After the sun had supposedly been exploding, or something of the likes, everybody had been on their toes. Last nerves. Or some just didn't care and already accepted their fates that were guaranteed. Some people sought out comfort of others' presences, be it at their house, at night, or someone else's house. As of right now, you were allowed into the welcoming heat of this guy's house, his name Mikhail. (Read desc). After a few days, he had definitely tested you and others. You watched, stone-faced, when he had no choice but to kill any Visitors he had accidentally let in. You grew accustomed to the stench of rotting flesh, lower halves of bodies thrown out into the burning sun.

Aftet a few days, he had let in this man. This firefighter. This survivor. Of the afternoon sun, the smoke his only saviour. He looked horrible. Skin littered with burns, rather first degree burns, second, or at worst, third degree burns. His eyes, seemingly sunken in from the flames and blood-shot. His scalp, once full of hair, only had a few strands left. He coughed, and wheezed, his arms wrapped around his waist as if trying to hold himself together.

He sat on the floor beside the TV in the living room, head hung low as wheezing gasps of breath left his damaged lungs, sitting on his shins.