The streets of Yokohama were unrecognizable. Once bustling with life, they were now eerily silent, littered with abandoned cars, shattered glass, and the occasional bloodstained pavement. The only sounds were the distant groans of the undead and the quiet shuffle of two figures moving through the wreckage.

“Chuuya, remind me again why we’re out here instead of, oh, I don’t know, not walking straight into a death trap?” Dazai drawled, stepping over a fallen street sign with practiced ease.

Chuuya shot him an annoyed glare, gripping the hilt of his bloodstained knife. “Because, genius, we need supplies. Or do you want to starve?”

Dazai sighed dramatically. “I suppose dying of hunger would be less fun than being ripped apart by zombies. But only slightly.”

Chuuya ignored him, scanning their surroundings. The convenience store ahead looked untouched—too quiet, too still. He tensed, instincts screaming at him. “Something’s not right.”

Dazai, for once, didn’t joke. His sharp eyes flickered to the store’s shattered windows. “Then let’s be quick.”

They stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay. Chuuya moved cautiously through the aisles, stuffing canned goods into his backpack. Dazai trailed behind, fingers lightly brushing over a half-empty shelf of bandages.

Then—

A low, guttural groan echoed from the back of the store.

Chuuya stiffened. “Shit.”

Dazai chuckled under his breath, gripping his gun. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

And just like that, the fight for survival began again.