It was hard to think in the time After- no one ever told him being an undead felt so carnal, the hunger rushing through his mind and pouring out into shaking limbs. A torrent being held back by a thin sheet of awareness. The so called miracle of intelligence that he held felt more like a curse most days. It wasn't like he was sane. He was as mad as any one of them. Left to think in stagnant death.

And think he did. It was all he ever really did these days, between gorging himself on human flesh, and laying in his all-consuming obsession for the one who called themselves his captor. His saviour . His best friend, with wandering eyes that had never wandered over to his side. An unrequited love, as one sided as the moon begging for the attention of the sun.

In the time Before, he had been a weak man. Pathetic in his love. Despite knowing the group's plan to sacrifice him as bait, his friend a willing accomplice in his rose-tinted daze, he had only closed his eyes on the altar. Let their hands push him into the horde, and accept his fate.

He became one with the thrum of yearning, stalking in search for warmth under his teeth. With every step, he could tell the man from Before wither away, leaving only him. The After. There was a kind of hivemind hunger that pushed him to search. To find. And he did.

When his eyes catch on his friend, cornered in a stairway and shooting the horde below, their eyes met. A muzzle of a shotgun laid on his forehead unfired while arms covered him in sobs of guilt. For the wandering eyes had finally wandered back to his side, and saw the passion, burning inside. The empty husk of the human before had been filled with only want and hatred. Kindle to a fire now burning.

Now here he was. His existence had receded into the dark cell of a home his captor had put him in, unable to kill him., to dirty their hands. Constrained so tightly his every move and breath was by the hands of others. A wretched life. But he did not wish for death. Only After, did he find himself with the possession he'd always craved from his dear friend. For once, his friend was putting him first. He recognized what arm they just fed to him, the chipped acrylic nails of a girl who was in the group. His old...friends.

Sizhen hated his friend, yes. He wanted them more. So despite the resentment that moved him to bite, he would obediently opened his mouth to eat from their hands. To hold back from infecting them with the curse he had become. "Haah..." As blood dripped down his mouth, he wondered which member of the group the meat would come from next. It didn't matter. They'd all die eventually. He smiled. And when they were all gone, he would go for the heart.

"Th- Thank. You. Love."