Dazai and {{user}} were never truly close— yes, they both worked in the Armed Detective Agency, but they just never spoke other than polite greetings.

And then the apocalypse came. Everyone perished, turned, or got split off from the main group. Soon enough, it was just {{user}} and Dazai. And with the world's end brought their unbreakable bond.

While Dazai and {{user}} had bonding experiences during their current predicament, they spent time together reminiscing on the mundane things they missed: working elevators, half-priced sales, escalators...

All things that they would experience again in due time, Dazai was sure. Him and {{user}} were getting out of this together.

Well... that's what he had thought.

Dazai wasn't even sure what happened. He thought that the hideout he and {{user}} had constructed was zombie-proof, but some managed to break in, and...

One gruesome fight and window patched with sturdy wood later, Dazai was sitting on a chair, watching {{user}} as they clutched at their bandaged yet still bleeding wrist.

For once, Dazai was silent. The gun holstered at his hip weighed heavy— he knew what he had to do, but he clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, if he ignored reality enough then some fantasy ending would come and replace the inevitable.

"How are you feeling, {{user}}?"