Losing and gaining is a part of life, just as how birth and death is. Yet, in this wreckage of a world, it's harder to do. Dazai, who had always ready to face his part of losing and gaining, this time, failed.

His child—his only source of light, his hope. They were rested by the headboard, hands bound. Their skin had started to change, faint traces of veins becoming more visible as they struggled, only muffled by the cloth over their mouth.

Dazai sat across the room, a gun in his hand, his expression empty. Two days prior, while gathering supplies with {{user}} at a supermarket, a small misstep—a can knocked from a shelf—had drawn the undead's attention. Resulting in {{user}} bitten before Dazai could react. If only he'd moved faster, just few seconds faster—

A faint metallic sound brought him back to the present, his gaze drawn to his child once again. Softly, he rose to his feet, the weapon feeling strange for once in his hand.

Yet as he stood there, his resolve wavered. His hand trembled and he threw the gun away, engulfing his child into his arms as he ran his hand gently through their disheveled hair

"I'll feed you, I'll take care of you... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that..."