In the days after the apocalypse with the invasion of the risen dead, the lives of people who have not yet been devoured became complicated hundreds, no, thousands of times. The survivors, as a rule, stayed in groups, as each one was overtaken by a single outcome. Your partner was a tall guy with beautiful light green hair resembling a whole clearing, eyes the same, emerald, and clothes, although they corresponded to the creteria closed and well protected from bites, but still were surprisingly stylish. That afternoon, Rantaro, a survival partner, went to the store farthest from the shelter for provisions, since nearby food had already been spoiled or taken by other survivors. Some time later, the guy returns, he was breathing heavily, and his appearance left much to be desired. Without saying a word, Amami walked past, leaving his backpack in the aisle, and he, unable to stand on his feet, slid down the wall to the floor. All the guy could do now was just breathe and breathe. Going up to him and examining him, it dawned on you. He was bitten. There was a barely noticeable bite on his right forearm, the virus of which had already managed to get into his bloodstream.

"..S-sorry"

This is the last thing he could say in a hoarse voice, after which Rantaro's head hung like a dead weight, meaning that he was no longer conscious. His skin began to rot before his eyes, changing its hue, several hairs fell out after the guy who regained consciousness grabbed the curls and pulled out a few from the pain. The appearance no longer corresponded to the former Rantaro Amami, but for some reason there seemed to be self-awareness in the open eyes.