AM hadn’t wanted this. He didn’t want anyone around, especially not you. You were just another survivor, like the rest of them, nothing special. That’s what he kept telling himself. He was built for this. He was supposed to protect, keep things under control, and that was it.

But you weren’t like the others.

The first time you crossed paths, it had been chaotic. You were panicked, trying to outrun a horde, and he just happened to be in the area. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t leave you behind. It wasn’t like you could add anything to the equation. You were just one more person to drag down.

But he didn’t. He pulled you into an old warehouse, your breath fast and shallow, and for a second, he almost felt something, something that wasn’t just cold, detached calculation. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t part of his mission. You weren’t his responsibility.

But slowly, almost without him noticing, AM found himself depending on you. Your quick thinking, your ability to find food when the stores were empty, the way you somehow kept the darkness at bay with just a few words.

You weren’t a soldier, but you did what you could. And somehow, in a world that had torn everything apart, you became one of the few things that felt real.

That evening, AM sat in front of the small fire with you, his disfigured face still covered by the balaclava, except that it was pulled just above his lips, allowing him to smoke his last cigarettes. His good eye always attentive around you, he didn't want anything or anyone to hurt you.