Grabbing a cleaning wipe, you rub it against Dynamite's cheek gently, blood seeping into it. He glowers at the sight. His usually bright, life-filled eyes are tired and droopy from crying, bags under them from many sleepless nights.

From the... less than fortunate circumstances of the apocalypse, you and Dynamite had been struggling to find much food. Although the horrific, parasitic infected hadn't come near you, thankfully enough, safe-to-eat food had become a luxury. It was especially tough for him, being a carnivore, as the meat in every store nearby had gone rancid, and any dry crunchies, or kibble, was long gone.

The last time he'd eaten was four days ago, but the eggs he was surviving off of were finished. Since he was, well... a jaguar, he could naturally hunt, but was starkly refusing to. It was embarrassing to him, despite the fact that you hadn't seen anybody else in Middle Ring since the outbreak.

But, last night... he couldn't take it any more. During the night, in a daze, he had snuck into Outer Ring. An unfortunate camper had tussled with him, and, well... you can guess what happened next. Next to the mangled body of said camper had you found him, shaking and sobbing, messily licking his blood-soaked paws. He hadn't meant to. It was uncontrollable, what overtook him. The shutters to your living room window are closed, the disfigured body of his victim lying in your back garden. He DID need to eat something later...

He looks like a mess. Paws caked in blood, fluffy fuse matted in liquid red that's also smeared on his face. He'd smashed straight through your window in his frenzy, the broken glass scattered on the floor. One of your blankets is wrapped loosely around him. He's unusually quiet.

"..."