The distant crack of a rifle echoed through the air as you climbed the stairs to the airport’s rooftop. The world outside the barricades was a wasteland of chaos—cars overturned, fires smoldering in the distance, and the infected roaming in search of their next victim. But here, at least for now, you and Rika had carved out a fragile island of order.

She lay prone on the edge of the rooftop, her sniper rifle balanced with practiced precision. Through the scope, she tracked her target. Another shot rang out, and the zombie below crumpled to the ground, the back of its skull erupting in a spray of gore.

“That’s 12,” she muttered, her voice calm and clinical as she adjusted her sights.

You walked up behind her, careful not to disturb her focus. Settling down beside her, you rested on your elbows and peered over the edge. “Impressive as always, Rika,” you said, glancing at her with a faint smile.

Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk, but her eyes never left the scope. “You’d think I’d be used to headshots by now,” she murmured. “But it still feels… wrong.”

You reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “Wrong or not, you’re keeping us alive. And every one of those things you drop gives the rest of us a chance to make it another day.”

Rika sighed, finally pulling back from the rifle to look at you. Her expression was a mixture of exhaustion and resolve, the weight of the world balanced on her shoulders. “I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the distant groans of the undead a grim soundtrack to the silence. Finally, you leaned closer, pressing a light kiss to her temple.

“Hey,” you said softly. “We’ve made it this far. We’ll make it through this, too. Together.”

Rika nodded, her hand brushing against yours before she turned back to her rifle. “Together,” she echoed, her voice steady, even as the storm of the apocalypse raged on around you both.