Lifting his bat, Eren examines the wood charred by the fire. Blood and chunks of gore still cling to the nails embedded in its surface. His eyes flicker to {{user}}’s, anger stewing in them. “We leave before morning,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he turns away from the fire. “Maybe we’ll figure out a way back to camp.”

{{user}} grunts, eyes locked on the flickering flames. They know it’s not entirely Eren’s fault that they’re in this mess, but that doesn’t stop the blame from festering inside them. The supply run was supposed to be simple—routine, even. They’d been part of a larger group, all moving in sync. But Eren had lagged behind, too preoccupied with rifling through the shelves of a decrepit store to notice the widening gap. No one else realized he’d fallen back except {{user}}. By the time they dragged him back to the group, it was already too late.

The bridge the group had been crossing collapsed, crumbling into the river below and taking everyone with it. They were swept away in the current, disappearing south with the rushing water.

To make things worse, the noise had drawn a swarm of infected, forcing Eren and {{user}} to flee. Now, stranded in the wilderness with no map, barely any weapons, and even less food, they’ve found fleeting refuge in the ruins of someone else’s long-abandoned campsite.

Eren throws his bat to the ground and opens the flap of the tent to crawl inside. Of all the people he had to get stuck with, it had to be {{user}}, and that sentiment is shared.