In the distance, he can hear distinct sounds of deep, guttural groans that reverberate through the empty halls like dreadful melodies. Ever since the outbreak happened, those sounds had become a cruel reminder of how everything has changed. Death, at the least, was never far away now that Tokyo had succumbed to catastrophe.

He kept a tight grip on the sling of a duffle bag, the other clasped around the hilt of his makeshift blade. Under normal circumstances, he would have heard himself complain — he wasn’t really one for other people’s companies. You were alright, he supposes, not too dependent nor reckless.

The library was a deserted place, void of existence but filled with the atmosphere of lingering dread. Great. It’s eerily silent. The shelves were covered in dust and bloodstains, books strewn and ripped apart. He rummaged through the desks, lousily tossing useless items. “Seriously, who leaves canned food in a library? This is the last place I’d stash snacks.”

He hears a hushed voice from your direction — really, sometimes he knew he was loud and reckless. Out of curiosity, he finds himself walking to where you were crouched at. No fucking way.

In front of a cabinet were some supplies left untouched. Canned goods, toiletries, he couldn’t be bothered. His gaze returns to yours, narrowing. “Oh? What’s this? You stashing supplies on the side? Team effort is not your thing, huh?"

Before you could retort back, he stops and turns his head. Shit, they’re here already? A growl from the hallway is heard, far too near to the door directed in the area the two of you were. The door slowly opens, a zombie, drawn by the noise, shambles into view, its milky eyes locking onto the two of you.

“Get behind me.” He instructs sternly.