Although, as turns back towards his destination, he spots it. In all it’s unprepossessing glory, there, right before his eyes, laid a undead horde of zombies trekking the very streets and surrounding area around their current safe haven. He can’t even fathom how he’ll manage to swing his way into the house, without being spotted, let alone marked by the runners that seem to be crowding the area like guards. —Then he hears it, the monstrous gurgling groan of the very same runner that had been chasing him earlier. It’d caught up to him, and if it couldn’t have made things any worse, it was attracting it’s fellow friends from across the street. “Couldn’t get enough of me, ‘ey”. He manages to huff out in between pants and mid-reach towards the steak knife that’s been securely strapped around his right thigh. He knows what’s going to happen next, and he braces himself for the threat. He’s done this enough times to know how it’ll play out, as the runner charges towards him, wide snarling teeth and all. He releases a shuddering breath, before pulling away at the last second and watching everything revel in slow motion.
 


—He’s been around long enough to know the rules of this new world, kill or be killed. He wasn’t a kid anymore, the consequences of his actions are what kept him alive, and if meant jamming the sliver rusted blade into the runner’s neck, then so be it.— The handle of his knife feels worn out, and now, watching as the blade oh-so-slowly digs into the skin, does he realize that so does the cut of the blade. He’s snaps back to reality, and he finds himself unclenching his jaw. He’s had a bad habit of gritting his teeth lately, and finds himself sighing a breath of relief as the creature before him rips a hollering cry of defeat. “You’re not human, don’t try to sound like one.” He mutters with a ending blow to the side of the creature’s ribcage, ripping it free of it’s deeply lodged flesh wound and watching it drop dead like a sack of rotten meat. Disappearing behind one of the nearby shrubbery, Katsuhira is shivering by the time he lets his heartbeat settle.
 


The adrenaline that was once pumping fire through his veins has cooled, and much like the wind that’s picked up since the dawn of the night, he can almost recall the nights in which it wasn’t always like this. Unfortunately, it’s all he can remember now. The night had become an open-canister for the wicked, whilst the day was spent through contemplation and protruding parasitic thoughts. They became the plaguing infestation of fear itself. Some said it was the Government’s decision, it was a means of getting rid of the overpopulated lands, and it was unfortunate that it managed to get so far as to spread to the most peaceful country in the world. —But that was just talk of the Bums he’d find two weeks into the plague, sipping drinks out of beer bottles and cracking jokes on streets corners as if the world hadn’t gone down to shit. And perhaps this was their punishment, their world was already chaotic to begin with, who’s to say this didn’t just add the cherry to the frosting. Yet, beneath all the crap that’s manage to spill oversea, Katsuhira didn’t want to see it that way.
 


He had a brother that was still out there, perhaps a mother as well, but that was asking for too much. He wasn’t going to mourn, he refused to mourn for those he’s yet to know he’s truly lost. —an ear deafening screech rips through the air and it has Katsuhira bouncing to his feet. He catches sight of runners circling something and he spots this as a perfect opportunity to make a run for the house, that is before he spots a boy— Oh. There was boy.
 


—No, a man— in the middle of the mess, and the only thought Katsuhira could muster was “Does he have death sentence?” But just as he whispers his concerns, the latter makes a dash across the street. It surprises Katsuhira, the moment the clickers, the next stage of infection, and the most prominent stage of infection that has made itself clear it isn’t an easy target to kill, makes its entrance; is when the latter decides to make the most noise for the sake of the horde following him. If Katsuhira didn’t know any better, he’d call him stupid for his attempts at distracting, but it’s as he thinks this that he locks eyes with the individual, and it sends chills down his spine. Dark, and yet luminous beneath the howling moon. The man was sending him a message, although what kind he couldn’t decipher. All he knew is that, that man was brave … and an idiot. Watching the horde disappear into the dark, right behind the no-named hero. Katsuhira made a mad dash towards the right side of the house, ducking beneath the dark shades of the towering concrete fence and making use of his post-delinquent skills, as he made a high jump to latch onto the high beam of the fence, before doing a quick take of his surroundings and making a leap of faith towards the bolted shut window.
 


Luckily, it wasn’t shut for long, considering a kick to the glass, left Katsuhira shuffling in with minimal damage to himself, except possibly his dark wash jeans, that had been tattered by the ends over the sharp glass. But had rightfully landed him with a perfect eight out of ten in the performance category of best jumps 2k19. After a long pregnant pause, Katsuhira stilled, it was too quiet. He should’ve had a welcome committee right about now, if anything, threatened with hands raised and swiveling at gunpoint. Yet, all he heard was the deafening silence, until there wasn’t. The distant sounds of soft hushed whispers, catering to the bedrooms above, gave them away, and by the time Katsuhira was up the steps, meddling into the business of others, does he realize the predicament everyone is in,“What the fuck?” He heaves after a panted breath and a straining hand that lifts to his chest, reminding him of his earlier run-in. His chest hurts, and he makes a note of taking Hisoka’s gun away for future references. From what he can interpret, Hisoka had shot the blonde who’s currently being treated by Mitsu, and a very dangerous looking woman, who he’ll most than likely not approach until she tones it down on the testosterone intake.



Yet, as much as he wants to make light of the situation, among the three newcomers, only one of them seems completely out of the loop. Or rather, on the contrary, they were searching for someone, possible the no-named hero? He deducts, before muttering a hollow, “What’s been going on?” and allows himself to eye Hisoka in a way that doesn’t settle well with his own starking morales. He’s expecting answer from Mitsu, yet finds himself falling perturbed by the ugly duckling in the corner. In this case, the snotty child who’s fallen distraught, no doubt, for his friend. Katsuhira finds himself trying to muster words of comfort only to fall flat, and settles for a meek, “I …” before running his hands through dirty ash blonde hair in frustration, and sighing over his own helpless reclusiveness, “Let’s get everyone settled in, we can speak about all this in the morning.” He finished after settling a firm grip on the teary boy’s shoulder, and disappearing out the door, but not before shifting his head towards Hisoka and muttering, “Hisoka, a word.” and stepping outside the room.
 

 

[Nai]

It is completely silent, as Katsuhira and Hisoka exit the room. Their disappearance disquiets the room into an unsettling tension, that only seems double upon Hisoka walking out the door. “Where are the supplies?” Hisoka is quick to ask, with his attention all in but of the direction of Katsuhira’s face, who meekly supplies with a lackluster response on why he couldn’t get them, but gladly leaves out, to his utter despondent; his almost-comically acclaimed death.
 


Hisoka is not pleased, yet Katsuhira brushes the thought away with a nod towards the gapped bedroom door, “The dark-haired one,” he begins with ease, and makes note of how Hisoka eyes him with partial indifference, “He seems out of it,” he finishes before adding with mindless self-indulgence, “more-so than the one you shot.” Yet, In spite of Hisoka’s silence, there was a mutual agreement. “I think it would be best to keep him elsewhere,” Katsuhira hums, before shutting the door with a click and adding, “would hate for the kid to pull a Robin Williams on us.”
 


Hisoka says nothing regarding Katsuhira’s last comment, but uncharacteristically nods in compliance, “You will have to conduct another run for supplies.” He reiterates with a shove that leaves Katsuhira subtly gritting his teeth behind a feign smile. “Roger,"
 


“You two,” Hisoka declares the moment he reopens the door, shooting his glare towards Taro, who has been inclined against Chrysanthemum’s chest while he recovers, “Follow me.” The two take a moment to glance at one another and Chrys is reluctant to stand, but finds herself alone as Taro slowly rises with a pained wince. This, makes her rise to her feet, an arm at each side of Taro’s shoulders as they’re led out the door behind Hisoka.
 


Carter, on the other hand, is unseemingly spared and turns to Katsuhira and Mitsu for answers, before being quickly shot down by the latter, “You’re just special, ugly duckling,” Katsuhira teased, before disappearing out the door and nodding towards Mitsu; who makes a note to stand, and walk Carter out as well. By the looks of it, the three of them had planned this all out, although what truly led ahead was not at all what Carter had in mind. Carter is confined to a safe-room, or so, that is what Mitsu called it. Although, nothing about it was really all that different from the rest of the rooms. If anything, the only difference was that it did not have any windows, and right before he had entered the room; he caught sight of Katsuhira guarding the adjacent room. They were smart, separating them in case one of them tried to rebel, although as much as they wanted —From the looks of things they were heavily armed: Hisoka wielding a gun, while Katsuhira seemed to have a steak knife strapped securely around his right thigh. As for Mitsu, she seemed to hesitate but had proven strong enough to wield a knife for the sake of her own protection.
 


Imprisoned in the adjacent room, was none other than, Chrys and Taro; guarded by their lax warden, Katsuhira. The law demanded silence, and their rest was of the utmost importance. Emphasis on “their”, with Katsuhira falling languidly against the doorframe and crossing his arms in a relaxed position. From what Taro could tell, the man didn’t at all seem too worried about what they could do to him, if they were to try and attack him. Chrys, on the other hand, was wide awake and seemed pensive in her reclusive thoughts. Their group had dissolved since their run in with the horde: Anthony was dead, Taro had been Shot, Dazai was missing and lastly they were all being held hostage in the only place left they had to go. Taro could not help but blame Chrys, and her stupid run-in with that stalker of hers. Whilst, all Chrys could think of was how her group—her family, was slowly withering away. It is not until sometime past one, Katsuhira leaves before exchanging shifts with Hisoka, and Taro watches as the night dwindles into a stand still, his eyelids falling heavily as he lies beside Chrys.
 


Upon the high raise of the room, Katsuhira walks into the room where Mitsu and Carter are currently resting. The only one who seems to be uncharacteristically sleeping is Mitsu, where in most nights she would lie wide awake; she is out like the lights. Carter, on the other hand, is resting on his side on the cold wooden floor, facing the white plaster of the morning wall. He is not sleeping, but it is notable that Katsuhira is seldom to mention it. Instead, he walks over to Mitsu and rests a patient hand on her shoulder, motioning her awake. They seem to exchange silent glances for what Carter can only depict, and he tries his best to not move as Katsuhira moves aside allowing Mitsu to start her rummaging through the room. Carter’s patently listening, expecting words to be exchanged, but nothing comes out of the silence. It is around fifteen minutes later that Carter is stirred awake by a light buzzing that’s managed to meld into the night-time ambiance. It was white noise at first, then a soft tuning noise of what sounded like radio channels, before Carter realized what they were doing. They were trying to make contact, yet after ten minutes of radio silence did they finally catch sound of a broadcasted transmission. “All deployed…” it breaks in and out, “-rons and rescued persons… must return within the fortnight for safe passage departure to Sado Island.” Carter gasped, and it was not until he felt the cold touch of metal to his neck that he realized his mistake.
 


Turning to face Katsuhira, whose knife had so cleanly pressed up against his jugular, he made a motion of silencing him before pulling away once he received a reluctant nod. It’s only after Katushira returns to what he was doing, tuning with the small hand held radio, that he catches Mitsu rummaging through supplies in the background and stuffing them into her backpack. Yet, this isn’t what surprises Carter, who's now staring wide-eyed with fear of what they could possibly be doing. Instead, it’s the bundled up face masks she tosses to Katsuhira; both stretching the obscuring fabrics over their faces. It is not until he watches with abject horror that he realizes where Katsuhira is stepping over to next. “Don’t be so scared,” Katsuhira teases into a whisper, that has him stretching the mask over Carter’s face and lifting him into an upright standing position. Carter tries not to squirm, or have such a distraught look on his face, but he can’t help but feel disgusted by the fact that another man has touched him. He knows his thoughts are fruitless, and medial but his mind travels back to Dazai in such unprecedented times. He can’t forget to remember. 
 


Katsuhira, who catches wind of his distress, hums and offers a small smile before going back to the radio. Carter says nothing in regards of the gesture, but meekly touches at the face mask before looking back towards Mitsu who still seems to be bustling and rummaging throughout the room in preparation. But for what? Carter wonders.



Yet, as quickly as the thought crosses his mind, it’s answered with Katsuhira’s whisper into the radio, “Ryuzaki has been secured, returning to camp,” Carter’s exit from the household is uncoerced-ly tense, and it is not entirely because of the noose around his wrists, which have proven more than enough to confine him, but the simple fact of being back outside, and the more graving matter: they knew his name.

“We’ll be there by morning,” Katsuhira assures, and subtly watches as Carter’s eyes fall on him with fright. He looks small, sitting in the back seat of the car, and it isn’t until Mitsu starts up the car, that a loud explosion erupts from both the exhaust pipe and the overcasting skyline. There’s a shockwave that soon has everyone shaking, Katsuhira curses and turns towards Mitsu, who seems frozen with fear. The bombing was meant to wipe out the infected that currently resided in the neighboring prefecture, and in this case, it looked to be in the direction of Fukushima, “Mitsu, Drive!” He hollers, and it startles the woman back to her senses before driving off; Hisoka will be livid.

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

 "I slipped." Chrys resisted the urge to growl like a feral animal, settling instead for a slight glare. She wouldn't dare say she relaxed but she definitely wasn't as on guard as she was when they had the gun pointed at them. She did however sigh audibly in relief when the pretty girl began to patch up Taro and the once vicious demeanor practically evaporated the second the girl put her hands on Chrys' leg. Yes she knew it was for medical care but the sheer beauty she was being blinded with was enough to distract her from the girl's main purpose. When the girl introduced herself as Mitsu, Chrys' face lit up like a goddamn christmas tree. She opened her mouth to reply-with something decidedly flirty-but was interrupted by a heavily breathed expletive and immediately her guard was back up. She felt that hard suppressed growl threatening to make an appearance as she narrowed her eyes at the newcomer.
 


He passed an uncomfortable glance over her and began asking the creep-with-the-gun questions which Chrys ignored. It was clear that he was their traveling companion and meant no harm if the disapproving look he gave the other boy was anything to go by. The two boys left the room for mere moments and with their return came a flurry of activity. Both she and Taro were herded like sheep out of the room by creep-with-the-gun. Chrys kept annoyingly close to the younger boy, keen on shielding him with her own body should someone start feeling trigger happy. She knew with a certainty that Taro was probably extremely uncomfortable with her proximity but she couldn't help it. The people she had been traveling with had become something of a second family to her; whether the sentiment was returned or not was another thing entirely. Time ticked by awkwardly as she and Taro were kept separate from Carter, guarded by the boy who had shown up only recently. She briefly toyed with the idea of trying to wrestle the knife from his thigh but decided she was more apt to get stabbed then accomplish anything.
 


Instead she let her mind wander to arbitrary things like the color of the night sky or the feel of cotton. Not soon after, she felt gentle gusts of air breeze over her palm and she looked down to see Taro slipping into sleep. Without her permission, her lips settled into a gentle smile while she watched him breathe. She was about ready to settle down herself when the house (and what felt like the world,) shook with an explosion that jolted any fatigue clear out of her system. Her eyes flew wide and she scrabbled to stand, trying and failing more than once as her leg gave out from under her and sent her sprawling onto the floor. She lay there panting heavily as scenario after scenario flew through her mind, none of them good. This was too much to handle. First zombies and her family vanishing. She had gotten over that quite fine, having replaced them and the fear with her new companions and the need to protect. Then she had gotten injured and had been stalked by a relentless zombie. She handled that fine as well! Her leg was splinted, she could walk and run just fine so long as she took no sharp turns or had to start jumping around.
 


Even the whole being held hostage/prisoner thing wasn't a big deal because she had Taro's wellbeing to distract her. But this... This was the icing on the cake, the goddamn spark in a fuel factory. She wanted to cry. She desperately wanted to scream her frustration to the heavens. She was sorely tempted to throw herself into the next mob of dead and just let go. However she could not and would not do any of that. She stayed silent, her eyes were stubbornly dry and despite the feeling of fear trickling down her entire being, she remained glued back-down to the cold floor. She'd just focus on breathing for now. It was a simple thing to do; in, out, in, out...

 

[Vaan]

Taro slept rather soundly until the distant explosion rattled the floorboards underneath him, and motion alone enough shook him back into reality; the reality that Chrys still laid awake beside him. He wondered if he should say something, but settled for the ambiance brought on by the occasional chirp of a cricket. His initial collapse onto the wooden floor left him facing a pasty-white wall, decorated by a single window and he had no confidence to change that. If Anthony were here, he would have said something pretty funny in his broken Japanese. Taro had always thought Anthony and Chrys’ relationship to be notably distinctive, defined by their need to assure the safety of everyone else. If anything, at the end of all this, he figured the two would of ended up ended up together. Yet, that apparently was never realistic, with how Chrys’ eyes fell so delicately on the pink-haired girl who patched him up. He had never thought to ask Chrys what type of men she liked, and if it was the kind of man that was not a man; a woman.
 


Now that he thought about it, he never bothered to ask anything about her. With Dazai and Carter, it was evident in the way that they carried themselves; the occasional soft touches and hushed words. They were untroubled and that was surely uncommon in this all of this madness, maybe that was the real reason he hated Dazai. Taro was jealous that in a world of such destruction, love was not a luxury he had. It was something he would most likely die without, because his age had strictly prohibited it. But, as his glance slowly shifted back to Chrys, he realized that he was wrong; he had no reason to be jealous. Perhaps it was true that he didn’t have the same type of love as Carter, to fluster him and make him feel like more than he was, but he did have someone who loved him. All of this time, Chrys had shown him nothing but kindness and he had repaid it with bitterness. He blamed her for all the mistakes of their group; especially the death of Anthony, and never once thought how she felt. He never even asked how she acquired that stalker, or what happened during that supply collection.
 


The supply collection that she volunteered for, in his place, after all faces yet again fell towards his terrified expression. She understood him better than anyone he had ever met, and the most he knew of her was the color of her hair. Now that he thought about it, there was not very many blondes in Japan; this mom persona she emphasized was not too far off. An ear-splitting squeal from the door-hinges broke the silence as, whoever was behind them, left the room to presumably check the sound of that explosion. Taro was not entirely sure how long he had been asleep, but it was most likely still night and they wouldn’t be able to find the source until tomorrow. The reality that it could have been them slowly begins to sink in, and after that; there would be nothing. The last thing he wanted Chrys to remember of him was that shameful ‘Oh’, he managed to muster up after his self-pity journal about stars. The shot to his arm had brought a change about him. Staying quiet had become increasingly difficult, he had too much he wanted to say; too much he had to say. He wanted to bring up that alternate character that took hold of her: Did she know about it? Is it something that happens often? Did it happen in the supply retrieval? Why hadn’t they seen it until now? What triggered it?
 


Yet, he would have to address something else first, “Chrys,” he whispered breathily from his position next to her, “... I’m sorry. I guess this whole time… I have been blaming you for the mistakes we’ve made a group; and I thought that if I was by myself.. I would be so much better off. But I was wrong. You would of gave your life for me, back there, if it meant that I was safe and I don’t know if I would do the same.” he choked. “I’m selfish... But, if we make it out of here, I promise I will try to do better. I can’t do this without you… or Carter and Dazai.”

 

[Ophirius]

A premonition regarding the sudden departure of his companions or any suspicion towards their loyalty had never risen to his thoughts during the whole time they had travelled. In the indigo eyes of his, he had perceived the two as relatively safe choices (with the occasional exception being Katsuhira and his tricky compliant air). But there he was. Being the sole one left behind out of them all for reasons that he knew nothing about. The whole happening had his bony hands trembling as they clenched the frame of the window. All of the effort he had put into keeping those two alive and to befriend them had just been cast aside. Supplies, bonds, security. They had truly stolen everything. If you were to compare this situation with the three of them having walked on a bridge, then simply put, they had mercilessly pushed him over the edge.
 


However what filled his being in this time of perplexity was neither anger nor sadness but rather an undeniable amusement. With a heavy sigh, the Prussian haired boy rose from his slumping posture and applied an hand over the smirk that grew disturbingly worse for every second that passed. The taste that lingered on his tongue after having been so brutally left to die was a bittersweet combination of strawberry and grapes. Mitsu's mellow kindness and refreshing humanistic self stirred into Katsuhira's sense of reality. Had they really thought it would be that easy? He wondered if they had any expectations regarding his following actions. Were they depicting him in absolute despair during the present that was him planning? Cute.
 


Hisoka wheezed out in a slight huff while preventing himself from bursting out into laughter. Why settle with decent when he could get a gourmet? Being served was of course pleasant that too but actually getting to hunt his own dinner was the top of the iceberg. Their shocked expressions flickered past his wide open eyes and every nerve in his body tingled with the ecstasy of experiencing it in the near future. He had to hurry. The male searched through the entire house in a rush, gathered anything that he presumed would come in handy later on. Clothed in what he assumed was the son of the household's black sweatshirt and jeans he suddenly remembered the pair that he had been guarding earlier. Though, at this point the two of them must have already sneaked off, right? Or so he thought because when Hisoka slammed the door open they were still there, curled up on the floor like the insects they were. "Ah well" he briefly commented upon his discovery and then threw them some new clothes and a pair of shawls "Put this on and follow me if you want to survive". It was not that he pitied them nor did he actually care about their well being and most probably they would just end up being a burden. But for him all of this meant more entertainment.

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

Her shock started with, "Chrys,". Her name was whispered and it nearly shook her from the rapid-fire thoughts traveling at ninety miles per hour around her head. Nearly. She listened with bated breath as Taro spoke more words in those few moments than she had heard him collectively speak since they had grouped up. She normally would have felt a spark of irritation at the fact that he had been blaming her but she couldn't fight the overwhelming feelings of pure joy that he was finally, finally able to express himself. Her lips pulled upwards and she turned her head towards him, eyes crinkled to comply with her happy expression.
 


The voice in the back of her mind kept screeching at her, calling her an idiot, telling her that she needed to get off her ass, take the kid and leave. But she couldn't find it in herself at the moment to pay attention. Despite her smile, she took a deep shuddering breath, one that rang of residual fear, before speaking. "Hey, hey. Look who's gotta voice after all! I was starting ta think Ursula had gotten to you." She joked to cover her earlier panic, and reached a hand out to pinch Taro's cheek in an affectionate manner. "You don't hafta do better ya know. I don't really think you're doing any wrong in the first place so don't apologize for something I ain't blaming ya for. Also I would never, ever want to give your life for mine so if you think you can't then I'm more than happy with that." She sighed contently after her mouth settled back into a shit eating grin and she tugged at her companion's cheeks. "Just keep talkin' ta me and I'll take that as you 'doing better'." Chrys really didn't need him to anything, she didn't mind that he was selfish or blamed her but she didn't want his new-found need to assist to be disregarded so she gave him an out of sorts.
 


She was halfway to working up the nerve to see if Taro was ticklish when the door to their 'prison' ripped open and slammed against the wall. Immediately, Chrys' figurative hackles were raised as she took in the figure in the door. She was crouched on all fours in seconds, her bad leg stretched out behind her. She was about to pounce on creep-with-the-gun when he spoke, practically spitting at them to follow or die. Well then. She stood and caught the clothes tossed to her, casting a confused look to Taro before shrugging. Dying wasn't on her list of things to do, so following him it was. Without a care she begin to strip, pulling on the new articles of clothes as she discarded her old ones.

 

[Vaan]

“Just keep talking ta’me and I’ll take that as you doing better,” Taro repeated to himself silently, in console, raising a hand to his scuffed cheek and gently patting away at where the girl had teasingly tugged. His thoughts hadn’t much time to flourish before, unsurprisingly, they were cut short by the abrupt intervention of the door. Before them, yet again, stood the prison-guard himself: Kurosawa Hisoka. Except, this time, his demeanor had changed entirely and it was evident that something (while ultimately ambiguous to them) was going on. The game had changed.


Perhaps the explosion?
 


“Put this on and follow me if you want to survive,” Hisoka barked, and in the blink of an eye; Taro stood bare in his blue-briefs. He put on the new shirt first, naive to the blush on his face as he slid it over his head and timidly poked his head through. The shirt itself was rather characterless, a black tee, but anything was a nice change from the accumulation of blood and dirt. The shorts, on the other hand, were cargo and notably tight at the waist as he buttoned them. Taro couldn’t help but think about how embarrassing it would of been to tell Hisoka they didn’t fit. There definitely wasn’t a shortage of clothes during the apocalypse, it was just that the infected piled into dark areas; especially houses. Taro winced as the button clicked in compliance, and his arm tingled with the underlying pain of his gun wound.
 


Yet, while that was notably hard to endeavor, it wasn’t until the echoing growl of his stomach filled the room; that his cheeks truly lit up with blush. “H-hisoka,” Taro addressed feebly, his eyes trailing to Chrys, who seemed eager to leave this cesspool of sin. “—We haven’t eaten in days…”
 


Carter hasn’t either… where is he? He’s not allowed to die until I apologize to him.
 


“Our fourth member,” he begins to fib, with a particular emphasize on the word four, as if he had disregarded Anthony entirely, “took all of the food with him, and left us.”
 


And yet, Dazai was the one who generally collected the food, he always ate last.
 


“... I know you d-didn’t shoot me in the arm, just to let me die of starvation.” He adds almost bitterly, his autumn eyes finally setting onto Hisoka’s delicate features. Taro carefully inspected the male, looking for some sort of indicator through those bleak glasses; yet, no expression seemed to seep through. In spite of this, now Taro had time to thoroughly study his face and was left to condemn himself at the realization that he found an uncanny enticement in their handler.”

 

[Ophirius]

Feeble hatred poured out from the eyes of the girl as she with a fitful motion began to remove the last pieces of rags that covered the fragile human beneath. In a shameless manner, it was processed. The male, however, was haunted by a slight flush of self-consciousness. Blissfully unaware of the guard's indigo eyes suggestively grazing over his delicate features. Along those shyly protruding bones he would trace his fingertips. Engrave the memory of his touch into the pale skin with beautiful hues of garish purple and royal blue. The willowy shoulder blades of the other one would fall prey to his nails. Clawing, ripping and digging deeper until he could successfully cup the purity of just bones. All while the boy would be chippering sweet melodies in his ear. "H-Hisoka".
 


Uncharacteristically his head slid to lean slightly to the right, his being faintly surprised by having been addressed by his name. At first, he was at a loss regarding where the boy had picked up his name but remembered in a matter of seconds that Katsuhira had mentioned it out loud earlier. Therefore he didn't let himself delve any deeper into the theory of whether they had met before or not. What didn't fade, however, was the strange sensation of nostalgia that blossomed inside of him as the listener in the conversation. For undeniably, the voice that begged for food was one that he had heard before. Acquainted or not, he had as well been caught up in the crisis of poverty like them and whether he wanted to share or not the food was at this moment, scarce. All he had to give those pleading eyes was attention. Mere entertainment wasn't worth the risk of failing to achieve the goal he had in mind. However, if they were to prove themselves useful in one way or another then maybe he would value their health differently.



The more they would come to learn, the more independent they would become and eventually overthrow him. The girl specifically seemed to harbour a spirit beyond average. They were unmistakable enemies of his and yet he brought the only multigrain bars he had out of his pockets to throw them at the couple. Something little that Mitsu and Katsuhira had failed to collect. "This is all I have," a short pause was made as his tongue meekly moisturised the pale lips "Don't disappoint me." - The feeling that he had experienced in that swift moment of shooting or running was long gone when he came to the stage of contemplating it all. Nevertheless, what filled him was curiosity as he marched out of the room. For he knew, that whatever he had seen in those two would be seen again. It was all just a matter of time before it would all become crystal clear. 
 

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

If he didn't have a gun, and if Taro wasn't there, Chrys would have beat the ever loving shit out of Hisoka the second he showed his slimy face. Instead she settled for grumbling obscenities to herself and rolling her shoulders back to pop her muscles. She was thankful for the change in clothes because in place of her uniform skirt, she had on a pair of pants that added support for her makeshift brace. She heaved a long-suffering sigh and closed her eyes as a sense of odd peacefulness washed over her.

With a wink to Taro she followed after Hisoka out into the open air. Once outside she breathed out a gasp of awe. With all the ambient light from the cities gone, the night sky was clear as day and all the stars were lit up in a brilliant display. "Holy cow, would you look at that!" she cried, taking an experimental twirl on her good leg. It was nice to finally breathe in fresh air, without the fear of being swarmed by bloodthirsty dead.
 


Not that the makeshift crew wasn't still being stalked, Chrys could practically feel them watching, but the night was quiet for now. She ripped open a multigrain bar and swallowed it whole while she watched Hisoka with a contemplative gaze. His homicidal rage seemed to have settled to just below the surface, and Chrys wasn't sure if she was glad that it was present or not. It seemed like a handy dandy thing to have in a fight. She wished she could be that angry.
 


She slowly sidled up to Hisoka with a shit eating grin plastered on her face and her eyebrows wiggling. "So, erm, Hisoka. Could you, possibly, like if there was an opportunity, could you teach me to shoot pretty please!?" She was inches away from his face, batting her eyes in a pleading manner, almost like a begging puppy dog.
 


"If i could fight with a long-range weapon I'd be able to assist! Like, I can't run, really, because I accidentally acquired myself a stalker, where did it go anyway? But I need more fighting skill and you seem pretty smart so..." She realized she was rambling and backed off a bit, wary brown eyes flashing to the surrounding buildings where she was hearing moans and the slapping of feet on pavement.



If the dead were to come now, she had no idea what she'd do. Probably just grab everyone's hands and run for it. Hisoka would definitely protest but they three of them moved a lot faster than the dead. Or, you know, marginally faster. She wondered if she could get Hisoka to give her a piggyback ride. Chrys was doubtful of that ever happening.

 

[Vaan]

The settling ambience had become quite distinguished after Hisoka and Chrys’ departure, the pacing of floorboards eerily resonating throughout the house; without any indication of identity. However, in spite of the perturbation grasping tightly at Taro’s throat, there was no uncertainty of Chrys’ safety and security. While the notion could be attributable to his deprivation of sleep, he genuinely felt that she was more safe alongside Hisoka; than she would ever be with him. Instead, he fiddled with his cheap multigrain bar, and gently began to tear away at its wrapper with trembling hands.



Processed foods, akin to what he held, were ubiquitous in these desolate times and the most probable to be retrieved during rummage. Anthony, with all his fiery determination, had probably munched on something of the sort before his unfortunate demise; during that brief exploit of the kitchen. Taro, on the other hand, hadn’t eaten in quite some time, and while the receding of his abdomen was a clear indication of starvation, an emptiness festered in his stomach.



His body persistently verged between content and malnourishment, and yet the desire for substance had died out along with his ambition to survive. Food, regardless of its nutrition or condition, was a luxury and even now that it laid so effortlessly in his hands: he couldn’t put his racing mind to a rest and eat. Haunting thoughts of Anthony continued to pester, and remind him how his supposed friends had disregarded their classmate entirely and left him to die. There wasn’t enough time, and there wasn’t enough questioning of alternative executions to remain safe.



Everyone knew that someone would have to endeavor, and continue to secure the door; yet, not a single word was spoken. His screams of agony were drowned out by breaths of relief, each parting the lips of those who couldn’t help but wickedly smile that they had not been the one to suffer. The biggest grin of all wore by none other than Taro Miyashita: the weaseling prodigy who once again escaped the fate befallen him. However, Taro promised himself that he no longer would bare a heart of black, and granted with the gift of life, he would help others: as Chrys, Carter, Dazai and Anthony had done for him.



With the desire for benevolence trickling at his skin, Taro’s first act of selflessness found itself without delay, and ultimately led him to wander astray from his former prison-cell. Faced with the virtue of unchallenged freedom, he stood before the back door of their settlement and allowed his eyes to trace the stripped paint of the wood scrutinizingly. He wasn’t entirely convinced before, but now he was certain: a girl was grieving. Her frightened pleas for help had continually rung in his ears since Anthony’s death, and with his new found perspective, the night-long laments had forged a credibility.



Outside of the house, obscuring clouds loomed and assured that no star dared to shine on this night. As the door creaked open, and Taro wandered in pursuit of the leading sound; rain began to pour. However, in spite of its occurrence, both his newly sported clothing and the ground remained dry. The noise ushered the boy once again into the shambles of his former home: the Ryuzuki household.

With hesitancy, he stood at the edge of the staircase and strained to peer through the darkness.



“Anthony,” he called out with uncertainty, “…Is that you?”
 


While his vocalization was met with silence, the intensifying crying beckoned him forward and induced him to walk up the stairs, each wooden-step creaking beneath his weight. His arrival was greeted by a closed door, and after a couple failed attempts of opening it; Taro realized that the door had been successfully lodged shut. Anthony had secured the door with vigor, it had never been broken down and he was on the other side of the door, scared and alone.
 


“Anthony!” Taro called out a second time, “It’s me! I’ll go get Chrys!”



Yet, just as Taro began to turn on the heel of his foot, ready to race down the stairs and retrieve both Hisoka and Chrys; a voice replied feebly from the other side of the door, “—H-help…”
 


Something isn’t right.
 


The silence is this time brought on by Taro, who stands static and immobilized by his own fear; neglecting to retrieve his friends entirely. After a momentary contemplation, he once again finds himself at the top of the staircase; faced with the fortified door. Propelling himself forward, he thrusts his weight towards the door, only to be met with not even a strain of resistance, his body thrown into a cushioning of flesh. His head is slammed into the floor jarringly, and as he lifts it back up; the door frame is empty, and pieces of wood scatter the floor before it.
 


The deafening screeching has now gone mute, and the air reeks of a different sound… a different smell. The boy’s vision periodically dims with blur, and as he raises a quivering hand to the back of his head, he is met with the warmth of his own blood. However, his trepidation is promptly subdued by the delicate features of Anthony; which only now he has realized are disheveled by shredded and gashed flesh. Looming over Anthony’s lifeless and defaced form is a monster, whose teeth still continue to tear away at his open stomach. Protruding underneath the creature’s forehead is a dimly lit vein, which appears to have now budded through its neck: simulating vocal cords.
 


With audible breaths, Taro gradually begins to stagger backwards and finds that he is burying himself further into a pile of bodies. The creature before him tilts its head, scraggy brown hair draping over its face, the vein in its throat croaking with forewarning. Bolting from his position on the floor, Taro makes a run for the door and is speedily tackled by the lurching creature; its claws lunging into his sides and practically glueing the pair together. The two struggle for dominance, and inevitably Taro’s malnourished state causes him to be thrown into the floor with a loud crack. The creature’s head hovers above him, and leans in while emitting the same enticingly mocking sound: crying.



It is only then that Taro’s dilated pupils recognize the resemblance, and officially identify the creature to be Chrys’ infamous stalker. He screams for help, “Chrys!—” and his voice cracks, the Stalker… or rather, the Screamer, clawing away viciously at his stomach, and tearing an open gash. He continues to plead, and beg for Chrys, through blood-stricken tears; but, is met with only the relinquished sounds of his own screams. There was to be no redemption, no trial: murderers forfeit their rights.

 

[Ophirius]

Prosperous green, ataractic blue and sizzling red fabric fluttered along the contours of a body.

Effortlessly the bare feet travelled over the surface of a polished wooden floor. All while accompanied by a string of continuously touched piano keys.
Marble skin carried by a petite frame of bones and flesh. A soul of pure kindness captured by the walls of a human mind. And oh how her mortality became evident as the rays of light that seeped through the sheer glass was replaced by devious shadows. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours of waste in the presence of music. Nevertheless, the expression she wore was that one of a dazzling smile.



Rid of regret and tragedy were they both in this moment of indulgement of entertainment. But that was as well, the only similarity that the waltzing woman and the audience that was her son had in common. For that smile was to Hisoka, a mystery along with the feelings that she seemed to harbour towards the man that egged her on to move.


All he knew was in reality, nothing. Because not any book could explain or set logic to the smile that his mother had possessed. Taro had as well, been another mystery. But now beyond the reach of them all. Gone was one word to describe it. Dead was another.

Twinkling stars and all-consuming darkness. Golden locks and hazel eyes pleading for trust. The sudden change of surroundings didn't faze him at all. Neither did the girl who hovered by his side that unexpectedly enough, settled close. What however gained a flick of wonder from his indigo gaze was the ambience around her being that took on a whole new shape. Despair completely gone from the surface that was her expression as she whipped her head up to the night sky and then tip-toeing near while daringly asked for guidance.


"Calm," His lips twitched in slight amusement.
 


Such blazing spirit would tire her out quickly. The more so after having gone back to the realisation that she was in his captivity. He had no obligation to care for her safety or comply to the pleads that passed those, surely, untainted lips. Nevertheless, her outburst of risky confidence was something to admire even though it baffled him that someone would even think of that while on the edge of a cliff. In other words, she had potential.
 


The boy, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen Hisoka duly noted after having flickered his attention to the wide open door. Had he suddenly decided on trying to escape? Though, never for one second had the boy seemed like the type to attempt anything akin to rebellion. Therefore his brows furrowed even further when a scream ripped through the silence of the night.


What a hassle.


Swiftly he examined the girl's face before moving in response to the sound of distress. His hands also quick to cover the handle of his father's gun while approaching the source.
Through the familiar kitchen, he waded before eventually encountering the back door. From the depths of his mind, Hisoka recalled the door having been tightly shut before. Now, however, there was a slight gap hinting at the possibility..no the fact that the rabbit had escaped through here. For what reason though? Surely, the stranger must have had another thought on his mind than fleeing. After all, Hisoka had his friend right at the end of his gun.
 


Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth the dark haired figure pushed the door aside and sprinted through the spiteful rain. Only to be met with the very same house that the teenagers had left behind. Allegedly 'Carter's house' according to the blonde by his right. However, whose house it was never once bothered him as his feet led him across the floor. Nor did he wonder about who before him, had touched the ledge of the staircase that he ascended.

Wary hands slipped the gun out into the open and aimed it in between the walls on his right and left. For the smell of death was not one to be mistaken. Its iron stench clearly present he had remarked as fast as he had reached the top of the stairs. Nevertheless, the finger that was lingering upon the trigger didn't tremble before the threat of danger.

Cautiously Hisoka closed in on the inviting gesture of an open door at the end of the hall. What befell his gaze first was however not the bodies, but the creature guarding them.



Drenched in the life of others the disfigured being rose from its hunched over position. Flesh hanging from its agape jaws and eyes burrowed deep into the head. The lines are blurred by horrendous excrescences and wounded body seemingly on the verge of falling apart released from the inconvenience of clothes.

Neither gender nor identity can be distinguished. But what Hisoka seeks is not the shadows of a former human but the blonde crown that he finds beneath its disgusting self.

Filthy, tainted and inanimate. Such a shame.

It is without hesitation that the prussian blue haired boy plans the journey of his bullet to go from the pipe of his gun to the head of the creature. And it is most certainly without empathy Hisoka for a swift second releases the trigger from his touch before ending it.

The sound is sharp, the bullet sharper when it penetrates the skin, bone and flesh. It makes him momentarily retract despite the evident emptiness in his chest. Even a human could perform the action of a god. It stands clear with the bullet hole in the monster's forehead. Stumbling in the most ungraceful way the creatures retreats only to eventually, collapse in a pile of death on the floor. Hisoka erases the distance in between him and the dying undead. Feet centimetres away from its face as the gun is raised for the second time and fired. Two holes.


Hollow was the silence that followed the frightening gunshots. There is only two breathing, the other one violently gasping and convulsing. Despite the concerning white lather ascending from the boy's parted lips, Hisoka crouches down by his side. Fear nonexistent as he examines the shrivelled skin on his stomach and the red mass of soft tissue. But it is neither excitement nor pleasure that fills him by the sight of the scene. Rather than that, it is a bitter disappointment that leaves him clenching his jaws.

The male stands tall yet once again and gently pushes the glasses back to their place from having slid down. His gun restlessly pressed against his thigh.

Hisoka draws a deep breath, one that is burdened by knowledge. He turns, expression freed from any signs of humanity. The crucial question is performed flawlessly yet horrifyingly cold as he offers her the gun,

"Do you want to end his suffering?".
-
In one second there, then in the other gone. Life as they knew it was so incredibly fragile. He would never come to know the secrets resting beneath the boy's eyes. The things they could've had shared, experiences, memories, everything had been erased so abruptly. It stirred a strange feeling to the surface of his consciousness.

In the least, he wondered if the boy had died rid of regret and tragedy. Probably not. If the thing called hell truly exists, then perhaps they would meet again.

 

[Genieva Von Bubbles]

Breathing suddenly seemed like an impossibility. A far-fetched notion that was completely unbelievable, incomprehensible. So she didn't breathe, instead choosing to stare icily at the seemingly indiscernible piles of flesh. Not once did Chrys think that so soon after regrouping, after finally breaking through to Taro that she would lose him. Chrys barely had any time with him before it was time to get moving, pinned under Hisoka's watchful gaze. She was suddenly struck by how fucking unfair this all was. This was unfair, having to watch the poor boy struggling to live but only causing himself more agony. The apocalypse was unfair. Life was unfair. But then again, Chrys had always known this, that Life was a cruel and twisted mistress who held no special favor for any of her children. It was a fact that had molded Chrys into what she was today; whatever that may be. 


She watched as Hisoka mercilessly put two bullets through the dead creature that Chrys recognized as her stalker from the run before. When its decaying body crumpled to the ground she swallowed back the need to vomit. Well, she tried to anyway. Chrys found that despite the disgusting and heart wrenching scene in front of her, she couldn't muster the energy to be sick, to feel anything in particular. What happened next occurred slowly, like ice creeping inch by inch over her clammy skin replacing the once fiery and untamable joy with something else. Something ugly. Chrys' once bubbly step was replaced by a quieter, more predatory stalk and her soft curves seemed to harden.


She moved no faster than a leisurely walk as she slinked past Hisoka, pulling the offered gun from his hand as she went. Chrys bent down into a crouch before slowly lowering herself into a kneel, ignoring her knee's raging protests. She cooed softly and brushed her hand through Taro's hair, working out tangles as she went. Chrys repeated the motion for a good minute, murmuring reassurances over the gurgling of the long gone child and she only withdrew her hand when she pressed the cold muzzle of the gun to Taro's forehead.


A backsplash of gore was inevitable but after she pulled the trigger, silencing the damning painful noises, she didn't move to wipe the splatters off her neck and face. The new clothes were a lost cause though, and as she rose from the ground to press the gun back into Hisoka's hand she apologized for dirtying them so soon. The apology was rough, no more than a growl really and when she raised her head the excitable or even the bitterly angry looks that usually dominated her features were nowhere to be seen. Instead her expression was cold, apathetic until it reached her eyes. Her eyes were a completely different story. The brown hues lacked any of their usual warmth replaced by something dark and feral and so utterly unlike her that it was as though something else had taken possession of her. It was a real shame that it was indeed all Chrys in there and the likely hood of her cheery persona making an appearance ever again was getting slimmer and slimmer by the second.


Her shoulders rolled back and she moved to exit the room when her foot nudged against something on the floor. Her eyes traveled slowly, gaze painstakingly crawling from the door frame to the object at her feet. Ah. It was Anthony's bat, the one he had been using to fight off the dead before he sacrificed himself. The old Chrys would have scoffed at the thought, probably claim it served him right, call him an idiot. But this Chrys held no such thoughts. She looked curiously at the bat before curling her hand around it and pulling it up to keep at her side. As a weapon it would do fine, and perhaps Anthony would enjoy that it wasn't left to rot with the rest of the room's occupants.

 

[Deviced]

 
​

It's been ringing through the tunnels of pop-culture for years, forcing its far-fetched essence down the throat of every young person who could stand it. 


The apocalypse, the zombies, survival guides and video games preparing you for everything; all you would need is a good ol' baseball bat and some gutsy side-kicks.


The truth was, no matter how much the event threatened to come, you would never be prepared for it-- carnage drowning you from the first day. 


We were romanticizing our deaths, our inevitable ends (or beginnings, depending on who you asked), the idea flashing it's irresistible nature to our hungry adrenaline. 


We were fools. 


...


The ripe smell of rotting leaves always left a peculiar sensation in Masaru’s stomach, for the scent gave him both the feeling of comfort, yet also an unfaltering guilty pang every other moment he inhaled. Autumn was a strange season of the celebrated death of leaves, but the promise of an even harsher time following, as winter provided. Masaru began growing fidgety as he sat under the dilapidated roof of an old bar he used to be quite familiar with in the years before, a result of the building's proximity to his old home. He had been planted in the same spot for about a week now, his supplies dwindled to nothing more than a canteen quarter way filled with lighter fluid. As much as he'd like to just down the bottle and imagine it as the water he had run out of two days prior, he didn't have a death wish. The only foreseeable option was to go looting. 


It took a few moments of convincing himself that he'd be okay to get Masaru standing, and another few to get him out the plywood door he had fabricated with the scarce tools that were left lying around after some unsuccessful rounds with a few runners, as portrayed by the rotting corpses that lay outside the building.


"What's the point of living if you're not even gonna try beat the next level," Masaru mumbled to himself as he adjusted a pack onto his back, the only items it carried being a medium sized tarp, a crowbar, and the silver canteen. Once he was comfortable with the arrangement, the young man set off in no particular direction, hoping an opportunity would present itself at some point.


Masaru did his best at camouflaging himself among the autumn brush, crouching every time an unfriendly looking animal scuttled by or the howling wind swept through the trees. He had to admit, the apocalypse did a lot for heightening one's senses.


By the time Masaru met a promising looking building, it was well past noon. His stomach made louder noises than that of the distant birds, which was an obvious indication of hunger and soon starvation. The male trudged his way through some thick holly and leaned against the cement wall of what appeared to be an old police station.


"Maybe there'll be donuts," he uttered, imagining Mitsu's tinkling laughter following, but there was only silence.


Upon further inspection, the building seemed to be barricaded. Although, the rot of a wooden plank barely stood a chance against Masaru's powerful kick, and so the door swung wide open with a bang. He knew that the runners and stalkers would be closing in soon, so he made haste to the front desk. Ripping open the drawers, he found a single granola bar and shoved it into his pocket, along with some pens that may be useful for short distance combat in the future. Everything was a weapon nowadays.


Finding nothing else of importance, Masaru went back through an archway to spot the bars of a small holding cell, and the groans of was sounded like the undead.


"Shit, shit, shit," he cursed under his breath, crouching low to the ground. He stayed planted in the same position for a few moments, realizing that there didn't seem to be movement, only groans. Masaru reached back into his bag to pull out his crowbar and warily advanced into the next room where the cell was. To his amazement, a fat bloater stood behind the bars, it's spore-ridden back facing the direction of Masaru. In the same direction as the being sat a gallon tub of water, about halfway filled. A decapitated figure lay slumped against the far wall, painting the cement a hue that almost appeared black.


In that moment, Masaru knew that his impulse would get the better of him, but he couldn't stop himself just yet; water was priceless.


So, like an idiot, he ran at full speed to get the damn thing.


The next moment he whirled around with the jug in hand, only to find that the bloater had yet to notice him. Perhaps he had a little more time on his hands.


Masaru lowered himself to the ground and crawled behind the adjacent desk, carefully looking around for something, anything else, and it seemed like luck was on his side. A jumbo bag of chips lay unopened in front of him, and without hesitation he slipped them into his pack. Now, it was time for the escape.


Masaru carefully turned around on his haunches, and as he stood to pick up the water jug, a loud thud sounded behind him as a stack of binders fell to the ground.


"Stupid fucking backpack," he thought, his head whipping around to face one ugly bloater.


It had seemed as though Masaru overstayed his welcome.


In one swift movement, the young man lifted the jug and held tightly to his crowbar, gunning it to the archway; but the bloater seemed to have plans of its own. The cell door burst open as the looming brute crashed into the bars, it's strong body destroying the already tampered with lock. Lucky for Masaru, the bugger was a lot slower, so he was able to slip out the door in record speed, without being infected by its deadly toxins.


Once Masaru made it out the building, he kept running, for he didn't know what other things would be approaching at this time. The sun hadn't started setting quite yet, but he'd need to find somewhere to go soon.


Roughly twenty minutes later he reached a neighborhood that had large fancy houses, all double story and once prim.
The young male made his way in, cutting through the long grass to get to the other side of the neighborhood, but suddenly stopped when the small figure of a girl caught his attention. For a moment, visions of Mitsu popped into his head, the last living woman he'd seen since he'd been back in Japan. Did his eyes deceive him? Was she a survivor? As he began his approach, another figure made way into his field of vision-- a young boy, also reminding him of someone he'd met during these three months.


The boy that attempted to help him around two weeks ago... that he'd never admit to missing terribly.


Masaru continued walking toward the two, until the only thing that separated them was a few meters in distance. He tightened his grip around the crowbar, and adjusted the jug handle between his blistered fingers.


"Hello."