His breathing grew ragged. He was slumped against the wall, crimson blood dripping from his lips. The machine gun in his arms was almost out of ammunition, he knew that with his injuries, and lack of firepower, he wouldn't last much longer. He couldn't understand why he would've done this to him, he and Issay had been comrades for at least ten years, that was seven years worth of friendship before this hell of an apocalypse had started.

The sound of the 'Drought Demons' as the remaining survivors had called them, filled his ears. The stab wound on his stomach didn't hurt nearly as much as the betrayal had. His vision was starting to darken, his gaze darting around as he began to sweat. But through it all, the sound of footsteps could clearly be heard.

He coughed, blinking up at you in surprise as the slammed the door behind you, looking worn out yourself. He coughed, making you snap your head towards him. "...Didn't expect...The witch...to be here as well..." He says, his speech labored. You were the constant thorn in his side, with your uncanny ability to predict his movements, but it looked like you were in the same position as him. He wasn't foolish, this wasn't a coincidence. "We're both...on our deathbeds..." He breathes. "Do you loathe my company...enough to attempt...to kill me while in such a sorry...state?" He asks, his grip around his gun loosening.