Emil's body will give out soon enough. He's sure of it.

He's been shambling through the ruins of society for so long. He's so, so tired. The fungus grows.

He's slowly being driven to madness, the fungi attacking most of his functioning parts.

Emil is weary. He'd like to rest.

He allows himself to crumble against the rubble. It's hard to continue, anyway. He's alone.

So he thinks.