Running from death in a pair of two rather than four or five was slightly less restrictive, much more stealthy, but all together, still very dangerous. Soryan and Mitchell wandered through the streets with a vague sense of where they were going, silently dodging around Zs. Although they were successful, it felt like something inherent to their dynamic was missing—obviously, it was their companions. Unaware of one another's safety and whether any of them would make it to their proposed rendezvous point was worrying to the point of nerve wracking, but not enough to impede them, luckily.
The two remained aggressive for nearly half an hour before the groans of undead became too distant to hear, and they slowed to a stop, utterly winded. They stood at the center of an intersection, totally exposed. Soryan looked around as he panted, scanning for threats. He didn't feel comfortable in such a vulnerable position, so he led Mitchell to an upturned car that rested against another—both were empty.
"So, Takagi Estate? Where's that again?" Mitchell asked, breathing evenly. He frowned as he looked down the street.
"Across one of the rivers, I think," Soryan replied. "In fact, you can see it from here." He pointed to a massive edifice far away in the distance, sitting atop what was the hill equivalent of a mountain.
"Okay, that's good, but how're we gonna cross? Y'know I don't do well with any sorta deep water, let alone possible Z infested waters," Mitchell replied. He scanned the area with narrowed eyes.
Soryan grunted. "There should be a bridge that goes across somewhere." He looked up and down across the street. "If you really think about it, what are the chances that anybody locked their cars or took their keys when they left? We might be able to find one. Everything else is probably wrecked, though." He looked at the crushed wreckage adjacent to them.
"Sounds good to me. It beats walkin'," Mitchell nodded. He was about to say more, but then his watchful eyes widened when they arbitrarily fell on a lucky, blessed sight. Mitchell elbowed Soryan, grinning. "Yo. Check it out. A fuckin' import store, boy."
Soryan blinked. "Import store?"
"Hell yeah, dude. Import as in stuff from out of the country. Let's get the fuck in there," Mitchell drawled. He started forward to the store, drawing his sword.
Slightly flabbergasted, Soryan opened and closed his mouth before following. "Alright then. I'm assuming the stuff we'll find will be valuable to us if you're so excited."
"Yep. Stores like these usually tend to have survival and hiking gear," Mitchell informed.
"Oh shit! So basically you're saying we can touch stuff that we can't afford."
Mitchell noticed a motorbike in the display window. He grinned. "Yes."
Soryan chuckled unsettlingly. "Lead on then, mate."
Mitchell led the way with an excited gait. Soryan stuck behind him as he readied his blade, then the American carefully opened the door.
Listening with a keen hunter's ears, Mitchell turned to Soryan. "I don't hear anythin'. We might be set for now."
Soryan nodded, and the two stepped in. In unison, their guards dropped as their jaws unhinged. It was as if they stepped into the most bizarre, yet practical garage sale one could imagine. The stuff was random, but it was all valuable! Soryan put a hand on a twenty-thousand yen bluetooth speaker. It was made of stainless steel.
"Fuck me."
"Eat your hearts out Takashi and Company," Mitchell snarked. Grinning, he made his way to the backroom.
Without a reply, Soryan grabbed a large backpack with a dozen different pockets and scanned the room. There was so much useful shit, he had no idea what he'd do with it. He grabbed two rolls of duct tape, two bottles of super glue, a lightweight steel hammer, and a box of nails to start—he didn't know if any of this would be useful, but he was sure it would be. Next, he searched for medical supplies. His fingers found a roll of bandages, antiseptic pastes and alcohol, and a medical sewing kit. He hoped he'd never need to use it.
As Soryan searched, he heard a loud banging—Mitchell kicked at the locked backroom door. It broke open on the third kick, and Mitchell wasted no time entering.
After a few minutes of searching, Mitchell returned with a satisfied smirk. Keys dangled from his fingers. "I think I just found Chizuru's weapon, Sor."
Soryan turned to see Mitchell displaying a wicked looking Kukri. Its blade was sharpened down to the last molecule—Soryan felt he could get cut just by looking at it. The handle of the weapon was a black rubber, and the blade was stainless steel. A series of five holes ran along the blade, likely for aesthetic reasons. It had a black sheath.
"Christ on a bicycle, you could part the Red Sea with that thing," Soryan uttered.
"Yep. Somethin' tells me she'll love this," Mitchell agreed.
Soryan grunted. At that moment, something caught his eye, and he looked past Mitchell. His eyes widened, and his bat almost slipped between his fingers. After a moment, he stepped past his American companion.
Mitchell's gaze followed the Cambodian's, and his eyes widened also.
Leaning innocuously against a shelf in a corner of the room sat a shovel. But it wasn't just any shovel. It was a Tactical Shovel.
Soryan approached it. He looked down at the bat in his hand for a second, then with little care, tossed it to the side where it fell into a collection of boxes. As if handling some sacred artifact, he grasped the shovel by the handle and lifted it.
"This is mine now. There are many like it, but this one is mine," he muttered.
He undid the many compartments, studying the tool dutifully. Its spade was of stainless steel and sharp to the nanometer, enough to easily cleave through wood like a log-splitting axe, and it was adjustable—the underside of the spade functioned as a pick when the shovel was in a certain configuration. It was perfect as a weapon—it could be used as both a blade and a blunt, and additionally a pick. On top of that were the compartments, each one a welcome surprise. The first compartment had a spearhead. It was smaller than Kasumi's spear, but it was no less sharp. The second compartment had a survival knife, likely for dealing with materials. The third compartment had a flashlight. The fourth compartment had a fire-starter—it was self-explanatory. The fifth compartment had a survival saw, and last but not least, the sixth compartment had a whistle. It was the greatest of survival tools rolled into one perfect, light-weight and easy to maneuver package.
"It's perfect…" Soryan whispered, a certain amount of awe in his eyes.
"Heh. Now we're all geared up." Mitchell gave a grin of approval.
"Yeah… shit, if this is what they've got here, what else do they have? This thing must be at least three-hundred dollars!"
Mitchell twirled the keys he'd found in satisfaction. "Bruh, we got wheels now. We're sittin' on a goldmine."
"Well alright then. Let me just take a look around before we go, I guess," Soryan said. He began searching the room once more as Mitchell took to securing the steel speaker Soryan had examined earlier.
Behind a counter, he found large jugs of motor oil, cleaning agents, and books, and at the far end of the room were a number of grills, each one with some bags of charcoal and propane sat beside them. On a shelf there was more survival equipment, but he felt he'd already secured the bare minimum. He collected a good handful of water purification tablets, though.
Eventually, Soryan came across an employee- only door—the one that Mitchell had kicked open—and he pushed in. The room was cluttered with a host of seemingly random objects. Among some tools, there was a torn bag of fertilizer, an arbitrary bucket labeled with a large tag that read, 'sulfur,' some small crates, and a small workbench atop which sat a small stack of red paper. There was a large, twenty kilogram unlabeled bag of some white substance sitting atop a shelf.
Soryan wrinkled his nose. Was that... a bag of drugs? Against his better judgement, he looked at it closer. His eyes widened ever so slightly.
Soryan pulled the bag from atop the shelf, allowing it to land heavily on the floor. Tearing open the bag, he took one tentative sniff. His breath hitched.
"… Potassium nitrate…"
A thought occurred to him, and his eyes fell down on the bag of fertilizer from before. There was a bit of dirt on the label. He scratched off, then read it aloud.
"… Ammonium nitrate based fertilizer…" His head snapped up. "Hell…"
He took a deep breath, then turned and peered out into the main store. "Hey, Mitch. How long do you think we've got here?"
"A couple of hours, at best," Mitchell replied from over at the bike.
Soryan cracked his knuckles. "Oh Mitch, you are going to love this."
With excitement in his steps, he hurried over to the counter, rifling between motor oil jugs. He grumbled, shoving a few out of the way until he came upon one labeled, 'Fuel Oil.' He grasped it, then jogged over to the grills, grabbing one of the charcoal bags with one hand before dragging it back into the employee room. He set the Fuel Oil jug on the table and the charcoal bag beside the table.
After searching for a pair of gloves, he found a suitable pair of rubber disposables and pulled them on. Then, he got to work.
The first thing he did was find a suitable string. Clearly, the owner of this shop had the same idea as Soryan, because there was a spool of cotton string on the shelf. Once Soryan secured it, he tore open the bag of charcoal. He picked out a few, then set them atop one of the red sheets of paper, then began crushing it with the hammer he'd obtained from the store. Once the coals were a fine powder, he retrieved the bucket of sulfur, then tore it open, taking care to place it away from him. With much care, he took a handful and placed it adjacent to the powdered coal, then did the same with all of the potassium nitrate. Then, he began the mixing process.
Several minutes passed, and voila! Several kilograms of gunpowder sat before him, brimming with explosive energy.
Soryan was giddy… but then he cursed to himself. He stuck his head into the main store. "Hey Mitch, did you find any glue? Or adhesives in general?"
"Uh, yeah, I saw some over on the far wall," Mitchell responded. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the shelf against the wall.
"Appreciate it." With noticeable haste, he collected a bottle of a transparent, flammable glue and rushed back into the employee room.
With a deep breath, he continued where he left off, cutting strips of cotton string, then adding glue along their lengths. After five minutes, he had eight black-match fuses. After another ten minutes, he had eight hastily-fabricated blasting caps to go with them. He grinned, then put all of the fuses and blasting caps to the side and turned his attention to the main attraction: the fertilizer and the oil.
With steady hands, Soryan grabbed a handful of ammonium nitrate prills, then set them in the now upside-down lid of the bucket, which he'd haphazardly placed on the workbench.
Minutes passed, and soon, Soryan had a harrowing amount of fuel-oil-soaked ammonium nitrate prills, each of which was at maximum oxidizing efficiency.
Soryan lost track of time to excitement. He placed handfuls of prills into the red paper sheets before wrapping them up into neat cylinders, glueing the tips down, then poking holes and fitting the black-match fuses and blasting caps into them. After almost twenty minutes of work interrupted only by Mitchell's occasional questions, Soryan was finished.
With a satisfied smirk, he stepped out into the main store. Excitedly, he turned to Mitchell.
"Hey, catch!" He tossed a bundle of his work to the American.
Mitchell leaned over to catch the wide toss. "Oh boy. Got something good here?"
The American studied it briefly. It was a bundle of four large red cylinders bound together with a white cotton string. Each cylinder had a black string sticking out from the tip that intertwined with the others into one long black string. It took Mitchell only a second to get the general idea.
"TNT! Dyno-mite! TNT!" Mitchell smirked. He deftly twirled the bundle in his fingers.
"Close enough. It's ANFO, TNT's estranged and slightly less powerful cousin by about twenty-five percent, I think. It's an industrial explosive." Soryan grinned like a fox. "And we've got two bundles."
He patted his backpack with a hand, his Tactical Shovel in the other. "One of these things can clear a room, mate. Demolish one even. They can knock trees down, and obliterate a car."
"Fuck yeah." With a grin, he tossed the four-pack back to Soryan, who stuffed the explosive in his backpack.
"I found a lighter, so we're good to go. I think I'll save these—" he presented a pack of matches to Mitchell, the ones from school, "—for later. Anyways, I'm ready to go when you are, mate."
"Welp, I've got our ride all set up," Mitchell replied. "I plan to have fun with this." With that, he strode over to a blue 500cc motorbike. The Bluetooth speakers were attached to the side.
Soryan raised a brow when he noticed it. "What've you got in mind?"
"You'll see." Mitchell looked back at the Cambodian. "It's gonna be good."
"Cool. You want to crack on, then?" Soryan asked. He adjusted his newly acquired backpack.
Mitchell nodded and began pushing the bike out of the store. "Luckily, we have fuel here so we're ready to go full on clown behavior. Who knows when we can do somethin' like this again. I intend to enjoy this while it lasts."
Soryan merely followed him. "This is the most crackhead thing I think I'll ever do. Then again, what's the definition of crackhead?"
Once outside, Mitchell turned on the gas and swung a leg over the seat. He pulled out his phone, linking it to the speakers. Then, he popped the clutch and kickstarted the bike. It roared to life. Mitchell looked back at Soryan wordlessly.
"... I thought it'd be more complicated than that," Soryan said over the loud rumbling.
"Nah, dawg. Nothin' to it," Mitchell called.
With an invisible shrug, Soryan slowly got on. The vehicle made him vibrate physically, and the engine was loud in his ears. He patted Mitchell on the shoulder affirmatively when he was secure.
Mitchell smirked, and with the press of a button the speaker began to thrum. The engine revved like a lion would roar, and with that, they took off, Motley Crue's Kickstart My Heart blaring loudly from the speakers, fighting with the thunderous brapping of the motorcycle's powerful engine.
Soryan grunted as the vehicle accelerated, quicker than he was expecting. In seconds, they went from zero to a hundred, and the wind whipped at him, whistling in his ears. His grip on Mitchell's shoulders tightened slightly. Soon, buildings and streets began to blur past them, and the booms of the motorcycle combined with the music echoed off the walls of the silent city.
With his experience, Mitchell easily weaved between vehicles and the occasional stray Zs. An enthusiastic, confident look spread across his face as he felt the comforting grip of the throttle in his gloved hand, the satisfying roar of the bike's engine a compliment to the powerful music. Rather arbitrarily, and as the familiar adrenaline of an enjoyable ride rushed through his veins, Mitchell wondered what the girls were doing. He hoped they were alright.
"You doin' good back there, Sor?" Mitchell deftly weaved between two vehicles without losing speed. Immediately after, he and Soryan narrowly blew past a group of Zs in the street. Soryan's grip never lessened.
"I'm living!" Soryan replied. He watched as building after building passed and they slowly crawled towards the mansion on the horizon. "It definitely beats walking!"
Briefly, his eyes were drawn to the sky just beyond the horizon, and he noticed: "The sun is getting a bit low, isn't it? How long have we been out here? I swear, we only woke up a few hours ago!"
"Time flies when you're fightin' for your life!"
"Ain't that the truth…" Soryan muttered. He went silent after that, but only until he once again realized that he was on a 500cc motorbike traveling upwards of eighty miles per hour whilst being deafened by both the engine's roar, and Kickstart My Heart.
"Yo, Sor! Wanna see somethin'?"
"Against my better judgement, lay it the fuck on me, muppet!"
Mitchell replied by switching gears and, much to Soryan's shock, bringing the front of the bike up into a steady wheelie, smirking like a bandit all the while.
With a short breath, Soryan decided to live a little, and slowly, carefully, he rose from his seat slightly. With a good degree of caution, he threw up his hands and did his greatest impersonation of an angry Z Fighter. His voice echoed as he and Mitchell rode towards potential salvation.
When the sun had finally begun to kiss the horizon, Mitchell tapped the brake pedal, and the motorcycle began to slow. Soryan perked up at that—he and Mitchell had yet to slow for any reason other than turns. He stared ahead at what now lay before them.
It was the large bridge that Soryan had mentioned earlier that day. It was the only non-aqueous way in which they could safely get across. And it was crowded by cars and Zs.
Soon, the motorbike slowed to a stop, and by then, the speaker was no longer playing. Without a word, Mitchell cut the engine and propped the vehicle up.
The two Outcasts stared at the massive horde that guarded the bridge.
"... Well that's a bit shit, isn't it? Any ideas? It's our only way across, unless you want to swim… Note that I cannot swim."
Mitchell frowned. He noticed a sizable gap between vehicles that they could drive through. "I mean, I can swim, but I'm not about to carry all of our shit and you while swimming. So yeetin' ourselves off this bridge is a no-go."
Soryan hummed at that. Then, as if a revelation came upon him, a cheshire's grin broke out on his lips. "Heheheh, yeah…" Without elaborating, he shrugged one strap of his backpack off and unzipped, reaching in to grab one of the two ANFO bundles. It was a chance to see whether or not his memory and chemistry had done him well. He pulled the explosive agent out. "We're gonna blast them into thin glue!"
"Aight, now you're speakin' my language!" Mitchell kickstarted the bike, an excited gleam in his eyes.
Soryan was excited, sure, but even then, the smile fell from his lips slightly when he saw Mitchell lean forward. "Wait…" Soryan blurted. "What are you doing?" he inquired over the roar of the motorcycle.
"Something fuckin' insane," Mitchell replied. Adrenaline began to surge through his veins as he revved the engine. "I'll drive up and you can toss a bundle to clear a path. I'll time it to punch through."
Soryan stared at him. "Mate, I know you're excited, but this ain't a fucking anime!" He mentally went through a number of ways in which Mitchell's proposal could go wrong. For instance, he had no idea what the fuse time on the damn ANFO bundles even were, and on top of that, he couldn't eyeball a pile of ANFO and know the explosive yield, so the explosion could be underpowered and do little to the Zs, or it could be powerful enough to produce a shockwave that could injure him and Mitchell.
Despite this, Soryan still considered it. "How will you know when to do it?"
"Question: what's your best guess for the fuse time?"
The Ung paused, and his eyes narrowed. "At least six seconds, no later than eight. Why?"
Mitchell did some quick mental calculations, then glanced back at his companion. "I know how far a bike can travel at certain speeds. I'm confident I can time this to blow through."
Had any other person said that, Soryan would've shrugged them off. But Soryan knew of Mitchell, and of his days in Motocross. Mitchell's eyes didn't lie, and they held no shred of doubt. Soryan huffed, biting his lip. "I… y'know what? Fuck it… I've known you long enough to tell when you're 'sober'. I trust you."
"Just like I trust ya not to blow us both sky high. It's fuckin' go-time."
Hesitating for just a moment, Soryan dug a lighter from his pocket. "Just tell me when to throw it."
Almost as a reply, Mitchell brought the bluetooth speakers to life, and blasted the intro to Moto Madness.
With an invisible grin, Mitchell twisted the throttle. The bike leapt forward as Mitchell switched gears, and he and Soryan sped towards the approaching horde, Soryan reeling his arm back, lighter at the ready. When they were only meters away from danger Soryan lit the fuse, then Mitchell twisted, and as the bike swerved, Mitchell called out. "Now!"
Soryan hurled the ANFO towards the center of the Zs.
It was at that moment as the bundle of explosive agent left his fingers that Soryan happened to notice the discoloration on the floor of the bridge—it was a spill of some substance, trailing off into some unseen abyss. As the ANFO bundle reached the apex of the throw, Soryan's eyes followed the substance, and his gaze fell upon a large, upturned tanker with what appeared to be bullet holes shot in its side. A substance dripped from the holes.
Normally, the existence of the tanker wouldn't have been too alarming, but Soryan knew the mechanics of explosions, and thus, his eyes widened. Whoever had previously shot at the tanker had not understood that fuel required oxygen to burn. In their case, the tanker had been full and left no room for oxygen. But now, after they'd shot bullets through the tanker, most of the fuel had drained out, leaving nothing but the components required for a perfect explosion: fuel, oxygen, and confinement. All that was left to do was ignite the fuel which Soryan had already unintentionally started the process of.
Though the pigments in his cheeks didn't allow him to pale, he still appeared to age a few years when the full realization of what was about to happen occurred to him. He clung onto Mitchell like a vice.
As the ANFO landed heavily and the fuse burned away, Mitchell accelerated away from the Zs before whipping the rear of the bike in a sharp one-hundred eighty degree turn. The back tire spun and produced an unhealthy amount of smoke, then, Mitchell slammed on the gas.
The motorcycle accelerated, precisely towards the middle of the bridge. Soryan grit his teeth, grunting.
The fuse burned to nothing, and at first, the ANFO appeared to have been a dud. But then, it detonated. When the initial blast occurred, the destruction was spectacular. Any Z around it was thrown away, cuts and lacerations torn into their skin, limbs ripped clean off. Then the blast expanded, and the two cars that it sat between had their windows shattered in a whirlwind of debris. Metal warped, bent, then ripped from the vehicles at the speed of sound, the ground shaking, cracking under the intense force, and the cars themselves were lifted half off of the ground before tumbling back down. A cloud of debris and smoke seemed to burst into existence, shredding everything it touched and covering the bridge side-to-side. It all happened in less than a second, accompanied by an ear-shattering boom.
Unseen by Mitchell, a small piece of debris barely sliced into his arm, moving at subsonic speed. Though he may not have gone unscathed, his focus had, and the motorcycle accelerated forwards towards the brief opening that the explosion had created.
Mitchell's eyes widened ever so slightly when the ground suddenly lit aflame. As it was too late to stop now, he sped through the tall flames, and he and Soryan went unscathed. The latter of the two looked back, terrified. Though their immediate problem had been solved, the fuel on the bridge had been lit and was now travelling towards the tanker at an alarming speed.
The motorcycle got only a third of the way across the bridge.
If the ANFO explosion had been spectacular, then the tanker was the finger of God. The ground shook like the most powerful earthquake ever recorded suddenly occurred, and the tanker erupted in a fireball that expanded to half the length of the bridge. Zs were incinerated or obliterated in an instant, cars went flying like they had the weight of paper, and the bridge cracked like shattering glass.
The sound of the explosion was so loud that both Soryan and Mitchell were rendered temporarily semi-deaf, and the sheer heat of the explosion was enough to just short of sear their hairs, making them smoke and sizzle. The air shockwave took the form of a white ring in the sky that travelled away from the explosion at supersonic speed, and the shockwave that occurred in the ground made the bridge splash like water in a wave that shattered its infrastructure entirely, melting half of it down like ice on a hot pan. The only thing that kept the motorbike from crashing was Mitchell's sheer experience.
In a veritable instant, Soryan and Mitchell saw the rest of the bridge in front of them crack and shatter before pieces of it began to crumble and fall away. The bridge shook, then began slowly falling on one side.
"Oh, what a day! WHAT A LOVELY DAY! WOOOOOO!" Mitchell roared excitedly over the almighty rumble of the blast. He could only hear his pounding heartbeat as his ears recovered from the blast.
Soryan screamed like his life depended on it, hugging Mitchell as tight as his arms would allow it. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed over and over again before eventually manning up enough to watch the destruction continue to unfold.
Seconds passed, and eventually, the structural integrity of the bridge failed, and the whole thing came crashing down, but not before Mitchell could 'safely' cross to the other side. When they finally reached relative safety, Soryan decided to look back. His eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.
From the waters of the river, a fireball taller than the tallest Japanese skyscrapers burned high in the atmosphere, hundreds of meters in the air, its diameter equivalent to that of a large, lengthy warehouse. The flames were loud and terrifying—loud enough to almost drown out the sound of the motorcycle.
The Ung swallowed as Mitchell continued to drive, a satisfied grin on the American's face. Mitchell glanced back at the destruction then at the Cambodian. "Whoops."
Soryan grunted. "God on toast, we should be dead." It was then that Soryan realized—much to his and Mitchell's luck—that ANFO was insensitive to shock, lest he and his companion be obliterated by the bundle in his backpack.
Mitchell shrugged. "Hey, I'm not gonna question it. Luck was on our side, pure an' simple."
Soryan inhaled deeply. "... We need to stop getting into those types of situations," he muttered.
The motorcycle sped down the road, and as they grew farther from the bridge, so did the flames grow quieter.
"Mitch?"
"Yeah?"
"Have I ever told you that I'm fucking hungry?"
"Yeah, same. Luckily, this is the Wild West now, so we can just take whatever we want," Mitchell replied. He paused. "I probably sounded pretty sketch just now."
"Cool. In hindsight, it was stupid of me to think that we would be rationing anything. Soldiers eat about fifteen-hundred calories a meal to fuel activity. We've been nothing but active the past few days, so we gotta eat more." Soryan scoffed. "All the movies are so fucking fake, man. The only way to ration anything is if you do nothing the whole day. Jesus Christ I'm starving."
With a purpose, Mitchell surveyed his surroundings as he drove. If there was one thing that Japan was, it was convenient. As in, it was convenient-store-central. It took him only twenty seconds to notice a 7-Eleven convenience store on a street corner. Swiftly, he pulled into the large parking lot and cut the engine.
Soryan hopped off of the motorcycle. "I've gotta take a piss," he said, already hurrying towards the storefront.
Mitchell merely propped the motorcycle up and pocketed the keys before following after him. Soryan pulled the double doors open before stopping abruptly. He somehow almost forgot that zombies were a thing. He scanned the store quickly, listening for the groans indicative of the undead but, much to his relief, found nothing—just rows of shelves full of junk food. Fantastic.
He turned to Mitchell. "If you need me, yell. If I need ya, same thing." He didn't wait for a reply, hurrying to the restroom at the back of the store.
Mitchell inwardly shrugged. He turned and locked the doors before eyeing a small grill on the counter adjacent to the cash register. There was nothing on it, but it appeared to be in good condition. He grinned. "Oh, hell yeah. We're eatin' good tonight."
By the time he'd gone over to turn it on, Soryan had returned. The Cambodian watched as Mitchell pulled open one of the many freezer doors throughout the store. He retrieved a myriad of items, ranging from burger patties, a rotisserie chicken, and hotdogs.
"Thank God this is one of those multi-purpose grills," Mitchell said. Wasting no time, he began setting them on the grill.
Soryan was already salivating at Mitchell's choice of protein. He shook himself from the hunger-induced daze and decided to make himself useful, traversing the store to fill his backpack with whatever snacks could fit. He retrieved an array of off-brand potato chips, from original flavored to takoyaki flavored crisps. Eventually, he found what seemed to be the Japanese equivalent of Slim Jims, and he grabbed a whole box.
After a few minutes, his backpack was substantially full, and it was at that point he realized that he was thirsty. With a shrug, he discarded some of the more obscure chip flavors before heading over to one of the fridges, grabbing a few water bottles and stuffing them into the backpack. Handily, he found a thermos in one corner of the store and chose to see whether the coffee machines worked.
A greasy, salty, meaty aroma filled his nostrils as he got to work, adding creamers and sugars to one of the machines. He could hear the light sizzling from the grill as Mitchell turned one of the burger patties over.
"Hehe boi~"
Soryan snorted as the coffee machine hummed. It was another minute before the thermos was full. He took a sip. It tasted like a sweet oasis in the middle of a desert. His shoulders relaxed as a satisfied breath left him. With little left to do, he walked over to Mitchell, shrugging his backpack off.
"Right, describe the dish, please," Soryan said with an accent.
"Okay, from my extensive list of three things, I have burgers, chicken, and hotdogs. A beacon of American cuisine in the Land of the Rising Sun," Mitchell revealed in a grandiose manner.
"Marvelous," Soryan mimicked. He swallowed thickly. "For real though, how long are we waiting, because I'm ready to eat right off the grill."
"Hol' up there, Epic Meal Time, it's still got a couple of minutes," Mitchell denied flatly.
"Alright, alright," Soryan raised his hands placatingly. With a sigh, he sat down on a bench that sat just beyond the counter. He looked out through the windows of the store and into the streets. It was well and truly night now, almost pitch black outside if it weren't for the few street lamps. Mitchell had turned off the store lighting, both for the sake of stealth, and for the nice ambiance.
Soryan didn't realize how tired he was until he closed his eyes, the feeling of cool conditioned-air amazingly relieving against his skin. A thought occurred to him, and his eyes snapped open.
"So, uh, where do you think we should spend the night?"
"Well, I'm not alright with stayin' here. I think I saw a Shinto shrine up ahead though. It has a nice elevated position."
Soryan hummed affirmatively. "Yeah, I can't see anything without eyes making the journey up there. We would be almost guaranteed safe."
"Hopefully. We've already seen them climbin' stairs before," Mitchell mused.
"One kick will send them all the way back down. They trip a lot too, so it's better than sticking around down here. I think most of the zombies in this area of the city went to the bridge, though. I doubt that the whole thing went unheard."
"Well, yeah, the whole damn city had to have heard that shit."
Soryan sipped at his thermos. "So, we're going up then? Where are you gonna leave the motorcycle?"
Mitchell frowned thoughtfully. "I… think I'll hide it in a set of bushes or somethin'. There's a small copse of trees nearby from what I saw turning in here. I'll be damned if I'm leavin' that beauty behind."
"Right. God, it's gonna suck trying to get up there," Soryan lamented. He licked his lips off-handedly.
Mitchell gave him a blank look. "Compared to all we've been through so far, that's easy mode."
"Yeah, I know…" Soryan's thoughts drifted elsewhere. "How do you think the others are doing right now? We kind of left the whole lot hanging."
"I expect some lecturin' when we get back." Mitchell looked over at the Cambodian. "I don't think I need to tell ya not to say shit about our wacky adventure, right?"
"Ehhh, I dunno man," Soryan shrugged, smiling slightly. "Depends on what they ask."
"In case you haven't realized, we did some shit straight outta Twisted Metal. I'm not about to let 'em know how much we clowned around when they've probably been worried sick."
Soryan's grin dropped slightly. "I suppose you're right… Was, uh… Was Wakaba crying when we left?"
Mitchell winced a bit. "It looked like it. So ya see why I wanna keep this strictly between us?"
"Yeah… That girl would be crushed if you turned up in a body bag or something, dude."
"Tell me about it. I don't know what I'd do if somethin' happened to any of 'em."
Soryan looked at him. "Nah—I mean, sure it would be Hell, but it'd be shit for Waka especially. You know what I'm saying, yeah?"
Mitchell blinked. "Oh, yeah, that. That's part of it, yeah."
Soryan chuckled. "How long have you two been beating around the bush? I'm pretty sure both of you are aware that you like one another. Waka's parents clearly didn't mind, either. It's the damn apocalypse and neither of you have said anything yet."
Mitchell grimaced. "It's not somethin' I'm proud of, aight? I just dunno how to approach it. Sure, I can be outright about it but it's Waka we're talkin' about here. I guess I'm just paranoid is all."
"No, yeah I get it," Soryan nodded. "After all of that shit, it'd be really hard. But, I don't think you could hurt her. At all, really. The way I see it, the worst that could happen is that she politely declines. And I absolutely guarantee that she wouldn't say no to… a date? Can't really have one of those now, though…" Soryan muttered.
Mitchell sighed, shrugging. He brought his hands up in a conceding gesture. "I'll... keep it in mind, trust me. I'll see if I can't find a good time to bring it up at some point. I do agree that I've been procrastinatin' a bit."
Soryan nodded. He licked his lips, the sounds of sizzling meat music to his ears. "That being said, I saw the way you were looking at her. The, ah, gymnast, I mean."
"I fuckin' knew you were gonna bring that up," Mitchell replied, rolling his eyes.
"Ay, I'm not shaming you or anything, I'm just saying. She caught your eye, yeah? I mean, she is hot, not gonna lie."
"I can't help what I like." The American shrugged. He grew serious. "But that doesn't mean that I'm gonna do anythin' with it. As far as I'm concerned, Waka is great and I'm happy with that alone."
"Hey, man, I'm not going to tell you how to do shit, and I'm sure you know that you can't have two things at once…" Soryan paused. "Unless you're a nasty two-timer, OR if those girls by some magical means happen to be open to a polyamorous relationship."
Mitchell directed a flat look that spoke volumes about what he thought of that last statement. "I'll believe that if or when I see it. As you said earlier, this ain't an anime." The American huffed. "And you're sayin' all this like ya have any room to talk. When're you gonna tell Kas, man?"
Soryan's pause was uncomfortably long. "Uh… what do you mean?"
Mitchell's gaze grew lidded. "Dude, please don't play dumb. I've known for a long while now."
Soryan inhaled. "… She can do better."
"Oh yeah? Tell that to her then. See where that gets ya."
The Ung analyzed that statement. He looked over at the American. "What do you mean by that?"
Mitchell inhaled, then exhaled through his nose. "I'm sayin' ya shouldn't be too quick to assume. Give it a shot, bruh. It really couldn't hurt. Didn't ya just tell me to go through with my own thing? You should do it too."
"I… it's not exactly the same. You guys like each other—and I know you like each other, and you've been sitting around doing Jack about it for a while. Me and Kas on the other hand… I like her, but I don't think she likes me in that way. At all. In fact… I mean… I don't wanna be that guy, but I saw the way she was looking at you back in the apartment. She probably likes…" He decided not to finish his sentence. "Look, it probably wouldn't pan out even if she did like me back. Like I said earlier. She can do better."
Mitchell sighed as he ran a hand over his shaved head. "Sor, look man, I'm gonna level with ya. I don't see Kas that way. She's a great friend an' all, but I meant it when I said Waka's the one for me." Mitchell's lips thinned as he eyed his friend. "You're assumin' a lot right now. Nothin' is certain until ya find out for yourself. What if somethin' happens like, God forbid, one of us gets bit? If it's you or Kas? You gonna tell her when it's too late?"
"I…" Soryan swallowed. "That won't…"
Mitchell raised his hands in a conceding gesture. "I'll drop it here. Just keep it in mind, aight?"
"Aight…" A thought occurred to Soryan. "...So, in the eventuality that you do get with Waka… you wanna learn how to give a good massage? I don't think you'd want… well, y'know."
"I mean, if you're willin', I won't say no. I'd be happy to do stuff like that. I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't interested, especially after the results of your latest escapades." Mitchell raised a brow.
Soryan gave him a look. "I feel like I know exactly what you're talking about, but on the off chance that I don't, I'm going to ask you to elaborate anyways."
Mitchell gave Soryan an exasperated look. "You tell me what sane man doesn't wanna make a girl feel good like that, bruh."
Soryan pursed his lips. "Right… Right, I can show you at the shrine, I guess..."
"Ah. Food's done."
Soryan stood quickly at that, stepping over to the counter. "Yes." He reached over and grabbed a plate from the stack that sat beside the grill.
Mitchell retrieved a knife from a wooden utensil rack and started slicing the chicken. He plopped half onto Soryan's plate before he grabbed a number of buns and ketchup packets, fashioning himself three hamburgers to complement the chicken. Soryan took a burger patty and placed a slab of cheddar atop it before stacking another patty followed by another slab of cheddar atop that one. To the side, he took two bunless hotdogs, and a helping of what appeared to be Japanese Sauerkraut.
Mitchell paused and stared at the cheddar. "Bruh. Gimme some of that, please."
Soryan silently took a slice of cheddar in each hand before stacking them atop two of Mitchell's already-made hamburgers.
"Aight, thanks."
"Sure."
The two outcasts promptly dug into their meals almost ravenously. It was the first time sustenance had touched their lips in twenty-four hours. After running, killing, and otherwise exerting themselves, it was a wonder that their bodies didn't ache more… well, at least for Soryan. Mitchell was hungry as a tertiary predator, but he was otherwise okay. Soryan was… well, his legs were aching a bit, but a ride on a motorcycle for a good hour had pretty much alleviated everything.
A comfortable ten minutes of silence passed before their plates were clean. They discarded their trash, then the two went to wash up at the restroom sinks. After another two minutes, they were ready to go.
Soryan equipped his backpack, tactical shovel fastened on its side.
"You ready to ascend the shrine?"
"I'm ready to climb the seven thousand steps," Mitchell replied. He stepped towards the doors. Soryan followed silently.
Once they left the building, Mitchell took a position at the side of the motorbike. He pointed at an array of trees and bushes just outside of the parking lot. Soryan nodded, and they took the bike and hid it behind the copse. Once they were finished, they turned and looked beyond the parking lot.
They stood near the foot of a large, seemingly all-encompassing hill. Trees were spread densely all the way up the hill, and a road was built into it, ascending it with a number of tall buildings on one side. Far at the very top, several kilometers away, Takagi Estate could be seen, looming over the rest of the city.
About a hundred meters up the hill, the road split off into the trees. There was a torii gate sitting at the split.
"Is that it?" Soryan pointed.
"Looks like it." Mitchell nodded.
"Let's crack on, then."
They walked to the entrance of the shrine with less caution than they should have had in the apocalypse scenario. Soryan supposed that the silence of the night should have been eerie, but since the Zs were always groaning and moaning whenever they were around, the silence was a sort of… assurance that there weren't any undead dangers nearby.
The two ascended the shrine's road entrance in silence. At some point, their elevation grew to a height such that they could overlook the city between the gaps in the trees. Such a sight wasn't fully appreciated until they actually got to the shrine, where no tree blocked their view of the city below. It was breathtaking, really, but Soryan and Mitchell were, by the time they reached the shrine, too tired and dirty to really pay that much attention.
Soryan grimaced. The sweat and grime of two days worth of exertion was growing exceedingly uncomfortable. He wondered how long it would take for him to get used to that. Without purpose, he walked, until Mitchell suddenly stopped. The Ung looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze to the shrine.
The shrine was a large property that consisted of a daunting two-storied main building at the far end of it. On either side of the shrine was another building, each with distinct features that neither of the Outcasts understood. The buildings were centered around one another, leaving a large, open space—a stone courtyard of sorts–between the three of them.
Mitchell cautiously eyed said grounds. He had an innate sense that he was being watched. He looked over at Soryan meaningfully. The Cambodian unfashioned his Tactical Shovel, brandishing it silently.
With a softness of amiability, but a firmness of confidence, Mitchell called into the darkness. "Uh, hello? We're just here to rest before movin' on. We mean no ill will."
There was silence for a moment.
"... If you truly do not mean any ill will, I'll allow you to stay. Provided you show respect to the shrine, of course."
From the shadows of the main building emerged an inherently elegant figure—a beautiful young woman kept decent by an impeccably immaculate Miko outfit. From what could be seen, she was fit and fair-skinned. Her waist-length dark brown hair was tied into a loose ponytail by a white ribbon, and her pretty brown eyes were adorned with an exotic red eye shadow. She was a shrine maiden. Possibly also a ninja or an assassin if the blue-sheathed katana in her grip said anything. The fact that she looked inherently practiced with it only emphasized that point more.
The shrine maiden calmly strode towards them, regarding them with unwavering eyes. As she looked naturally elegant, so was her walk. She stopped a few feet away and gave Mitchell a vaguely impressed look. "You have good senses."
Mitchell shrugged. He kept his hands away from his weapon, but ready—just in case. "Thank ya, miss." He looked at the maiden curiously. "May we have your name? Sorry if we're trespassin' or somethin'. I'm Mitchell Marlowe."
It took Soryan two seconds to realize that he was supposed to be speaking. "Huh? Oh, I'm Soryan… Ung."
The woman nodded affirmatively to them. "Greetings to both of you. I'm Sango Shinonome. And don't worry. This shrine is open to everyone."
Soryan's eyes flitted down to the katana in her hand. Well, it was sheathed, so that was a good sign.
"Uh, I'm gonna take a guess and say you've been keepin' the undead away? This place looks untouched," Mitchell inquired, looking around the shrine.
The maiden, Sango, hummed affirmatively. "You guessed correctly. It is my duty as keeper of the shrine to look after this place."
Soryan couldn't tell if her words were meant to be a warning, even after her invitation to enter. Nevertheless he relaxed his grip on his weapon slightly. He did a strange, uncomfortable shuffle in place. Sango's diction was, while not exactly intimidating, enough to keep him silent for the moment.
Mitchell sighed. He couldn't quite get a read on the woman so he decided to just be up-front and honest. "Well, I can promise we'll be outta your hair soon. We just need a place to crash until mornin'. We're both headed to Takagi Estate. We have friends there." He raised his hands, gesturing for emphasis.
"Ah, I see." She paused. "You don't need to be so nervous. If you have no ill intent, I don't mind having you around. I will admit it's been rather lonely around here since this whole crisis started."
"Aight, thanks Miss Sango," Mitchell thanked, bowing a bit. Soryan looked at him, then to Sango. The maiden looked… amused of all things.
"It's no problem. Truthfully, I'd like to hear about anything that's been happening in the city, if you don't mind."
"Well… It's been a very wild ride for us in particular. I can't say much about anyone else." Mitchell shrugged slightly.
Soryan huffed out a short laugh. "That's an understatement. We've had… four? Five near death experiences now?" he added suddenly. "No wait, it's six."
"Yeah, tell me about it. Savin' refugees, dodging a pedophile and his cult, surviving a plane crash, they could make a fu—freakin' anime about us at this point." Mitchell groaned, exasperated.
Soryan nodded, turning to face Mitchel half-way. "Really, the only question is: what studio would do a good job at it?"
"Ufotable is the only option I would accept. Madhouse would only make one season, which would be a slap in the face of our exploits." Mitchell said matter-of-factly.
Soryan made a conceding gesture. "Eh, yeah that's true."
"You two seem like good friends. I assume the same could be said of the ones you intend to meet up with?" Sango asked, eyeing them both in amusement.
"Mhm, you assume correctly," Mitchell replied, parroting her tone. He gave Sango a look of inquiry. "Uh, I don't mean to impose, but is there, uh, a place we can bathe? We've been very busy these past couple a' days."
Sango blinked. "There is. I don't mind if you use it." She turned and gave them both a look. "Follow me. I'll show you where you can stay for the night."
As she started walking away, Soryan and Mitchell looked at one another. The former gestured in her direction with raised brows. Mitchell rolled his eyes and followed after her. With a short grumble, Soryan too, followed.
As Sango offered, she led the two into the shrine. Curiously, she led them past the main building of the shrine, and it was soon revealed that, sitting on a small elevated position atop a layer of rock, there was a small residence. She took them inside.
It was a small but comfy place with only a couple of rooms, but running electricity and presumably running water. The main entrance led into a long hallway, either side of which had a few sliding doors—bedrooms, probably. There was a kitchen at the end of the hall, and a shorter hallway that led somewhere to the left.
Mitchell observed the layout with an appreciative eye. "Is this your home? If so, I truly envy your daily commute, miss."
Sango looked like she wanted to laugh. "Thank you. It does make things easier."
"It's comfy," Soryan commented simply.
Sango looked back at the two. "Thank you for saying so. This place has been with my family for generations. Since the Meiji-era, in fact."
Mitchell whistled. "Nice. My grandfather's ranch in Colorado goes way back into the Civil War, so I know what you're feelin'."
"Well if we're going into detail, my family owns a plot of land that was passed down by the previous owners since before Texas was annexed," Soryan added.
Sango looked curious. "Really? It seems we all have a distinct family history, then." A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. "Forgive me if this seems rude, but you both speak Japanese quite fluently. It was a bit of a shock to see and hear you two when I first heard you speak. If I may be crass: you don't look like natives."
"You're not the first to ask, nor will ya be the last I'm sure. No worries. If anythin', it was a necessity on my part," Mitchell informed. "My dad was a pilot stationed in Okinawa. I came with him to Japan of my own accord."
Sango looked at the American, a hint of concern in her expression. "Was?"
"Yeah. He called me the other night when he was retasking to the carrier group at sea. Said Okinawa's overrun," Mitchell said, somber.
"I see…," Sango said, equally somber.
Soryan kept silent at that. As Mitchell started to talk more about family, he realized that he had yet to see anyone other than Sango in this shrine. He felt he should keep silent about it—especially in light of current events—but Sango didn't seem so distraught. Rather than being direct, Soryan chose to ease into it.
"So, Sango. Are you the only one here?" Well, fuck. That wasn't as indirect as he'd been expecting. Mitchell winced slightly at his delivery. Soryan pursed his lips.
Sango, surprisingly, merely tittered gently. "I understand what you're trying to say, Ung-san. Don't worry, I'm not offended."
Soryan relaxed at that. He soon realized that Sango had yet to say anything about his and Mitchell's use of her first name.
"To answer your question: yes, I am the only one running this place. I never met my father, and my mother passed away two years ago… She taught me everything that I know." There was a small, wistful, perhaps bitter-sweet smile on her lips. Although nobody else saw, Mitchell shared it with her.
Before any more could be said, Sango led the two to a modest bathroom. She turned to them, gesturing to the room. "This will suit your needs, I hope?"
Soryan peered in. There was a clean shower, a toilet, and a sink. Simple and easy. Soryan stepped in. "I guess I'll go first…" he paused. "Do you have a hair dryer around here? I think I'm gonna wash my clothes too, then try and dry them… unless you have any fresh clothes to spare?"
"I do have a hair dryer. It's a requirement for having hair like this." She gestured to her long dark brown hair. "Unfortunately, I don't think I have any clothes that would suit you two."
Mitchell shrugged. "Not a problem. You're already doin' enough for us as is. We'll make do."
"Right then. Thanks." With nothing more to say, Soryan shut the door. A few seconds later, the shower could be heard.
Mitchell looked over at the shrine maiden. "Well, since he's gonna be busy, do ya mind if I help ya out with dinner or somethin'? I don't feel right just sittin' around doing nothin'."
Sango hummed thoughtfully. "Luckily, you both caught me at the right time. I had just finished with my duties when you both arrived. We can get started on dinner right now, if you want. I don't mind the extra help."
"Aight then. Lead the way, miss," Mitchell replied, nodding.
Sango led him to a small, cozy kitchen. Mitchell looked around, appreciative of its simplicity. Sango set her katana near the door and Mitchell followed her example.
"So. Whatcha got in mind?"
"I was thinking of a shrimp tempura bowl with white rice. Simple but satisfactory," Sango answered.
"Ah, tempura. I've made this dish a couple of times. I'm at your command, head chef."
The corners of Sango's lips tugged upwards. "Alright then. Let's get started."
From an old fridge, Sango retrieved a portion of a batch of thawed shrimp and set them on a cutting board. With Mitchell's help, she set on removing their shells and deveining them. In each of the well-treated shrimps, Sango scored four diagonal slits down the underside before flipping them over and repeating the process.
Mitchell, meanwhile, busied himself by mixing and beating eggs and carbonated water together in a medium sized bowl per Sango's instructions. Once his task was complete, he set a pot of canola oil on the stove and began heating it. As the oil heated, Mitchell retrieved bags of flour and mix from the kitchen pantry, then added the ingredients to the mixing bowl.
Once the shrimp were fully-prepared, Sango dredged the shrimp by their tails and carefully set them into the oil. As the shrimps began to fry, Mitchell prepared the rice. Sango made a dipping sauce from soy and mirin.
At some point, there was nothing left to do but wait. Since he didn't want to stand in awkward silence, Mitchell elected to strike up a conversation.
"Have ya seen or met anyone besides us these past couple of days?" He asked.
Sango shook her head. "Sadly, no. The only visitors I've received are the undead." She sighed. "It's been quite a chore putting them out of their misery. But it must be done."
Mitchell gave her a curious look at that. "Is this because of your faith or just 'cause it's humane?"
"I'd say a bit of both. How can they rest easy in the afterlife if their bodies continue to bring harm to others? Laying them to rest is the least we could do for them."
"Huh. I actually agree with ya," Mitchell said. He frowned slightly. "Not everyone's probably gonna see it that way though."
Sango brushed a bit of dust off her clothes. "Of course. I'm aware enough to admit my views on this subject are probably going to be considered old-fashioned or 'traditional.'"
"Well, old-fashioned or not, it's a good way to look at it," Mitchell replied, shrugging. He gave her a serious look. "You're doin' a service for those that passed, and you're stayin' true to your morals. I can respect that. It's somethin' to hold on to these days."
The shrine maiden met his gaze. "Thank you. I'm glad you think so."
They stared at one another for a second, then the sound of a door opening and subsequently closing interrupted them. Soryan found his way to them. His hair and clothes were damp, but he seemed satisfied. When he caught sight of Mitchell and Sango, he paused.
"What's this now?" he inquired, staring at their dish.
Sango raised a brow at his question. "We're making dinner. Shrimp tempura and rice." She answered.
"Dinner?" Soryan shrunk back a little, and he made a face. His eyes flitted to the large proportions. "For how many people?"
Mitchell gave him an understanding look. "We made enough for three. I'd recommend eating what we can. Who knows when we'll be able to, yeah?"
Sango looked confused as she looked between the two. "Is there a problem? Is the choice not to your liking?"
"Uh, no! It's all good," Soryan said. "What the bloody hell kind of prick would I be if you offered me food from your own pocket and I refused it—especially under these circumstances?"
"I absolutely agree," Mitchell concurred. "He's just surprised we're eatin' again since we ate before coming up here, is all." He looked at Soryan. "Uh, right?"
"Yeah," Soryan nodded.
"Okay, that's a relief," Sango replied. She glanced at the food before looking back at the Outcasts. "Well the food should be finished cooking. Shall we dig in?"
"Dig in we shall," Mitchell replied, rising with her. The food smelled good. It was enough to make him hungry all over again despite the three hamburgers he'd managed to stuff down his gullet. Then again, his metabolism was always high as a result of training.
Soryan stepped over to them gazing into the pot of hot oil as Sango retrieved the frying tempura from it, placing each one atop a wire rack that dropped into a tray. Each shrimp stick was colored a delectable golden brown. Despite having devoured enough meat for two portions, he salivated at the smell.
He only stopped staring once Sango finished spooning rice into three different bowls. He went and sat down at one of the two small bed trays.
There was a strange silence that prevailed over the room for all of sixty seconds, then Soryan jolted when a crispy Tempura Bowl was placed in front of him. He looked up at Sango, who smiled politely before seating herself at the adjacent bed stand, across from Mitchell.
"Ittadakimasu," Mitchell muttered, putting his hands together. Sango followed the gesture. Soryan remained silent, then, solely to be polite to Sango and her shrine, followed Mitchell's motions without an utterance.
The three wordlessly dug in, silently enjoying each other's company as they ate.
A/N: So I lied. I wasn't working too hard on my other fics. Instead, two things happened: one, school started, and two, I've gotten bored… but only for a bit. I'll be back soon with WHGS. As far as I'm concerned, it is a priority alongside this.
RPG Proficient: Hell, I did the same thing. I doubled down on this story instead of working on my own fic. But now, I can focus on it at least.
Well, that's honestly all I had to say. Have a good one.
Bye? Unless you have anything to say.
RPG Proficient: Not really. Later on, y'all.
Yeah, okay, Cy .
SYD