Year Zero

by Sir Yeetus Deletus

The day of reckoning has come. Within hours of the initial outbreak, society is devastated, and humanity’s Armaggedon is upon it. Amidst the chaos, a pair of foreign exchange students and their companions are forced to improvise and adapt to overcome the dawn of this new world.

9. Hell On Earth

Mitchell dusted his hands together as he reviewed his work. Due to some terrible complications, it had taken him a full hour to acquire and set up the tent that he and Soryan would be sharing; with Mitchell's experience as a hunter, the act of actually setting up the tent was no issue—it was acquiring the tent that had been the problem. The only reason he had managed to acquire this tent was because its previous owners had left the estate for some obscure reason.

See, about an hour earlier when Mitchell had first left the bus camp to find a suitable habitat, he quickly discovered that, no matter which estate employee Mitchell asked, whether it be their job to oversee the well-being of the estate-goers or not, they had refused to deliver him one, iterating that the estate was out of camping equipment—a load of bullshit, considering that, at the time, Mitchell witnessed a pair of refugees acquire their own tent from a man he had just requested a tent from mere minutes before. It took Mitchell only a moment to understand what was going on, and, as he was, he couldn't help but be thoroughly annoyed.

'A little biased, are we?' Mitchell thought to himself. He tried not to let it bother him too much though. Sure he was annoyed, but he'd been dealing with that type of shit for two years already. After so many occasions of being ignored, he had, for the most part, ceased to care.

"Our stay's off to a great start already. Nice to see some shit never changes," the American muttered to himself. His eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on a pair of estate employees that happened to be walking past. When they disappeared from view, he relaxed slightly, his attention locking back on his tent.

Enough lamenting Japanese xenophobia; now that he and Soryan's accommodations were in order, Mitchell could finally do what he'd been itching to do since the day he and his companions had left his apartment: maintenance on his sword. The fact that he hadn't even the chance to sharpen his blade was driving him up the fucking wall, but now that the Outcasts were in an arguably safe zone, he could scratch that itch of his.

The American dug through his gym bag, retrieving his whetstone, a bottle of water, rag, and oil before zipping the bag and setting it down by his tent. As he walked away from the bus camp, searching for a quiet place to focus on his ministrations, his thoughts drifted to Soryan and where the Cambodian had wandered off to—it was only after Mitchell had acquired his tent that he realized: the girls had gone off to do their own thing, welcoming Sango and whatnot, leaving Soryan to idle in the campsite alone. Mitchell was sure the guy could take care of himself, but he worried just a little bit—the thirsties of this estate had been glaring daggers at the American but didn't dare approach because of his relatively imposing height and the bastard sword at his waist. Soryan, however, was only 5'6". That being said, he had a mean glare, a large body, and a big-ass Tactical Shovel.

As his thoughts occupied him, Mitchell strode past a number of other campsites, ignoring the myriad of wary, curious, and objectively hostile eyes he received. After a few minutes, he eventually came upon a small pond, far and away from the bustle of the dense refugee camps. When he approached it, he noticed that two people with very familiar and distinct hair colors were already there.

Saya Takagi and Saeko Busujima conversed about something, halting when they noticed Mitchell's approach. Their eyes widened imperceptibly.

"Y'all don't mind if I use this place, do ya?" Mitchell asked plainly. He looked at Saya, stopping just a couple of meters away.

"Marlowe? When did you get here?" the heiress inquired. Saeko merely looked him up and down.

Mitchell shrugged. "Couple a' hours ago. We just got ourselves situated so I have time to do some maintenance." He tapped the sword at his waist.

Saeko nodded, her eyes lighting up with understanding. "Ah, I see. If that's the case, go ahead and stay." Saya gave the girl an annoyed look.

Mitchell merely nodded thankfully. He looked at the pond before humming to himself in appreciation, then he sat down some distance away from the girls, setting out his bottled water, oil, and rag before unsheathing his blade. Almost immediately, he tuned the girls out, focusing totally on his task. The girls seemed to realize that he wouldn't have anything else to say, and Saya huffed, taking her leave. After glancing at the American one last time, Saeko went back to her meditation.

A couple of minutes later, Saeko rose from her position. She turned to Mitchell. "Excuse me." Without waiting for a response, she walked away.

Mitchell watched her leave for a moment before returning to his business. Now alone, he could finally appreciate a calm, quiet moment to himself. He allowed his thoughts to wander, and eventually, he thought of home. Ten quiet, soothing minutes passed as he diligently worked on his blade.

It didn't last forever though. Soon enough, Mitchell heard someone approaching, and he turned his head to see Sango sauntering up to join him, an intrigued look in her eyes. Mitchell saw she now wore her hair in it's loose ponytail. He realized that he never really managed to appreciate her beauty during the tense situations the past few days, but now that he could, well… she was beautiful—breathtaking beyond belief.

No part of her was particularly voluptuous, but neither was she really 'small' in any way. She was just… svelte—flawlessly elegant. Her skin was unblemished, her eyes were captivating, and her face was kind but held a certain amount of undeniable strength. Her body was shaped like an hourglass, but not to a ridiculous degree—one could see where her curves started and ended, from her lovely breasts to her flat stomach to her slim hips and soft thighs. If there was one thing that stood out about her though, it was her legs; they were long and alluring in a way befitting of someone so elegant. Mitchell felt that the girl could easily seduce someone if she just walked a certain way.

Arbitrarily, a particularly heavy gust of wind blew her skirt up, and he caught sight of her undergarments through her tights. He looked away respectfully.

"Looks like you've found a nice place to relax. Mind if I join you?" The maiden asked. She had her own oil and rag in hand.

Mitchell shook his head as he ran his whetstone across the edge of his blade. "Nah. Go ahead."

Sango nodded thankfully and she sat down a short distance away. Mitchell turned to her with a half-smirk. "Y'all done with your girl talk?"

Sango's lips twitched, then curled upwards. "Yes. They seem quite nice." She drew her blade and set it in her lap, then began the rudimentary maintenance that every sword-user knew.

"Told ya," Mitchell said playfully.

Sango hummed. "Indeed you did."

Mitchell watched her, then his gaze fell down to her sword. He eyed it curiously. "A bit off topic, but I've noticed you're very skilled with your katana. Is it a family heirloom?"

Sango's expression brightened, and she exhibited a small, wistful smile. Her eyes were mesmerizing. "Yes, it is. It's been passed down through my family for many years. Ever since my great-grandmother, in fact."

Mitchell whistled. "Nice. Your sword's history is way more impressive than mine by far. I've only had mine for a little over two years."

Sango's hands stopped moving, then they relaxed as she looked at him, curiosity in her eyes. "Only two years? Yet you're so proficient with it."

Hearing such praise from a fellow sword-user gave Mitchell a feeling of pride. "Thanks. I put a lot of time an' effort into gettin' this far with it. Whenever I wasn't doin' motocross, I was trainin' with this." He rubbed his thumb over the guard of the blade. "My fighting style may not be as elegant as yours, but it gets the job done."

Sango blinked, her brows shifting to show surprise. "Thank you. I often find myself appreciating simplicity and efficiency over showmanship, though."

Mitchell smirked. "Well, I can say you got those things in spades." His thoughts swam, and he hesitated. "Did, uh… did your mom teach ya?"

Sango's smile was breathtaking. "She did. She is everything I aspire to be, be it by blade or duty." She paused. "Unfortunately, not everyone approves of a shrine maiden knowing the art of the sword." To Mitchell's surprise, she smirked delinquently. "Screw them, I say."

Mitchell laughed. "Go ahead, girl!" He smiled. "Preach the good word. Ya have no idea how many times people back home told me I was sinkin' my time into a weird, useless hobby."

Sango chuckled. Her eyes glinted with amusement. "Looks like this undead apocalypse has proven them wrong, no?"

"Yep. Sounds like we got the last laugh," Mitchell concurred. He grinned with equal amusement.

They held each other's gazes for a moment before a familiar voice grabbed their attention. "So, this is where you went off to."

Mitchell and Sango both turned to see Chizuru, who walked over with her kukri in hand. Kasumi followed a step behind, her spear holstered to her back as she lazily stomped along, steering an exasperated Wakaba around by the archer's shoulders. Wakaba, bow holstered and quiver on her back, seemed apprehensive about Kasumi's precarious method, and her nervousness was proven justified when Kasumi tripped, thereafter shoving Wakaba forward and past Chizuru.

The archer yelped, staggering once to regain her balance, as did Kasumi—the spear-user had yet to let go of Wakaba's shoulders—then the latter of the two laughed aloud as the former let out a whine indicative of her apprehension. A moment later, Kasumi let go, and Wakaba hurried to escape her grasp, joining the sword-users.

"Hey, y'all," Mitchell greeted, chuckling slightly. His voice was warm as he welcomed them.

"Hi," Wakaba replied, a coy smile on her lips. She brought her knees up to her chest as she sat down on his left, right next to Sango—close enough to lean on his shoulder if she wanted. Her large chest was squished against her thighs, but she didn't seem to notice. It was… weirdly adorable.

On Mitchell's right, Kasumi stood, leaning down and arching her back as she placed her face next to his in a show of flexibility. The movement was quick to such a speed that her breasts bounced enticingly before they decided to obey gravity, hanging to obscure half of the approaching Chizuru from view. "Hello to you, too."

Without another word, she turned and sat down against a tree across from Mitchell, leaning back to make herself comfortable. Notable was the way that she bent her knees halfway to her chest, causing her skirt to raise and exposing her luscious thighs. Mitchell forced himself not to look.

Chizuru merely hummed, opting to sit down at Mitchell's right, opposite of Wakaba. She sat her kukri in her lap and leaned forward a bit, giving Mitchell a look he couldn't immediately decipher.

"What?" Mitchell said, unsure.

"Well...I was wondering if you could teach me how to do what you're doing," Chizuru replied sheepishly. She gestured to his materials, shrugging. "Also, I'm really bored."

"We're all bored. There's nothing to do here," Kasumi said. She wiggled her hips in a manner that managed to be both alluring whilst also conveying just how bored she was. "Does anyone know where Soryan went?"

"I think he went off to do his own thing," Mitchell replied, turning to Kasumi. "He was already gone by the time I got back from gettin' our stuff."

Kasumi hummed before looking off into the distance. "He better not be getting himself into trouble."

Mitchell recalled the hostile glares he received. His lips thinned slightly, but he elected not to mention it. He had faith Soryan could handle himself, and he didn't want the girls to worry unnecessarily.

Deciding to move the conversation along, he swept his gaze across the girls. "Since there's not much to do, if y'all got anythin' y'all wanna ask, then by all means, send it. In the meantime, I'll help Chizuru out with her kukri."

"Thank you~" Chizuru sing-songed. She handed her kukri to Mitchell.

"Be sure to watch what I do, aight?" Mitchell told her. "Who knows when we'll get a chance to do this again."

Chizuru nodded firmly, eyes resolute. "Yes, sir!" Wakaba hid an amused smile behind her hand as Mitchell sheathed his sword.

Kasumi hummed thoughtfully. "Gee, I wonder what we should talk about? What do you girls think?" She shifted her hips again, and the motion caused her lovely chest to jiggle.

Mitchell ignored it as best he could, but Kasumi still noticed. The American grunted when her lips upturned in a small smirk. Damn her and her random inclination to tease. He'd dealt with it for years, and yet he'd been suckered. Luckily for him, nobody else picked up on her desire to make him squirm.

The girl mouthed to him. "Gotcha."

Mitchell's eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly in warning. "Watch yourself, little miss." He mouthed back.

"Um… could I ask you something?" Sango asked, looking at Mitchell hesitantly.

"Sure thing," Mitchell replied. His hands began running over Chizuru's kukri. True to her word, the gymnast watched his ministrations with observant eyes.

"You mentioned a ranch twice before," Sango said. She sheathed her katana and set it aside. "I admit: I love places surrounded by nature. May I ask what it was like there?"

"… Actually, yeah, I don't think you've ever told us about your home," Kasumi realized. Wakaba nodded in agreement as Chizuru looked up from Mitchell's maintenance with interest.

Mitchell paused. A number of fond memories came to him, and he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. When his eyes opened, he gave the maiden a hesitant look—he recalled how apprehensive Sango had been to leave her home. Sango shook her head reassuringly. "Don't worry, it's fine. I'm the one who asked, after all."

As Mitchell nodded, the others could only wonder about what Sango was referring to. "Well, while I was born in the American South, I spent my entire life on that ranch. I already told you its history goes way back," he began. He gave Sango a meaningful look. "So it… it means a lot to me."

Mitchell closed his eyes, visualizing the setting as if he were there. "Well, the house is on an elevated rise that overlooks a wide pasture. A large creek with a nice, little waterfall streams past our crops and compound. And I'll tell y'all right now, that's a good place to fish. Can't tell y'all how many I've caught there."

Mitchell smiled at the oncoming memories. "If ya step out onto the patio, you can see the sprawling wilderness that seems to stretch on for miles. To top it off, in the far distance, you can see the snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains. I'd usually ride my bike all throughout those forests and rock outcroppings. Me and my buddies both."

Sango exhaled, her thoughts conjuring wondrous images of Mitchell's recounting. She looked down thoughtfully.

Mitchell gave the girls his devil-may-care smirk. "After all, there's only so many things you can do in small-town Colorado. Sometimes we rode out into the wilderness for a couple a' miles to a lake with a nice, fifty foot cliff to jump off of. Sometimes we went huntin'. Otherwise, we just hung out around town, ridin' around." He snorted. "The local authorities knew us pretty well. In a good way, of course. Sometimes we'd hang out with 'em at their stakeouts when they're waitin' to catch a speeder," he said with a boyish grin.

"And last, but certainly not least, our dogs would adore y'all. They'd be all over ya," Mitchell drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement at the thought.

Wakaba gasped. "You have dogs!?" she semi-squeaked. The look of elation on her face was both priceless and heart melting.

Mitchell nodded. "Yep. Major: our German Shepherd, Bailey: our Sheltie, and Bandit: our Labrador Retriever. You'll never find a more loyal, protective trio. I swear they're on ya the second they see ya."

Wakaba smiled with her eyes, her cheeks rising like that of an amazed child's. It was so damn cute that Mitchell nearly forgot about what they were talking about just seconds ago, and instilled within him was an undeniable urge to protect.

"Just from that, it sounds like a pretty good place to take a girl out," Chizuru remarked, raising a brow.

Mitchell merely shrugged before giving her a half-lidded look. "Considerin' how many times my sisters wanted to visit? I won't deny that, but I will say it probably isn't for any city-folk."

"Geez, Mitch, if that's what home was like for ya, then why'd you come here?" Kasumi inquired incredulously. She paused when she realized how that sounded. "Not that I mean I don't want you here or anything! I'm glad you came!"

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "I know whatcha meant, Kas, don't implode on us. As for your question…" He tilted his head a bit. "I just wanted to. My dad was on deployment to Okinawa and I saw my chance to do somethin' different, y'know?"

"Well, if different is what you wanted, then I'd say you got it, huh?" Chizuru replied with a smirk.

Different was certainly one way to put it. Never had Mitchell dealt with something as extreme as xenophobia until he came to Japan. Then it became a part of everyday life. He couldn't help but recall the countless days in which he'd been treated differently because of his foreign looks. Now, he was dealing with it once again during a zombie apocalypse of all times. Despite his greatest efforts, his lips slipped into a frown. "Yeah. Yeah, it was different."

Chizuru's smirk faded when she saw his expression. It took her a moment to understand why, but after recalling what Kasumi said about what Mitchell and Soryan had dealt with, she eyed the ground, slightly discontent.

Sango merely frowned. If there was anything she disliked about the land she called home, it was the way that people treated others who were different, be it nationality or otherwise.

Wakaba, bless her heart, did her best to drive the conversation away from such depressing socio-political topics. "Um… oh!" She turned to Mitchell. "Did you get your tent?"

Wakaba felt her heart drop when his expression fell further. "Yeah, I did. No thanks to the estate people, though."

Kasumi scowled at that. First, the stares, and now this shit? Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

She had a feeling she knew what the problem was.

"Bias." Was all Mitchell said. It was all that needed to be said.

Kasumi grunted. "Oh." Sometimes, she hated it when she was right.

Languorously, Wakaba leaned against Mitchell's side, resting her head on his shoulder in what was her best attempt to comfort him in such a position. At that moment, she developed an indescribable urge to nuzzle the side of his face. She settled for slowly rubbing her head back and forth.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Mitchell. No one should, but unfortunately, it's commonplace in this country," Sango sighed. "It never gets any less disappointing to hear, though."

"You don't need to apologize, Sango. It is what it is," Mitchell replied simply. He pat Wakaba on the leg to reassure her. She leaned into him further.

There were a scant few seconds of silence before Mitchell raised Chizuru's kukri to inspect it. He had finished tending to it, so if it wasn't sharp before, it was certainly sharp now. He handed the weapon hilt-first to Chizuru. "Here ya go, Rescue Lead."

Chizuru accepted it gratefully. "Thanks. I can't wait to use this bad boy." Her lips curled into a self-assured smirk. She turned to Mitchell, looking him in the eyes. "I don't think I've said it, but thank you for getting this for me. I can't stand the thought of being useless."

"Rescue Lead?" They looked at Sango, who seemed intrinsically curious.

"Oh, I call her that 'cause she's the reason we saved a whole group of refugees," Mitchell said nonchalantly. He sighed in both actual and exaggerated admiration. "She was so brave and selfless, I had to call her somethin' fittin', y'know?" Kasumi snorted in amusement.

Sango stared at Chizuru in a new light, and the gymnast blushed, waving her hands. "He's exaggerating. I just drove the getaway bus. They did all the saving." She batted Mitchell on the arm, a playful glint in her eye. "Now I can actually help them do the saving."

Mitchell smirked good-naturedly. He nudged her arm in return. "Lookin' forward to it, Chizuru. Speakin' of which, you know what to do when maintaining it now?"

"I think I've got the general idea," Chizuru replied, nodding. She put it back in its sheath. She looked at him when she realized that she, Mitchell, and Sango had finished their maintenance. "... So, you guys want to do anything? Or are we just going to sit here for the rest of the day?"

Kasumi shrugged and shifted her hips again. "I mean, there's really nothing to do here. I don't know what else to do."

"Actually…" Mitchell said. He recalled seeing a soccer ball in one of the refugee camps. "I remember seein' a soccer ball in one of the camps earlier. Any of y'all up for that?"

Chizuru perked up at that. "Sure, I'm down. I haven't played soccer in a while though, so don't expect too much."

"Same," Kasumi nodded. "I bet I could still kick your butt though," she smirked, eyeing Mitchell.

"Careful with that competitive spirit, Tomoe Gozen. You'll hurt someone," Mitchell responded drily. He gave her a look. "We know how you get."

Sango blinked at the nickname. "I assume she's a driven competitor?"

"You know it. I don't like the thought of losing. To anything," Kasumi replied. She turned to Mitchell, raising an amused brow. "You're usually quick to match against me. What happened, Mitch?"

"Oh, sorry. I just don't seem to wanna face off against someone who moves like they're in the fuckin' Matrix," Mitchell replied flatly. "And we matched in video games, Kas. Not sports."

Surprisingly, Kasumi had no retort to that. "Fair enough," she said. That didn't stop her from smiling smugly, though.

Mitchell gave a big shrug. "But y'know what? Why not? I seem to feel really motivated all of a sudden."

Kasumi huffed, smirking as she got up. Chizuru rose with her. "Alright then, let's do this. Waka? Sango? Are you guys in?"

Wakaba looked up at her. "Okay."

Sango hesitated. "I guess so. There isn't much else to do other than idle."

Mitchell nudged her arm. "That's the spirit. Besides, I need someone to help me counter the 'Gotta win at all costs' girl over there."

Sango smiled at that, and Kasumi ignored the playful jab. "Cool! We can have a three on… three…" A realization dawned on her, as did it soon on everyone else. "We should find Soryan first."

Mitchell tapped Wakaba on the arm and got to his feet. Wakaba and Sango rose with him. "Yeah, I think we should. He's been gone a while, now that I think about it."

"If that's the case, maybe we should get going. This place isn't exactly the most… welcoming," Wakaba said, a tinge of concern in her voice.

Kasumi's lips thinned and she nodded. "Tell me about it. And besides, we need him to complete the teams, anyway." It was clear it was her attempt to lighten the mood, but no one pointed it out.

Mitchell looked over at Chizuru and Sango for their input. Chizuru shrugged, and Sango simply nodded. With the Outcasts in a general consensus, the group started moving towards the refugee area, a mix between excited, concerned, relaxed, and general nonchalance.

"Yo! We just keep running into each other, huh?"

"Yeah, it's almost like the universe is tryna give us a sign or something."

Wakaba, Kasumi, and Chizuru tensed so hard that it was impossible for Mitchell not to notice. Strangely enough, despite her unfamiliarity with the situation, Sango visibly locked in place. From experience, Mitchell knew exactly what he was dealing with. Rising like a fierce storm, his protective instincts flared.

The Outcasts turned to regard the speakers. Mitchell eyed a group of five admittedly handsome guys that stood together like they were about to pose for a boy band album-cover or something. He exhaled through his nose, extremely annoyed.

The leader of the group had his gaze drawn to Sango. "I see you have a new face with you. Nice. Friend of yours?" One of his posse gazed intensely at the maiden.

Mitchell went completely ignored. He didn't appreciate that. "Yeah, she is. Who're y'all again? Pretty rude to start talkin' without introducin' yourselves, don't ya think?" His unimpressed tone was evident.

An expression of annoyance flashed across the leader's face, but it quickly corrected itself, settling into one of embarrassment. "Yes, you're quite right. It was rude of us to not introduce ourselves last time, huh?" He cleared his throat. "I'm Yuji Sugai. Nice to meet you again, ladies. I see you're looking fine as ever." He gave Chizuru a wink and a disarming smile. The gymnast's lips slackened slightly, and the distaste in her eyes was clear.

The other young men—Thirsties—began introducing themselves. "Daisuke Mihara," one of them nodded. He glanced at Kasumi every so often. Kasumi glared at the young man.

Another stepped forward and bowed. "Please forgive us for our conduct. It was very unbecoming of us. I'm Ko Kono." He seemed genuinely apologetic.

One of the bigger guys seemed fixated on Sango. He stepped forward, giving her a soft grin. "I'm Takeo Kajiwara." Sango's eyes narrowed and she shifted uncomfortably. The young man's smile dropped when she turned her head away.

"Hey there. I'm Shin Tsuchiya," another said. He smiled coyly at Wakaba. The archer hid behind Mitchell, and Shin scowled for a split-second before his lips reverted back to their friendly demeanor.

The Outcasts tensed when they caught sight of another figure that approached from the shadows beyond the thirsties. "And I'm gonna be all over ya like SHINGLES if you don't step away from the lads! Ya alley-creepen' back-pokin' snakes!"

Each of the thirsties whipped around at the foreign, Scottish accent to see a young Cambodian man squatting halfway to the ground, his body leaning forward, his feet spread farther than shoulder width apart, one pointing forward and the other to the side, and his left arm fully extended such that he pointed accusatively at them, his other hand raised palm-up, as if he were holding some holy grail or artifact. He wore a pair of sport shorts, a DOOM t-shirt, and now, a large, cotton, zip-up coat with a left breast horizontal zip pocket. He looked like the definition of random.

"'Bout time ya showed up," Mitchell drawled. His lips quirked upwards at the odd, yet hilariously funny pose, even as he stared down the group of young men, a hostile glint in his eyes.

Soryan nodded before rising. Everyone looked at him, bewildered. "Right then. Who the fuck are you, and what do you want? Actually, don't answer that, I know you bunnies want some bob and vagene. Get the fuck outta here before you get jumped. Stupid."

"Wha—? What the hell?" The leader, Yuji, floundered. "Who are you? I mean—we were thinking no such thing!"

"Oh, fuck off," Soryan blurted. "I can see the red on your face, the lust in your eyes, and I can most definitely see the tent in your pants. Like you're trying to salute Hideki Tojo or something. Get a haircut, take a shower, and go play catch or something. If not, go find someone that actually gives a shit and doesn't want to see your faces disappear from the face of the Earth."

One of the thirsties opened his mouth, but Soryan interrupted him. "Nah, shut it, you weasel. Look over there, and tell me what you see." He pointed to Mitchell—more specifically, to Wakaba, who had been shivering behind the American up until Soryan arrived. "Does she look like she wants to fuck? In case you're retarded: NO you fucking dumbasses! She doesn't! In fact, nobody here does! So why don't you boys just fuck off? Run along like little bunnies, scurrying around, eating up your lettuce and berries." Even by the end of his micro-rant, the Outcasts could tell that he was annoyed beyond belief. The Ung's fists clenched at his sides, pissed and prepared in the event that fists may fly. If the glare in his eyes was any indication, he almost wanted someone to start something.

"Who do you think you are, you damn—" Takeo growled, fist raised, and Soryan nearly met him, revealing his lower teeth to bite his own upper lip as his own fist came up, but Yuji halted his comrade.

"I apologize. There seems to be a terrible misunderstanding. We're merely trying to be neighborly—"

"Just so ya know, I know a manipulator when I see one. You ain't slick," Mitchell interrupted flatly. He looked calm, but his legs were like coiled springs, ready to lunge at any given moment. "Go on and mind your own business. We want nothin' of what you're offerin'."

Yuji's expression dropped. He stared analytically, as if calculating his next moves. After a moment, he sighed before raising his hands. "Alright, we get it. We won't bother you."

"Thank God! You've finally taken the hint!" Kasumi exclaimed, feigning celebration and throwing her hands up. She turned to her friends. "Let's go, guys."

The Outcasts readily gave their affirmations and turned to leave. The Thirsties watched with angry eyes. They gazed inappropriately at the girls' backsides, only to be interrupted when Soryan shoved past them, his anger locking his jaw and giving him a certain degree of adrenaline strength. Suddenly, Mitchell stopped and turned back. "Hey, by the way, here." He casually tossed his unopened bottle of water to Yuji, who caught it with a confused, slightly irritated look.

"Y'all clearly need it more than me." With that, Mitchell turned back to join his friends, Soryan meeting his stride.

---

Mitchell and Soryan were stiff and tense as they walked among the girls. Everywhere they went, they'd dealt with people like those desperate fools. It was aggravating for everyone involved. Mitchell turned to Soryan. "Was that all? I figured you'd have more to say. That shit was tame compared to your usual rants."

"I'm fucking tired bruh. Those guys were the same as the others, I didn't really have to say much," Soryan replied. He rubbed an itch under his nose before readjusting his glasses.

Mitchell snorted. "Ah. Goin' through the motions, huh? It's fuckin' sad that it's come to that."

"Yep," Soryan nodded. "I somehow have a feeling that it's not over yet, though." Mitchell simply hummed noncommittally.

The group turned a corner, now far and away from the koi fish pond.

"Um, please don't let what happened bother you, okay? They'll hopefully leave us alone now," Wakaba said, having caught bits and pieces of their conversation. She walked with an almost timid stride, feminine as she was, her bow holstered on her back.

Kasumi snorted. "Yeah, hopefully. I'm not expecting it to last, though. They seem really desperate." Despite herself, she walked with confident steps, her spear in hand, the spearhead pointed towards the ground. With a weapon like that, and her clear distaste for the Thirsties, it was a wonder that they ever even approached.

Chizuru looked at the two boys. "What were you two talking about? That's the first time I've heard you talk like that." She walked with a casual saunter that displayed hints of her flexibility, her kukri sheathed at her waist.

Sango stayed silent, but she turned to them nonetheless, curious. Her stride was, as always, inherently elegant.

"Basically, we're just talkin' about how that kinda shit back there's become routine for us at this point," Mitchell informed. He shook his head.

"Yeah, but enough about that," Soryan said. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax. "What's up? What did I miss?"

Mitchell shrugged. "We maintained our blades and talked a bit. We were just about to come lookin' for ya."

"That's right! We're going to play some soccer. We need you to play so we'll have even teams," Kasumi said excitedly. Almost subconsciously, she flourished her spear once.

Soryan eyed the weapon idly. "Soccer? I haven't played since I was seven," he replied. He put his hands in his coat pockets.

"I think I'm gonna get this outta the way now," Mitchell began. He swept his gaze across everyone. "Who's on whose team? We need to figure this out 'cause Kas is her own team, and if Chizuru is with her then that's not gonna be fair."

Chizuru hummed amusedly. "Are you saying you want me on your team?"

Mitchell eyed her with equal amusement. "I mean, yeah? I feel like you, Sango, and I would make a pretty solid team, but that's just my take." He turned to the group. "Let's hear y'all's suggestions."

"You and the new girls versus us?" Kasumi smirked. "That sounds fun." She looked at Wakaba. "Come on, Waka, what do you say we get back at him for all of those Smash matches!"

The archer looked unsure. "Well actually, I kind of want to be on… uh, nevermind."

Mitchell hummed at Wakaba's reservations. "Well, who said we only gotta play once? We can change teams after this game," he posited.

Wakaba perked up at that. "Let's play!" she said, her mood flipping.

Soryan stared at her, and his lips slipped into the smallest of smirks. He wondered when either she or Mitchell would throw caution to the wind and just confess to one another already. He shook his head slightly.

The group finally approached an empty, open soccer field that sat on the eastern side of Takagi Estate. There were soccer goal nets placed on either side of it, and spray paint marked the boundaries of the playing field. Sitting in the middle was a lonely soccer ball. A number of refugees milled about, outside of the soccer field.

"Uh, okay then. Guess I don't have to go get it," Mitchell said. "How convenient."

Kasumi ignored him, rushing towards the field. She stopped for a moment, placing her weapon in its holster and on the ground. Then, confidently, she tossed her jacket away, revealing her beauty. Without her jacket, her white t-shirt easily conformed to her maddeningly luscious body, exposing her lovely chest and glimpses of her taut, young midriff. With one motion, she had instantly and unintentionally drawn the eyes of both Mitchell and Soryan. The boys didn't look away until she hurried to the soccer ball, then bent down to grab it, giving them quite the irresistible view of her curvaceous rear and ostensibly slim legs.

Soryan groaned lowly before Chizuru strode past him. She too set her weapon down before ridding of her hoodie, revealing a red, form-fitting short sleeve shirt that made it impossible not to stare. The girl took a deep breath, her wonderful assets moving with her enticingly, then she raised a slender leg over her head and streeee—holy shit she's flexible.

Witnessing what probably wasn't something he should have, Mitchell took a deep breath and exhaled. He shook his head lightly, then took off his riding armor, unbuckled his belt with the sheath, and set everything down beside the pile of clothes and weapons. He rolled his shoulders and began limbering up, stretching his limbs. His black, Quake shirt did little to hide what lean muscle hid underneath—something that Wakaba certainly appreciated.

Off to the side, the Archer slowed down, eyes locked onto Mitchell's body, slightly open-mouthed. She blushed a second later, then took off her muneate, bow, and quiver before gently setting all three down. Without so much as a squeak, she hurried past. Out in the open, where shade no longer hampered the sunlight, it was very hard not to stare at her bouncing breasts and her equally provocative rear. The way she moved, so timid, shy, and unintentionally teasing was enough to make the blood of many men heat up.

Sango, incognizant of all the unintentionally tantalizing happenings, decided to join the girls in their unseeing effort to seduce the males who happened to be watching them. She set her sheathed katana down, then walked towards them. Her slim, admittedly perfect body was emphasized—complimented by her amazingly sexy legs. Whether she was aware of it or not, it only took the movements of her svelte body to entrance those that watched her.

As she and Mitchell made it onto the field, the former tying her hair into a high ponytail, Soryan watched them, the slightest of frowns in his brow. He strode up to the pile of clothes and weapons, feeling at his coat for a moment. He hesitated, looking back and forth across the area. Beyond the field, a small crowd of people had gathered—mostly men, young and old—but off to the side, he could see Chisato and her brother.

"Hey!" he called out to them. When they looked, he waved them over. Chisato promptly began dragging her brother to meet Soryan.

"Hey Soryan! What's up?" she asked cheerfully.

Soryan blinked before licking his lips. "Hey, can you watch our stuff?"

"No—" A hand smacked over Masao's lips.

"Yeah, sure, we'd be glad to," Chisato replied.

"Thanks," Soryan nodded. He turned and began walking away.

Chisato studied him for a second. "Wait."

At her word, the Ung halted, and he turned. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to leave your coat?"

Soryan's stare was intense. "... Sure."

With that, he left his coat in Chisato's care, then walked onto the field. He made no inherently provocative motions, drew no eyes, did nothing that one could possibly call attractive or enticing. He walked normally, self-conscious to the slightest degree.

"So, who gets first possession?" Soryan inquired as he approached. Mitchell, Sango, and Chizuru stood on one side, and Soryan, Kasumi, and Wakaba stood on the other.

"Rock, paper, scissors to decide?" Mitchell asked. He placed his hands on his hips.

Kasumi shrugged. "Sure." She smirked competitively. "Not that it's gonna matter." She put most of her weight on one leg, raising the other slightly.

Mitchell gave her a teasing, patronizing look. "Sure it won't. Let's do this."

They played, and Kasumi whooped when she won. Taking the ball, she placed it on her team's side of the field. "You ready!?" she called.

"Yeah, now let's go!" Mitchell replied. He took a stance, as did Chizuru. Sango, though she'd never played before, still managed to look elegant when her hips lowered.

Wakaba bent her knees slightly, a cute, determined expression on her face. Kasumi stood confidently, smirking with one foot behind the other.

What went most overlooked was the way Soryan's head lowered, his eyes settling into a hard, borderline-glare stare. He tugged at his shorts slightly, pulling them up as his hips lowered into a stance that he was inherently familiar with. His fingers splayed out and with a breath, he was ready to murder the other team.

There was a moment of silence, at which point a larger crowd had gathered, watching with leering eyes and massively low, degrading expectations. They were sorely mistaken.

Like a bolt of lightning, Kasumi leapt into action. She dribbled forwards quickly, and Wakaba made to follow her, but Sango was fast, moving to cover her. Before that, Chizuru met Kasumi first, and they clashed, the force of their movements making their chests bounce and sway, flying up as if they were trying to overtake one another. Chizuru made to steal, but in her haste, she overstepped.

"KAS!"

At the same time, Kasumi kicked the ball hard, launching it across the field in a seemingly random direction, only for Soryan to intercept it.

Chizuru's eyes widened. While she'd gone to deal with Kasumi, Soryan had taken her flank. Luckily, Mitchell was there to stop him—he had been tracking Soryan the entire time. Kasumi was a threat for sure, but Mitchell knew how dangerous Soryan could be with his feet. They'd played basketball together, after all, so it was best if he didn't let the Cambodian build up steam. Mitchell had been on the receiving end of a couple of Soryan's ankle-breakers before.

"Nah, you're not doin' this."

They fought over the ball for a long moment. Mitchell made sure to keep his feet relatively close together in the chance that Soryan pulled any tricky moves—ones that had may have tricked him in the past.

"Fuck," Soryan cursed. He backpedaled with the ball, then kicked once. It spiraled towards Wakaba, who looked both surprised and excited for the action. But she stood still a second too long.

From behind her, Sango blurred forward, and one of her long legs rose, her foot thrusting forward to slam against the ball, sending it airborne. Those in the audience standing behind her felt their jaws slacken—some because she'd spread her legs in such a way that gave them an unsafe view of her crotch, legs, and taut rear. Wakaba's jaw fell open in shock for a different reason, and she was frozen for a second. "Hey!" She eventually protested, but Sango was already gone.

"KAS! GET THE FUCK BACK!" Soryan roared.

Kasumi was already on it, sprinting in a race against Chizuru. Their forms were perfect, and every stride showed their indescribable flexibility. Though their plump rears swayed and their chests fought against them like orbs of in-built drag, they cared not. The audience, however certainly did, for sweat was already beginning to make itself evident on the athletes' skin, glistening slightly, and highlighting their flawless bodies.

Like a madman, Soryan sprinted after them. Mitchell raced him, calling over to his teammates. "Y'all got this! Stay on her, Chizu!"

The ball landed, and as one, Kasumi and Chizuru lunged for it. The former managed to get her foot atop it, but the latter swung her leg and kicked it from the front. As a result, Kasumi was forced to perform a somersault, lest she fall on her face. As she landed in a squat, she turned.

Luckily for Kasumi, in Chizuru's haste to beat her, she kicked the ball the wrong way. "Sor! It's coming to you!"

"Ah damn!"

Soryan stamped his feet repeatedly, ridding of his momentum as Chizuru unintentionally accelerated towards him—on her last dribble the ball far outpaced her own velocity, and she had to accelerate to catch up with it. Soryan bared his teeth and stood wide when she approached, his hands splaying out. Chizuru couldn't halt its momentum entirely, so she attempted to go left, but in a practiced motion, Soryan performed a defensive slide, throwing himself towards Chizuru front-and-center.

"Gotcha bitch!" Soryan taunted as Chizuru kicked. Her foot met his, and it seemed for a moment that he would easily steal the ball away.

It was fortunate that Mitchell was wise to his schemes. "Got you, bitch!"

"Fuck!" Soryan blurted in English.

Out of nowhere, Mitchell struck the ball in the right direction, dribbling the ball forward.

"Um, sorry Mitch, but I can't let you do that!"

To his surprise, Wakaba hurried to meet him. He waited until she was close, and while she was mid-stride, he stopped the ball's momentum. He feigned it back to Chizuru, and when Wakaba hesitated, he switched his feet, kicking it to Sango instead.

"A!" was the only syllable that Wakaba could utter. Mitchell very nearly faltered, for that was the most adorable thing he'd ever heard.

Sango was surprised by the trickery, but she was quick to go after the ball. Kasumi blurred forward to meet her, and as Sango reached out to pass the ball to Chizuru, who was wide open and moving towards the goal, Kasumi blocked her path.

In a bout of surprise, Sango fumbled, giving Kasumi a chance to steal it. It was then that a peculiar chain of events occurred.

When Kasumi stole the ball, her foot collided with its underside, riding up to Sango's foot, as a result, it was sent airborne with little horizontal velocity. The two were astonished, as was everybody else, that nobody saw Soryan move to catch it. Though, 'catch' was a word with many meanings, for when it came back down, Soryan gave a war cry and jumped before giving it the hardest headbutt he'd ever conceived… right back into the ground.

It bounced hard, spiraling towards Team Chizuru's goal net… right towards Wakaba.

"RUN!" Soryan ordered. Wakaba jumped, then started to run.

Mitchell and Chizuru both hurried to defend. The American was closer, and he sprinted to intercept as Wakaba caught up with the ball. The Archer began hurriedly dribbling it towards the goal. She made the mistake of turning to look, and her eyes widened when she saw an unstoppable one-hundred ninety-five pound freight train bearing down on her. Out of sheer surprise, and maybe the slightest bit of fear, Wakaba let out a yelp before her foot reflexively shot forward. Hard.

In the next moment, the ball slammed into the goal net, bouncing before rolling back out. Wakaba's eyes widened, and she stared for a moment. Then, the brightest of smiles stretched across her face.

"Yes! I did it! Yes!" Wakaba celebrated, jumping up and down. So excited was she that she didn't notice her breasts bouncing with her, jumping and moving in opposing circular motions that made the audience stare. Mitchell and Chizuru, who had just then caught up, couldn't feel any disappointment when they saw her absolutely adorable cheering.

"Yep, that's what we get for sleepin' on ya, Waka," Mitchell said, catching his breath. He batted the archer's arm. "Nice kick."

"Yeah, good job," Chizuru congratulated. Her breathing was uneven.

Wakaba beamed. "Thanks."

"WAKABAAA!"

The three turned to see Soryan repeatedly skipping with both legs, squatting and slamming his open palms against the ground every time he landed, bounding over to them like a gorilla. Wakaba took an apprehensive step back, only for Soryan to twist. He jumped, and his shoulder roughly smacked against hers in the most precarious shoulder bump ever performed.

Soryan continued to smack the ground repeatedly with alternating hands, all while cheering like a madman. Thereafter, he rose and picked Wakaba up by her waist, spinning as she yelped, then laughed. As Kasumi and Sango joined them, they each gave Soryan the most bemused looks, as did Mitchell and Chizuru.

To everyone's surprise, a good portion of their audience cheered, clapping and whistling. They overshadowed the few guys who glared at Soryan with jealousy, desiring to take his place.

"You go, Waka. You earned that win," Kasumi said, grinning.

"Yes. Nice job," Sango praised. She took a breath to steady her breathing.

Wakaba couldn't respond, at least, not until Soryan finally set her down before falling back-first onto the ground, panting heavily. "Oh, fuck," he moaned.

"That was a fun little match. Y'all wanna go again?" Mitchell asked. He walked over to retrieve the ball. From the ground, Soryan gave a languid thumbs-up.

"Uh, actually," Wakaba started. "... Can we scramble the teams?"

Chizuru shrugged. "I don't see why not." She developed a teasing smirk. "That match made me want to face off against the big guy over there." She threw a thumb at Mitchell.

"Aight then, Rescue Lead, let's see whatchu got," Mitchell challenged, matching her smirk.

And so they played again.

---

An hour came and went, a time during which the Outcasts truly lost themselves to the sport. Their worries melted away, allowing them to truly enjoy each other's companionship, even with the apocalypse sitting just beyond the estate's gates. It was fun.

Unfortunately, the occasion didn't last forever. As the games went on, the weather grew progressively worse until the skies were completely overcast, and eventually, the exhausted Outcasts called it quits, retrieving their weapons and clothing before moving on to get cleaned up.

Now, a good twenty minutes later, Soryan sat upon a bench just outside of an outdoors shower facility. His legs ached slightly, but otherwise, he was fine. His clothes were damp since he'd decided to shower with them on—he had no change of clothes in the first place—and they would have been drenched had the facility not been equipped with a multitude of blow-dryers. His only article of clothing that was still dry was his new coat.

Mitchell sat with him, patiently waiting for the girls to finish. He had followed Soryan's example, and settled in comfortably.

"This was a surprisingly fun day, wasn't it?" Mitchell said. He leaned back in his seat, giving Soryan a lazy look.

The Cambodian nodded tiredly. "Yeah. Really eventful, honestly. We were at the Shrine just, what? Four hours ago? Five?"

Mitchell nodded lazily. "Yeah, I'd say so. Hard to believe how much has happened since."

Soryan went silent after that. He didn't really have much to say at the moment.

After a few seconds, Mitchell looked over at the Cambodian, looking him up and down. "By the way, where'd ya get the new coat?"

Soryan paused. "I got it from the… lost and found."

"Lost and found? Like from the estate people?" Mitchell's face scrunched. Was it just him they didn't like?

"Well… not exactly," Soryan said. "They kind of just had an unmonitored box of stuff… now, I know what you're thinking."

"Bruh. Like, more than half of the shit we got is stolen goods. I don't care," Mitchell replied flatly.

Soryan made a conceding face. "Well… I guess that's true. But I just want to say that this one looks and feels exactly like mine. I've had that coat for years, I couldn't just… not have it."

Mitchell nudged him on the arm. "I'm not judgin' ya. More power to ya if that's what it is."

"Alright. Cool… cool," Soryan said. His thoughts wandered. "Man, did you see that audience we had?"

"Yeah, I did. Buncha voyeurs if ya ask me. It seriously worries me to see so many grown-ass men lusting after teenage girls, like what the fuck," Mitchell replied. He shook his head in distaste.

"Just so you know, the age of legal consent is thirteen in Japan," Soryan said.

Mitchell scoffed. "Don't fuckin' remind me." His eyes narrowed. "Besides, ya really think anyone gives a shit about age a' consent now?"

Soryan opened his mouth, then stopped himself. A number of unpleasant thoughts came to him. "Do you think shit like this is happening in the states now?"

"All I can say is: God I hope not," Mitchell replied. He frowned as he thought of his sisters.

Soryan shook his head. "Ugh, fuck that. Don't mind what I said, let's talk about something else. If anything there is to…"

Mitchell eyed Soryan curiously. "You think we could… acquire some shit from here? Like stuff we might need?"

"Aside from an unlimited supply of food and water, and maybe some guns, I don't know what else we'd need," Soryan replied.

"Man, what I wouldn't give for a shotgun," Mitchell groaned. "Y'all haven't seen anythin' yet. See anyone fuck with us then."

"True that."

The boys turned when they heard a number of familiar voices approaching. One-by-one, the girls of the outcasts filed out of the female section of the shower facility. Their hair was matted down, and their skin glistened with a certain cleanliness that exemplified each of their inherent youthfulness and beauty. As always, they drew stares just by existing. It was the usual.

"Hey guys, let's go," Soryan said quickly. At his side, Mitchell got to his feet.

Kasumi looked at the Ung, then surveyed her surroundings. There were some strangers milling about, some estate employees working. Some stared, shamelessly committing her body to memory. She shook her head. At this point, as long as nobody approached, she couldn't give less of a damn. "Sure. You sound rushed though. Something wrong?"

Soryan licked his lips. "I saw a wasp nest over there." He pointed to one end of the shower facility. Nobody saw Sango visibly tense. She turned around quickly, following Soryan's finger, then quickly hurried to the front of the group.

"Kills zombies, yet terrified a' wasps. Sounds legit," Mitchell drawled. He gave Soryan a raised brow as he started walking, Sango following quickly.

Wakaba giggled at Soryan's expense as she followed Mitchell. "They're just a bunch of bugs, Sor. What's wrong with them?" Chizuru and Kasumi kept silent, looking at Soryan expectantly as they followed after her.

The Cambodian looked at Wakaba as if she'd stated that she loved Shido. He damn near ran to catch up with her. "Just a bunch of—bruh, what?" He sputtered a few times. "You—they're demons! The demons!" he declared. "They… are everywhere! Must… KILL THEM ALL!" He clenched both fists in front of him, shaking near violently, his lips twisted into a mean snarl.

Mitchell merely smirked. Wakaba, on the other hand, was genuinely unsettled. Kasumi made a face at Soryan's theatrics, and Chizuru looked concerned. Sango, surprisingly, nodded in full understanding.

"Ah, so you have seen what darkness lies beneath their chitinous exoskeletons as well, Soryan?" she inquired elegantly. "I assure you, you have found in me an understanding that goes beyond blood. If you wish it so, I will be your ally in your quest to end their unholy dominion."

"Fight well, Shakespeare," Mitchell replied. He gave them both a mock two finger salute.

Sango's lips curled upwards, and she played along. "Indeed I shall." She looked at Soryan, who fumbled.

"Uh, buh-duh buh-guh—what, you egg?" he blurted.

"Ooh, nice save," Mitchell teased. He grinned in amusement.

"I know, right? He almost fumbled that," Chizuru also teased, equally amused.

Soryan shrank back, eyes squinted as his lips stretched back into a confuzzled smile. "Man, how many Shakespearean quotes do you expect me to memorize?" Mitchell gave him an exaggerated shrug.

"That was Shakesphere?" Kasumi inquired, incredulous. "The egg part, I mean."

Soryan tilted his head slightly. "What, you egg?" At that, Wakaba giggled again, bringing joy to everyone that heard her voice.

The Outcasts fell into their usual dynamic, talking nonsensically as they walked. By the time they reached the bus survivor camp, they'd managed to switch conversation topics from wasps, to Shakesphere, to potentially creative ways to kill zombies.

"Okay, but that's the thing. That's not creative, it's just… flashy as Hell," Soryan argued. He sat down in one of the lawn chairs and looked at Kasumi, who subconsciously flourished her spear.

"Yeah. You might get style points, but nothin' for creativity, sadly," Mitchell added. He gave her a teasing smirk as Sango and Wakaba sat down. "You'd kill it in Devil May Cry though. Easy SSS style."

Kasumi nodded her head side-to-side, conceding to their points. "True, true, I'm pretty awesome, aren't I?" she smiled. The praise didn't stop her more competitive nature from rising, though. "But if you're that smart, what would you do, then, Sor?"

The Ung shrugged, throwing up his hands. "I don't know, find out what they're keen to eat and just slather it in some indigestible liquid or something. Maybe even some alkali if you want them to blow up from the inside," he proposed.

Chizuru hummed as she took a seat, an unopened water bottle in hand that she'd withdrawn from the nearest cooler. "Not that killing zombies in hilarious and gruesome ways isn't a fun topic, but I think I've got a better one." She paused for dramatic effect, her lips twisting deviously. "Why don't we ask the boys for any embarrassing stories? I bet they have a lot~"

"Oh God," Soryan groaned.

"I plead the Fifth," was Mitchell's immediate response.

Soryan looked at him. "You want to take this one? Or…"

Mitchell drew in a breath. "Fuck. I'll go first then. Buy you some time to think of your least embarrassin' one. I'm such a good person."

"Your charity is appreciated, man," Soryan nodded, exhaling slowly.

When the girls each expressed amusement, curiosity, or a mixture of both, Mitchell turned to give them a flat look. "Dunno what y'all smirkin' about. This is a two-way street."

Without waiting for a response, Mitchell closed his eyes, reminiscing. "I guess my embarrassin' story would be the first time I went bowhuntin' with my dad and grandad. We drove for hours to a renowned huntin' spot, right? We get there, and for another hour, we marched for miles down the trail until we were ready to use our smell removal." He paused, before rolling his eyes. "I put mine on… only to find out my grandad had replaced my usual smell removal with deer piss. That fucker had it planned the whole time. Had to deal with that until we changed back into our normal clothes to go home. Funnily enough, Karma was on my side that day, because the truck windows refused to work. So, yeah, we all suffered together. That was so damn fun." He finished with a flat drawl.

"Yeesh, that's an oof," Soryan said through his teeth. Apparently, the girls agreed, for beyond amusement, they expressed disgust.

Kasumi winced. "That's embarrassing, yes, but more disgusting than anything. Sorry you went through that."

"Why would you do that though?" Chizuru asked, just barely holding back from cringing.

Wakaba nodded with her. "That just sounds really mean to me."

Sango remained silent, but she gave Mitchell a look of sympathy.

"If y'all can believe it, it's actually a viable huntin' tactic," Mitchell informed. "The smell of humans terrify deer, and they have a far more sensitive nose than even dogs. You can use the smell of their urine to mask your scent. At the time, I didn't know that, and my dad and grandad didn't tell me as some sorta fucked up initiation."

"Yep. Sounds like America to me," Soryan quipped.

Kasumi tilted her head down, giving him a look of concerned inquiry. "Does stuff like that happen a lot in the United States?"

"Well… yeah."

"If it's stupid but it works…" Mitchell shrugged.

"Then it ain't stupid," Soryan finished.

"That… is a really stupid way of thinking," Chizuru remarked. "But hey, it worked, right?" She sipped her drink.

"Like a charm," Mitchell drawled. "Bagged a nice, eight-point buck that day."

"Well that's good isn't it?" Wakaba inquired optimistically. "At least something good happened."

Mitchell hummed in affirmation. "Mhm. So! I've told y'all one of my most embarrassin' stories," he said. "Let's hear yours, Sor. Then we can get to the good part." He gave the girls a look.

Soryan put a hand atop his head and leaned back into his seat, staring up. "Well… do you want embarrassing? Or cringe?"

"It doesn't really matter. Either one works," Kasumi shrugged, smirking all the while.

"Alright," Soryan nodded. "Hmm… so, I was in Texas a couple of years back. It was my birthday—yay me—but I never really celebrate my birthday or have any parties. But for whatever reason, on this specific birthday, I went 'What the hell?' and decided to invite five friends to eat at a restaurant with me." He licked his lips, and already, his hands were moving about, gesturing. "So I invite… I think it was—yeah, let's call them Jordan, Hektor, Nick, Ethan, and Chas. So, let me preface this by saying that, according to my friends, I am very… fuck-with-able. Also, I don't have my driver's license yet… nah, wait I did have it, but I could only drive one person—it was the law for minors—Anyways!" he proclaimed, waving his hands around.

"We got in the van, and my parents drove us to the restaurant. Nothing happens at this point, except my friends teasing me because I'm taking five dudes out to a restaurant. We have a nice meal, talk, but eventually, conversation runs dry, and I'm confused because things we're going well. We leave the restaurant, get in the car, and then I'm worried because, 'Hey, none of my friends are talking, I'm not boring them, am I?'—you know what I'm saying."

He swallowed. "It's like five minutes of silence, and then out-of-nowhere, Nick, or Nikoli, this big, buff, 6'8" Russian enigma, leans over to me, and in the squeakiest voice he can manage, he goes: 'Soryan-oniichan!'"

Chizuru, drink at her lips, snorted, causing the liquid to flow down the wrong pipe. She promptly coughed, then devolved into a pained snickering. Kasumi looked bewildered, Sango amused such that she smiled with her teeth, and Wakaba, while no less amused, was concerned for Chizuru's well being. Mitchell outright burst into laughter.

Soryan smiled. He continued, uninterrupted. "Jordan and Ethan start laughing, Hektor is smiling like a psychopath, and Chas is giggling like a bitch. I whip around, like: 'What the fuck?'—I whispered, by the way cuz my parents are in the front of the car—speaking of which, somehow they didn't notice. I'm looking at Nick, and he's just grinning at me, then he goes: 'No? Not amused? Would you rather me call you Soryan-sama?'. Everyone else starts laughing, and then my mom turns around like, 'What are you boys laughing about?'. In my head, I'm saying, 'Oh shit,' and I turn to her—and before I say anything else, I'm just going to say now that my mom is relentless. Naturally, I tell her nothing, then Jordan—fucking, this guy, let me just say, best guy you could ever meet, just a real wholesome guy who could stop wars with his smile—anyways, this guy, he looks my mom in the eye, and he says, 'Oh, nothing, it's just that Soryan-oniichan is a really funny guy!' My parents have no idea what Japanese honorifics are, so as I'm looking at Jordan—let's call him Jo-Jo—as I'm looking at Jo-Jo, my mom looks at me and asks, 'What does that mean? What is he saying?' and at this point, I'm pretty fucking embarrased already. But I turn and groan, and while I'm looking away, Ethan gets up and just takes my seat's fucking headrest away, and I throw my head back because I'm embarrassed and just—" he smacked a fist into his palm, "smash the back of my head into two pieces of plastic so hard that my seat shakes. I literally jump and throw my hands to my head, and everyone sans my parents are laughing, and that was just a flub," Soryan said, throwing his hands up. "Yeah, that's it. That's the story. Random as Hell, I know."

"Bruh, that's the exact same kinda shit my buddies back home would do," Mitchell laughed. "What the fuck—that's good."

After fighting off a good laugh, Kasumi smirked deviously, turning to Chizuru, who was struggling to breath, her head down as she shook. "See, I told you he's fun to tease!"

Wakaba giggled, making no attempt to stifle her laughter, her legs kicking a bit. "Your friends sound fun, Sor."

Chizuru, who had finally stopped wheezing, nodded to her. "You're telling me. I knew a few girls like this." Sango merely hid an amused smile behind an elegant hand.

"Just so you know, that was bottom-of-the-barrel storytelling right there," Soryan said, his pointer finger sweeping across them. His smile was as broad as daylight. "Anyways, Kas, it's your turn."

"Huh!? Me?" Kasumi squawked.

"That is your name, correct?" Soryan said, raising both brows.

Mitchell grinned toothily at the girl. "You thought I was kiddin'? Time to spill, Kas."

Kasumi's lips made an 'o'. "... But I don't wanna!" she whined. Her slim legs swung up and down from her seat alternatively.

"Hey, blame her for your predicament," Mitchell replied, throwing a thumb at Chizuru. "Teasin's always a two-way street."

Kasumi deflated, her legs straightening as her body dribbled down her seat like a liquid. "Ugh, fine… but Chizuru's going next," she said, glaring half-heartedly at the gymnast.

Chizuru gave a confident huff. "I came prepared," she said smugly. Kasumi rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, let's get this over with." And so she regaled them the time that she'd attended an unsanctioned parkour event with three former friends, only one of whom knew how to do parkour maybe. Long story short, she fell on her ass, fell on her shoulder, somehow broke nothing, and was left for dead after she failed a tuck-and-roll and got herself stuck as the cops came to reprimand them.

Needless to say, it was funny as fuck. The rest of the day went by in a blur, and the Outcasts spent most of their time enjoying one another's company, deriving entertainment and developing deeper understandings of one another with every story they told. That night, for the first time since they'd left the apartment, the Outcasts slept well.

---

When the sun rose the next morning, within the girls' rather large, comfy, luxurious retail tent, Kasumi was the first to wake. She moaned softly as she was roused from her slumber, and eventually, she cracked an eye open, only to see a wall of pretty black hair. She groaned, closing her eyes again before breathing deeply. As always, Wakaba smelled like a bundle of timid femininity. How that was measured, Kasumi had no idea—she just knew that that's what it smelled like. And it smelled great all things considered.

It was only a few seconds later that Kasumi became cognizant of her position: Wakaba's curvaceous rear was pressed firmly against Kasumi's crotch, and the spear-user's arms were wrapped around the archer's waist. It was like a lover's embrace, only, platonic—they weren't lovers. In all honesty, it felt good all things considered. For just a moment, Kasumi wondered if she would ever get to spoon Soryan in this way, or vice versa.

With a short grunt, Kasumi turned her head and looked towards her designated part of the waterbed. Rather than being empty, Chizuru was splayed out atop it, half of her body on Kasumi's side, the other half on her side, taking up as much space as possible. Amused, Kasumi looked the other way, past Wakaba. There, Sango slept soundly in an actually normal position.

Kasumi nodded at this, then laid back down and closed her eyes again. She couldn't return to sleep, but she could enjoy spooning Wakaba for a bit longer. Kasumi kept in that position for nearly fifty minutes before she eventually got bored and decided to get on with her day. Silently, she extricated herself from Wakaba, pulling her squished chest away from the archer's back before scooting backwards. A moment later, she rose, pulled on her socks and shoes, then stepped out the tent, giving a content sigh when she was met with cool, crisp, clean morning air.

The spear-user spotted Mitchell a moment later. Without a word, she walked over, pulled a seat up right by his side, then sat down next to him.

"Mornin', Kas," Mitchell greeted with a nod.

Kasumi smiled at him. "Morning, Mitch," she replied. She noticed that nobody else had yet awoken, and as such, her lips twisted deviously. With a light moan, she stretched exaggeratedly, and the front of her shirt was pulled up to reveal the fair skin of her taut midriff.

Mitchell rolled his eyes knowingly. "Nice, Kas. Real nice."

At that, Kasumi genuinely laughed, dropping her arms as she snickered. "Is that what you say to every girl you ogle?"

Mitchell gave her a dry look that said 'Really?' "If they impress me, sure. But I'm afraid I'm simply humorin' your whimsy at the moment."

"Oh?" Kasumi inquired, her brow rising. "And what exactly does it take to impress you?" She leaned closer to him, resting her elbow on his chair's armrest before laying her chin atop her palm, gazing into his eyes.

Mitchell tilted his head. "I'm not obligated to answer that question."

Kasumi hummed. She bit her lip in a sensual manner. "I don't think I need your answer to find out," she whispered huskily. She leaned to him in such a way that Mitchell could see right down her shirt and into her bountiful cleavage, her breasts moving with her mesmerizingly. Mitchell opened his mouth to respond, struggling not to stare at her gifts, but then, she jerked back suddenly, slapping her thighs with open palms. "BUT, I'm too lazy to figure it out," she said, teasing. She couldn't help but grin at his staring.

"A classic Kas response," Mitchell drawled. He shook his head. His good-natured smile, however, spoke volumes.

Kasumi merely laughed. "Yep, you got me. I just live to tease. And good thing, too, because I've got the tools to do it," she said suggestively. "Like Soryan said, I'm a nuclear bomb."

Mitchell hummed. "Because you're just a blast to be around, I know."

"Hey, I didn't say it. You did," Kasumi said, waving him off. She tossed her sapphire blue hair over her shoulders before leaning back, relaxing into her seat. Her tranquil expression suddenly became a frown. "Ow… If only Soryan were awake. That boy really does have Magic Hands. He could fix me up in seconds."

"Well, you're in luck, Wondergirl, 'cause I learned a thing or two about that," Mitchell claimed. "He gave me the rundown on it."

"Really?" Kasumi inquired, raising a brow.

"Yeah. Unfortunately, with Sor out like a light, it seems it falls to me to feed your massage addiction. Sorry 'bout that."

"Hmm… Need practice for Waka?" Kasumi teased, smiling.

Mitchell didn't flinch. "Yeah, pretty much."

Kasumi laughed. "Alright. I can respect that." She rose from her seat, then flipped it around and sat back down such that her stomach faced the back-rest while her back faced Mitchell. "Go ahead."

"Aight then. Just bear with me here, okay?" Mitchell turned his chair to face her. For a moment before he began, he sat there, looking her up and down, subconsciously admiring her as he recalled Soryan's teachings.

Kasumi wiggled a bit, seating herself more comfortably. Eventually she let out a short grunt, then stilled. Then, Mitchell began.

Slowly, his fingers began to move, amateurish in their attempt to recreate what deftness he had experienced, but not without purpose. Kasumi breathed when his fingers found her shoulders. What little exposed skin she had, it was warm to the touch, and remarkably loose. Mitchell ran his fingers up and down her body, searching for points to attack, but again, Kasumi was unbelievably loose.

Mitchell frowned. Was he just too inexperienced? After all, Soryan had done this with Kasumi before, and according to both parties, his skills, within their group, were unmatched and effective. Unable to find any of the actual points that he was directed to look for, Mitchell decided to start with Kasumi's trapezius muscles. He pressed his fingers against the fabric of her shirt, his fingers creating imprints as they sunk into Kasumi's soft flesh.

Kasumi let out soft breaths as Mitchell pressed deeper, then moved his hands, pressing his palms and knuckles against her, creating circular motions with every action. With laser focus, he did what Soryan had told him to. The results were more effective than he thought they'd be.

Things were cut much shorter though when Kasumi grunted particularly loudly.

"Who's dying?"

Kasumi nearly shrieked, but she just barely managed to keep her voice within. Neither she nor Mitchell could help a startled jump though. That being said, Mitchell recovered quickly, then turned to see Soryan, blank-faced, sticking his head out from their tent.

"Mornin', Sor. Don't mind us, just… busy puttin' your lessons to use,'' Mitchell said, fighting a wince. He glanced at the frozen, red-faced Kasumi, then back to the Cambodian. His eyes pleaded with him not to misunderstand. "I'm not sure if I'm doin' this right, to be honest."

Soryan's expression was unreadable. He looked at Kasumi, who averted her gaze, then to Mitchell, the slightest amount of annoyance detectable when his brow raised. Mitchell was reminded of the conversation they'd had at the convenience store just two nights ago. "... Uh-huh."

The Cambodian disappeared back into the tent for a moment, then emerged in his usual semi-clean attire. He strode over to them, ignoring Kasumi's hawk-like stare and Mitchell's blank expression before plopping down into a lawn-chair with an unrepressed groan.

"Someone's up early," Kasumi said, coughing slightly.

"Yeah, well someone sounded like they were left to die in the great No Man's Land of World War One," Soryan retorted.

Kasumi grunted, a light, embarrassed blush appearing on her face. After a moment, she sighed before reorienting her chair and staring straight ahead.

Mitchell didn't dwell on Kasumi's dejection. He decided to help move the conversation along. "So. What do y'all think we should do today? We're just kinda... existin' right now."

Soryan shrugged. A thought occurred to him. "Did you ever hear from your dad again?"

Mitchell frowned and shifted in his seat. "Nah, I haven't. I'm hopin' it's just 'cause he's busy."

"It's not like he'd have any reason to be on the ground out here," Soryan pointed out. "He should be fine."

"Yeah, he should be on a carrier right now so it's just a matter of waitin' for him to call," Mitchell concurred. He hoped he'd call back soon. He had a lot of things to talk about with him.

Soryan nodded, then another thought occurred to him. "Did either of you hear about whether this estate is just a safezone or an evac point?"

Kasumi considered his question, and as her dejection passed, she tilted her head towards him, head still resting on her palm. "No... I haven't. Shouldn't it be one though?"

"I hope it is. I don't think I'll get any answers asking around, though," Soryan lamented.

Kasumi growled. "Ah. That crap again. The stares just ain't enough apparently."

"Like two sides of the same coin," Soryan nodded. "Whatever. I don't really care as long as nothing really shitty happens."

Mitchell shrugged. "If we keep to ourselves, I don't think we'll have much trouble. All we really have to do is wait for my dad to call, and I can tell him about this place." He leaned forward in his seat. "Then maybe we can get evac'd."

"That's the plan," Soryan hummed.

His expression brightened slightly when he noticed a number of figures approaching. Wakaba yawned into a hand as she approached, cute in her step, and Chizuru followed, slumped forward with her arms hanging loosely. Sango followed them, right as rain and without a hair out of place.

"Good morning~" Wakaba yawned, eyes half-closed. It was wonderful how even the most mundane actions could be adorable when performed by the archer.

"Mornin' everyone," Mitchell replied. He swept his gaze across them.

"Good morning," Sango said politely. Chizuru merely waved before throwing herself into a lawn-chair. Wakaba slowly sat down before yawning and stretching once more, making short utterances as her joints righted themselves.

"So, what's up?" Chizuru asked tiredly. Politely. Noncommittal.

Soryan looked at her. "The sky." The gymnast groaned.

Mitchell snorted. "We're figuring out what we're gonna be doin' here basically. Other than that, nothin'."

"Lovely," Chizuru replied. She sighed as she flipped herself around, leaning back into her chair. There was a moment of silence. "You know what I could go for right now?"

She paused, waiting for someone to ask. Eventually, Kasumi did. "What?"

"Morphing. Furikake. Rice." She emphasized every word by poking the air.

Mitchell turned to give Chizuru a look of approval. "Ooh, Food Wars. I see you truly are a girl of good taste." Chizuru hummed, her lips curling upwards.

"Oh, I've watched Food Wars!" Wakaba sat up, her drowsiness melting away. "They make the food look so good—even better than real food I've seen." She paused, becoming sheepish, and a blush developed on her face. "I... actually tried making that dish a few times."

"What's funny is Megumi reminds me of ya, Waka," Mitchell replied, smirking. "Fittin', since you're a good cook."

Wakaba smiled. "Thank you, but I'm not that good. Kasumi is better," she praised, looking at the girl.

Kasumi perked up, surprised at being called out. "Huh? Oh, thanks, but don't sell yourself short. I'd say we're about equal," she replied, waving her hand in emphasis.

Leaning forward a bit, Sango looked interested. "Now I'm curious about what a meal from you two would be like."

"Don't let their humility fool ya. Havin' had both their cookin', I can say that their food is fantastic," Mitchell praised. He made a face. "In fact, this is makin' me hungry, damn."

"You know what I'd like?" Soryan said. "A good old greasy American breakfast."

"Yesssss," Mitchell said, closing his eyes. "Bacon, eggs, ham and sausage, toast, hash browns, on god."

Soryan smirked deviously. "Imagine those glistening thick-cut strips of greasy goodness, crispy to the touch and crunching in your ears. Those fluffy golden clouds of beaten, scrambled eggs, a compliment to thin slices of turkey ham, which sit beside those glimmering pork sausages that explode with meat juices and savory saltiness with every bite. And, ah, the lovely palette cleanser, a thick cut of Texas Toast, lightly browned either side, soft and warm on the outside with the slightest bit of crisp just on each surface. Oh, and to top it all off, the golden-brown gods of potato heaven, those bits of the perfect balance—firm and crispy on the outside, but so soft and tender and warm on the inside that it just melts in your mouth. All of that on the largest single-serving plate you've ever seen, served with the tallest cool glass of the freshest orange juice ever squeezed. A meal that could bring any man to his knees..."

Mitchell's hand visibly twitched. He took a long, deep breath, then suddenly grasped an empty water bottle before chucking it at Soryan. "Silence, you absolute bastard. You're gonna make me act up." He was not amused. Soryan was.

"Oh my God, I think I just had a mouth-gasm," Chizuru groaned, leaning forward in her seat. There was a mutual agreement between everyone there. "Screw you, Soryan! Now I'm officially hungry."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Mitchell muttered.

Soryan blinked. "Mouth-gasm?" He frowned. "Uh, wouldn't that imply that you're throwing-up?"

Mitchell, Chizuru, and Kasumi looked at Soryan as if he'd suddenly spoken in tongues. Wakaba and Sango just looked bewildered.

Soryan saw their faces. "What? Don't look at me like that. Isn't an orgasm just pleasure accompanied by the expulsion of fluid? Saying you have mouth-gasm would mean that something has to come up, yeah?"

Mitchell groaned, putting a hand to his face. "No, Sor, that's… not what it means."

Soryan's eyes slowly squinted in confusion. "Huh?" he inquired roughly.

Kasumi laughed, incredulous. "Oh my God, do you actually not know what the definition of an orgasm is?"

Wakaba was slightly red-faced. "Come on, Sor. There's no way that you, out of all of us, don't know what that is."

Soryan opened his mouth, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. "Uh…"

"Oh my God, you don't!" Kasumi howled with laughter. Chizuru seemed generally doubtful, now sitting up in her chair and without an ounce of fatigue. Sango worried about Soryan's education. Mitchell simply didn't know what to say.

"Okay, fine, enlighten me," Soryan grumbled, pushing off his knees and sitting up.

Recovering from her laughing fit, Kasumi stared at him. "An orgasm is a climax of sexual excitement, characterized by feelings of pleasure—textbook definition right there," she explained.

Soryan's frown deepened, and Chizuru snickered at the look on his face. "Wha—I said that!"

"The ejaculation has nothin' to do with it," Mitchell informed flatly, shaking his head. "It's the feelin', not the release." He paused. "I can't believe I just said that unironically."

Soryan stared at him open-mouthed. "Huh!?"

Chizuru erupted into full-blown laughter, and Wakaba let out a small giggle despite herself. Kasumi and Sango each stared at Soryan like he was a sheltered child living beneath a rock.

"Wait, but, when females orgasm, don't they…? Isn't there also, you know, an expulsion of fluid?" Soryan inquired, perplexed.

"No, it only happens sometimes, you dummy," Kasumi explained. She looked him up and down. "Now I'm kinda scared, like: what else don't you know? You're not some sheltered child, are you? Have you talked about the birds and the bees yet?"

Soryan opened his mouth, holding up a finger. "Well… no."

Mitchell looked up and sighed. "Lord gimme strength…"

Soryan threw his hands up. "Look! I know how it works! I took Anatomy & Physiology last year."

"And yet he doesn't know what an orgasm is," Chizuru muttered, amused.

"Ugh, semantics!" Soryan complained. "Same thing."

For the third time that day, Sango spoke. "No, they really aren't," she said. She sounded genuinely concerned. Soryan was only exasperated, even as his companions laughed.

"Fine, I'll admit that I'm… who's that?" When Soryan's expression shifted from one of exasperation to one of caution, the Outcasts were each slowly alarmed. They turned and saw who he was looking at—some random Japanese man from one of the other refugee camps. After observation, the Outcasts realized that it was multiple people from multiple camps from multiple directions. Most were men, with only a few, seemingly infuriated women among them. Individually, each man and woman expressed something or another—anger, nearly overflowing lust, indignation, disdain, and strangely enough, pity.

When the closest of the refugees arrived—a man in his late twenties with black hair and a blue jacket and jeans—he spoke uninhibited, filled with an obvious ulterior motive, but also real concern and hate. The closer he got, the harder he stomped, and it wasn't until the man was in the camp that everyone realized that something was wrong. Very very wrong.

The man stomped up to Mitchell, who grew tense at the blatant hostility. The man pointed vehemently at Mitchell. "You asshole! Taking advantage of young girls however you please when they can't defend themselves, acting all tough because you've got a big sword! You fucking foreigner pig! I should beat the shit out of you right now!"

Before the man had even gotten half-way through his tirade, Soryan had stood like lightning, the reaction force sending his chair into the ground. His grip was intense around his Tactical Shovel.

At the same time, Mitchell grew blank-faced, and he stood slowly. His body was tense as a compressed coil spring, and for a moment, a flash of fear appeared on the man's face, for Mitchell was nearly half-a-foot taller than him.

"Sir, first, I don't have a single clue about what the hell you're talkin' about. Second, these girls are more than capable of defendin' themselves. You're makin' a scene, and I suggest you calm down." As Mitchell spoke, Kasumi slowly rose to her feet, and she subconsciously wrapped her hand around her spear. Chizuru and Sango also stood, the former with her hand near her weapon, the latter with a hand resting on the pommel of her weapon. Wakaba was the last to stand and the most apprehensive, but regardless, she was prepared.

"Calm down!?" The Outcasts turned to see a woman who had a scathing glare etched into her facial muscles. "You expect us to calm down when you're taking advantage of these poor young school girls every day? How dare you!" she seethed. She looked each of the boys up and down before her eyes zeroed in on Soryan. "You."

Her pointing finger was very deliberate. "You just love to push girls down and tear their clothes off, am I right?" She lowered her voice. "You ugly bastard, I can feel your eyes crawling all over me. If I were you, I would hide my body in a coat just like yours! Nobody wants to look at that!" There was a chorus of agreements stemming from a dozen other refugees that had arrived from seemingly nowhere.

Hearing their words, their agreements, Soryan's fists clenched so hard, his knuckles popped, and he bit his lip sharply, holding back a retort as his eyes scanned the crowd. Luckily, the other Outcasts were not idle.

"What the fu—!? Excuse me!? Who the fuck do you people think you are!?" Kasumi demanded, vexed.

Chizuru was quick to join her. "Taking advantage? What the hell are you talking about? What do you think you're doing, coming over here and talking out of your ass!?" She glared at the crowd, offended. Sango said nothing yet, her gaze darkening, frustration building up within her.

"Yeah, don't talk about my friends like that!" Wakaba protested. "Who even told you these horrible things?" Her expression morphed into one of immense worry, and she stepped towards Mitchell. Her grip on her bow was powerful.

The crowd faltered when the girls stood strong, as did the man who had first attacked them. "I… you… damn it," he grumbled. Suddenly he stood straighter as if a revelation had come to him. "Brainwashed! Everyone, these poor girls have been brainwashed by these foreigners! They don't even know what they're saying!"

The crowd was set aflame once more, jeering and booing. A few began making death threats among other things.

Mitchell's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I look like I have a goddamn pendulum? What drugs are you on, 'cause you people clearly aren't thinkin' rationally."

"You might as well have one," the man retorted bitterly. "You foreigners are the ones who put us in this shitty situation in the first place, setting the world on fire as you pleased! You should be afraid to even show your face here. In fact, you look like an American soldier! What are you doing here, huh? Fighting for your own self-interests, as usual? American Devil!"

Mitchell's jaw clenched and his hands twitched before balling. Kasumi growled and glared heatedly at the man. Chizuru mirrored the Spear-user's burning glare, and Wakaba's fingers twitched.

Sango stepped forward, a hand on her weapon and a small scowl on her lips. When she spoke, her voice nearly boomed, loud and all-encompassing. "It's people like you that I despise most about this country." She laid a hand on Mitchell's shoulder. "He has personally saved my life and both of them are good and decent men, who have done nothing to deserve this character assassination." Her eyes narrowed. "You people should be deeply ashamed. Please preserve your dignity, if you have any, and leave."

The 'leader' of the crowd growled. "Damn it… You guys, these girls are too far gone. They don't want to be saved, even if we can save them. I can tell they won't budge an inch. We'll need to use a different approach." He turned away, fists balled hatefully. "You fuckers, mark my words: this isn't over."

"What!?" the woman shrieked. "We're just going to leave them?"

"No. We'll come back later," the man replied.

"But he… he rapes them! He's the rapist!" She jabbed a finger at Soryan.

"Listen!" the man hushed her. The woman quieted, and the man whispered to her, unheard by the Outcasts. "If we attack them now, those girls might get hurt defending those two bastards. I, as a citizen of Japan, cannot allow that to happen. We'll have to come back and do this tactically."

The woman scoffed, then she turned and spat at Soryan. "You're gonna pay like the ugly bastard that you are!"

The world grew quiet as the furious crowd receded, but nobody relaxed. The warm, comforting atmosphere from just moments before now utterly obliterated, the Outcasts were left only with an ominous, unsettling sense of foreboding and uncertainty.

Slowly, Soryan's fists unclenched. He looked down at his coat.

---

"Ugh, I feel like my head is going to explode," Chizuru groaned. "It feels like this whole day has just been really shitty so far. What's with all the hate?" she lamented.

"You're preachin' to the choir, Chizuru. This just feels... unnatural, don't y'all think?" Mitchell replied, frowning. "It came outta nowhere."

"That shouldn't even be up in the air," Kasumi stated. "There's no way the world just suddenly decided that you two are the bad guys." She referred to Soryan and Mitchell, glaring at the ground.

"I agree. Something or someone is at work here, I'm certain of it," Sango replied. She surveyed the distant camps with a wary gaze.

"..." Soryan was silent, sorting through his thoughts.

Ever since the day had begun, the Outcasts—rather, Soryan and Mitchell—had been subject to constant harassment, endless accusations, and a general hatred that seemed completely random and arbitrary. It's like they'd walked into another dimension overnight, one in which it was mandatory to loathe the boys.

At some point, as they grew more restless, they attempted to partake in another soccer match to calm their nerves and enjoy themselves, but dozens of strangers had harassed them, attempting to verbally seperate the boys from the girls. Of course, that didn't work, but after so much hate, the Outcasts decided to keep to themselves, and they returned to their camp, restless and increasingly paranoid.

They sat in their previous seats, now joined by a number of the bus survivors.

"You guys really have it rough, huh?" Bunko said, sympathy in her eyes as she looked at the boys. "I don't know why people are being so mean, but I can help you if you'd like. Is there anything I can get maybe? A deck of cards or maybe some dice?"

"Nah, you don't have to do that," Mitchell replied. He gave her a thankful nod. "Thanks, though."

"No problem. Just ask if you need anything," she said kindly. There was a moment of silence.

"... I don't know how much longer we can stay here," Soryan said suddenly, head bowed. Heads turned to look at him. "That guy said he would be back, and I don't think he'll be as verbal this time as he was earlier. Asshole."

Apparently, Wakaba agreed. "Um… I agree with Sor. Maybe we should leave." She frowned worriedly. "I can't stand how they're treating you two…"

"I think we should leave too," Mitchell concurred. He shifted in his seat, taking a quick, paranoid glance around. "Who knows when they might try somethin' drastic."

"Okay, but where do you think we should go?" Chizuru inquired, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Wait, you guys want to leave?" Yoshie inquired. She wasn't so much surprised as she was concerned. "What would you even do? You'd be throwing yourselves into a wildfire out there."

"… Actually… I've been thinking," Bunko started sheepishly, unsure. "I… kind of agree with them."

Yoshie looked at her, asking without asking, as did Chisato.

She sighed before elaborating. "I mean… promise me you won't be mad," she pleaded, looking towards the older bus survivors.

"What happened?" Yoshie's eyes narrowed.

Bunko sighed. "Well… some guys have been… touching me."

"WHAT!?" Bunko flinched when Chisato and Yoshie roared in sync, the Outcasts growing concerned, and Masao huffing, irritated.

"What the hell, Bunko? Why didn't you say anything?" Chisato grilled her, standing from her seat. She seated herself once more when Bunko shrank back.

"I didn't want to worry anyone. It was just a single squeeze, I swear," Bunko confessed. "Nothing after that, but I still feel uncomfortable… unsafe."

"One squeeze is how it all starts," Kasumi growled heatedly. "I knew this shit was gonna start happening sooner or later! These people seem way too desperate."

"Okay, now I definitely think we should leave," Mitchell said, blank-faced. His expression softened when he turned to Bunko. "Sorry that happened to ya."

Bunko simply waved her hands at him in reassurance.

"I see this 'safezone' is filled with naught but lechers and bigots," Sango stated with a deep frown. "This is getting genuinely worrying."

"Oh, Bunko, if I knew it was like that," Yoshie said softly.

The camp went quiet for a moment, each survivor deep in thought. Eventually, Soryan let out a groan. "So… we doing this or...?"

"I mean…" Kasumi stopped herself. "Do we actually want to do this?" Everyone looked at her, shocked until she elaborated further. "I mean, if we went out there, we're throwing away the possibility of evacuation..."

Mitchell reached into his back pocket. "That's the thing though, Kas." He pulled out his Iridium satellite phone. "As long as I can get in touch with my dad with this, we have a chance of evac." He paused, then put it away with a slight frown. "... At least, I'm hopin' so. I'm sure they'd rescue a large group of people."

Interested, Chisato sat straighter in her seat, as did the other bus survivors. "Wait, your father is in the military? Can he help us?"

Mitchell knocked on his armrest with his knuckles thoughtfully. "Well, he's an Osprey pilot, so hopefully. He called me on this a couple a' days ago when he was retasking to the Reagan's strike group from Okinawa," he informed, then frowned. "I'm hopin' he can get the word up about us to his superiors so they can airlift us outta this mess. So maybe he can help us."

Chizuru perked up. "So, basically, we don't have to stay here?" She looked hopeful.

"Well, we don't have to stay here," Soryan motioned, "and I can see what you're thinking, but if we really want to leave, we've got to consider that things will go wrong. We're in a kind-of-safezone right now, so leaving would sacrifice some protection. We'd need a backup-plan, and a for-sure determined destination we want to stay at long-term." He looked at Chizuru, then to the other outcasts. "With that said, you guys have any ideas?"

There was a minute of silence.

"… My idea? Self-sufficiency," Mitchell replied seriously. He grimaced a bit. "As much as I hate to admit it, my plan is kinda optimistic. There's no guarantee that the military will do anythin', even if my dad tells 'em about us. So we need to settle in a place where food an' water will be a non-issue as a fallback option."

Soryan put a hand to his head. "Nobody is keeping the power grid online, so soon enough, power is gonna be an issue. With that, water treatment goes and so does food preservation. If we do it, we'll need to do it soon and stock up on as much food and water from any grocers or markets in the area as possible. It's been a few days since this piss started, so I don't know how many raids and lootings there have been. I do know, though, that a single supermarket should carry enough food to last a man sixty-three years if he rations correctly. For thirty people, that's two years. We'd have a shit-ton of time to get self-sufficient." He paused. "Just want to say this though: this is long-term, and I don't think we'll be here that long. We should prepare for it like that anyway, though." Mitchell nodded along in agreement.

"Well. You two have certainly thought this through," Sango said, impressed.

Soryan shook his head. "Not really, you just need to logic it out. Think ahead and adjust for it. Are we better off here where we get moderate protection for the cost of some… unrest? Or are we better off out there, where we will be less protected and stressed about things other than some horny assholes and their entourages."

"Not to mention, at least Zach is dumb as fuck. We only gotta worry about Romero-esque undead rather than any needless drama," Mitchell said flatly, throwing a thumb towards the distant front gate.

"Yeah," Soryan muttered. Masao grumbled about something, but nobody heard them.

Kasumi exhaled. "… Look, obviously, none of us want to be here, but we don't have any solid plans yet." She looked at Chizuru. "I know I said I would rather be out there than in here, but more than anything else, I just want to get through this alive and with you guys intact, and I don't know if it would be safer out there rather than in here. So why don't we make a plan, and tomorrow, we can decide whether we leave or stay," she reasoned.

"Sounds reasonable," Mitchell replied. He gave a thumbs up. "I'm up for that."

"I think so too," Wakaba agreed, nodding along. "I'd feel a lot better if we had a plan."

"I hope that you don't mind me joining you as well?" Sango asked, leaning forward in her seat. "After seeing what is being offered here, I think I'd much rather stay with your group."

"I already had a really bad feeling that something would happen if we stay here," Chizuru said, shifting in her seat. "But after all that's happened this morning…" Rather than finishing that thought, she shook her head with an air of finality. The sudden ramp up in hostility from earlier that morning gave her a sense of unease, and dare she say, foreboding. Hearing about Bunko's situation merely sealed the deal for her.

There was an unsaid agreement that passed between each survivor.

Yoshie shrugged. "Well, we won't get anywhere just sitting around. Again, anyone got any ideas? I think Shintoko Elementary could be a great place to go."

Bunko frowned. "Maybe. But I think Taiei Shopping Town would also be a good place to go."

"… Actually, I think that idea has potential," Soryan said, rubbing his lips. "Lots of space, loads of defensible locations, tons of exits, a second floor to escape to, individual rooms that we can stay in, and a bunch of other shit that would take too long for me to elaborate about."

"Yeah, that's along the lines of what I was thinkin'," Mitchell concurred. "It has everything we could need." He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point.

Chizuru nodded along with his words. "So… I guess the mall is first? Is everyone okay with that? I personally don't mind going there," she inquired, eyeing her companions.

Bunko nodded. "I'm okay with it. It already sounds way better than here."

There was a unanimous agreement across the seated survivors, then Soryan spoke. "Alright, mall for sure, but what's the back-up plan, mates?"

And so they planned.

---

Wakaba awoke slowly, stirring from her sleep as Kasumi pulled her waist deep into her own, the archer's head finding itself wedged between Kasumi's breasts. She blushed when she was cognizant of their intimate position, and her eyes cracked open. It was only after Kasumi let out a light moan that Wakaba realized that the spear-user was still asleep.

She inwardly admitted that the position felt amazingly cozy, and she decided that she would enjoy resting there a little while longer. She closed her eyes for nearly ten minutes before they cracked open once more when she felt a familiar, unpleasant sensation within her gut; Wakaba needed to urinate. Her lips twisted sheepishly, and stiffly, she began attempting to extricate herself from Kasumi's subconscious spoon.

It was no easy task, for every time Wakaba pulled away from Kasumi, she only pulled her back in, deeper than before. After a dedicated one-hundred-twenty seconds, she managed to do it, and she stood up slowly, seeking to relieve herself. She unzipped the tent's flap and stepped out before closing it once more.

The sun had yet to fully rise, but already, Wakaba spotted Mitchell, awake and ready. For a moment, she forgot about her bladder, and she walked towards the American, a small smile appearing on her face as she studied him. That smile soon became a frown when she recalled the events from the day before. Although it wasn't easily discernible by those who didn't know him, Mitchell had seemed tense and stressed beyond belief. Wakaba didn't much like that. As such, she felt an intrinsic urge to make him happy. To comfort him.

Without making him aware of her presence, Wakaba crept up behind him, then, as he suddenly turned his head to the side, she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck before placing her head by his. "Good morning~!" She said cheerfully. "Guess who?"

"Mornin'! I'm gonna guess it's our resident Dead-Eye," Mitchell replied, smiling. He patted her arm affectionately.

"You're right," Wakaba nodded. "Have an air cookie." She held her hand before his lips.

"Yum-yum," Mitchell drawled. He smirked in amusement as he turned to look at her. "What kind is it?"

"That's a secret," Wakaba replied playfully. After a second, she slowly, reluctantly pulled away from him, then circumvented his chair.

"Well damn, Waka, now you're makin' me want one a' your actual cookies," Mitchell huffed. His amused tone spoke volumes.

"Maybe when we settle down for good, I might be able to make them again," Wakaba said thoughtfully, a finger at her lips. "But for now, you'll just have to wait."

Mitchell sighed. "Yes, ma'am. I'll eagerly await the day 'cause, holy shit, your cookies are fire."

Wakaba giggled mirthfully. "Thanks, Mitch. I'll be right back by the way. I just need to go to the restroom real quick."

"Aight. Don't go too far though, 'kay?" Mitchell said, pointing at her in a half-playful, half-serious manner.

"Okay, mom," Wakaba replied, teasing for once. Turning, she walked away, out of the camp and towards the treeline at the edge of the courtyard, where a forest lay within the edge of Takagi Estate grounds. She smiled happily knowing that her actions had just made Mitchell's day a bit better.

The archer moved just beyond the treeline but with the camp still in sight, then did her business fairly quickly. Relieved, she made to return to the camp. There was a flash of movement, and her eyes widened.

Wakaba tried to scream when a large, sweaty hand slapped over her mouth, another wrapping around her ribs, just beneath her breasts. She kicked wildly, terrified as she was lifted off of the ground, but another pair of arms held her legs steady. She grabbed frantically at the thick, unpleasantly hairy arm that had a hand slapped against her lips, but yet another pair of arms restricted her freedom, pulling her arms behind her.

"Heh, you thought you could just run away from us?" A voice taunted her. Wakaba's eyes widened further, an agonized whimper leaving her throat as tears began to prick at her eyes. She knew that voice. "Not in a million fucking years, bitch. I said that you'd be mine, and now, you are, and there's nothing you can do about it." A rancid smelling tongue dragged up the side of Wakaba's cheek, and she screamed into her captor's hand. "Nuh-uh, not this time. You think that fucking gaijin is going to come for you? He won't—nobody will. And even if they do, by then, you won't even remember him. I'll make sure you forget about him—I'll fuck you until you beg for more, until you're nothing but my willing, hungry slut."

The one who held Wakaba slipped several rough fingers into her mouth, then began thrusting them in and out, defiling her to a horrendous degree, but through the unmistakable terror she felt, there was a moment of clarity in Wakaba's mind, a moment of anger mixed in with the fear and overwhelming dread. Without cognizance of herself, she bit down as hard as she possibly could.

Her captor yelled in pain, ripping his fingers from her throat. Desperate, Wakaba screamed.

"HELP—"

She got one word out, then a gag of cloth was shoved into her open mouth. She continued to scream into it.

"Gah—fuck! Goddamnit! I was going to be gentle, but just for that, I'm going to break you from the start!"

Wakaba turned her head, and finally, she caught a glimpse of dyed blonde hair. It was Tsunoda. Shido's lapdog. Had her circumstances allowed it, Wakaba's jaw would have fallen open in terror.

Tsunoda glared hungrily at her, then turned to his likely-companions. "You think those fuckers heard that?"

Wakaba's head snapped in the direction Tsunoda was looking, and as she suspected, but still to her horror, Miura and Kurokami—the dull-looking one, and the creepy doll-maker—bound her.

"I hope not," Miura said, annoyed. "That'll be just another thing to deal with." He grunted, holding tightly onto Wakaba's legs.

"Let's go then, just in case," Kurokami urged. He looked back in the direction of the camp, paranoid.

"Right," Tsunoda agreed. He held fast as Wakaba struggled in his grasp, then he glared viciously at her. "And no touching yet. We need her to be presentable for the boss. Then I'll get her all to myself…"

Wakaba cowered under his gaze, and at the mention of his 'boss', she nearly fainted. The archer lost herself to fear, and the world blurred past her as she was carried further into the forest. She heard only the crunching of rapid footsteps, and a number of labored—excited breaths. She felt their sweaty, filthy palms grasping her however they pleased. It was a nightmare coming to life, playing out live like a stream.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, and how she wished that those hours would become years, for if there was one thing she never wanted to see, it was the climax of this horrendous nightmare. She was tossed and turned, spun around, groped to no end until finally, she heard what she feared most.

There was a low chuckle, that of a viper's. "You've been a naughty girl, my dear Wakaba." The girl froze, halting her struggles entirely. "And I'm sure that you know: it is my job to punish students that misbehave."

Wakaba was forced to face the object of her torment, but she stubbornly shut her eyes, refusing to look. She let gravity take her, attempting to sink into the floor, but two pairs of arms held her own aloft, the body of something disgustingly warm practically spooning her, grinding against her rear, its owner breathing hungrily down her neck.

"Ah, even now, bound and gagged, completely at my mercy, you still refuse to see my way—to see me. Open your eyes, dear. I want you to see what's about to happen."

Wakaba didn't budge. "I see… perhaps I was too soft on you." Eyes closed, Wakaba didn't anticipate being struck in the face with the force of a meteor. Her cheek stung, red and on fire as the slap reverberated throughout the forest. The voice became authoritative. "Now Wakaba, it is in your best interest to do as I say. And you will do what I say, or am going to do something far worse to you than I already have—frankly, I don't know what that something is, because everyone has always done what I say."

Wakaba whimpered, but her eyes remained shut. There was a sigh. "Now, I'm going to count to three. One… two…"

A shiver, and slowly, Wakaba's eyes cracked open, and there, flooding her vision, silver tongue waving and lips curved in an evil smirk, Shido leered at her, a sense of lust and superiority in his eyes. Wakaba whimpered, shrinking back into the body that held her as the viper caressed the side of her face.

"There, there, that's a good girl… I knew you could do it." Shido whispered. "Now, it's time to claim my rightful prize—what you kept from me for so long." With one hand, he twirled a strand of her hair, and the other slowly crept beneath Wakaba's shirt, crawling like slime. Wakaba could only watch in horror as he took slowly—agonizingly slowly took a handful of her breast into his grasp. With only little restraint, he squeezed.

Wakaba felt physically ill, shuddering in disgust. Her head went light with nausea, and despite her greatest efforts, she couldn't help the moan that escaped her throat. When liquid coalesced into her eyes, it was as if Shido had squeezed her tears out. The viper chuckled. "Oh, you may resist now, but soon, my dear—you will be loving it."

"Ahem." Off to the side, someone cleared their throat. The lascivious grin on Shido's face tapered off into an expression of eye-rolling annoyance. "So, about our deal?"

Wakaba turned to look, and she was both surprised and terrified to see the Thirsties from two days earlier. Shido faced them, suddenly professional. "Our deal is still on the table, but you must be patient. Such luxury merchandise isn't so easy to come by after all. I now have my grand prize, so you will get your… payment. However, the spear-girl, Kasumi, belongs to me. I'm afraid that she's been a real troublemaker recently. She is in need of some heavy... disciplining as well. You may have the other two."

Yuji nodded. "As long as you understand. We have too much to lose if our plan fails."

Shin stared at Wakaba with lust and want in his eyes. "And I believe I was promised a turn with her as well?"

Shido groaned with his eyes. "Hmm. I'd rather not have so many… students sully my prized possession, but a deal is a deal. You will get what was promised, Mr. Tsuchiya."

Even as Wakaba felt a rush of terror, even more worry picked at her; her friends were being bargained? Like chips in a game of poker?

"So, we just get rid of those gaijins and we're home-free?" Daisuke asked skeptically. "That simple? Why would you need us then? They don't look that tough…"

Shido grunted. Those gaijins were his biggest obstacles. "Don't let them fool you. They're a bigger pain than you realize."

One of the Thirsties, Takeo, scoffed. "You mean the big, scary American?" he mocked. "He's all bark and no bite, I can tell. If he thinks I'll let him throw me around just because he's a foreigner, then he's going to learn a very hard truth." He shook his fist tightly.

Takeo would remember those words for the rest of his life. For from the shadows, large as a bear and as feral as a wolverine, Mitchell struck. At a blinding speed, his fist gripped Tsunoda by the hair, and before the thug could so much as yelp, the American ripped Tsunoda's head back and away from the terrified Wakaba, then savagely drove the thug's leering face straight into an adjacent tree.

Before anyone could so much as turn their very eyes to look at what the fuck just happened, Mitchell swung his fist like he beheld Thor's Mjolnir, backfisting the shit out of Kurokami's temple, knocking the boy out in a single vicious blow. Letting loose a livid yell, eyes warped by hate, Mitchell instantly threw the same lightning blow forward, his fist smashing into the face of a frozen, wide-eyed Miura. By then, Shido's brain had finally caught up with what happened, and the viper became a rat, the predator becoming the prey as he scrambled back in fear. Shocked beyond belief, the Thirsties stood stunned for a short moment.

Mitchell wasted no time. "WAKA! RUN!" he roared.

Free from her ugly vices, Wakaba didn't squander her chance at freedom. Panicked, dazed, confused and relieved, she sprinted back towards camp, thankful tears spilling from her eyes as she pulled the gag from her mouth.

Unfortunately, to Mitchell's extreme dismay, Shido bolted after her. Mitchell made to give chase, but the Thirsties had recovered and began rushing him. He prayed for Wakaba to be safe.

With boiling blood, he turned to lay waste to his adversaries. He eyed them, veins popping with fury. He was going to annihilate these boy band rejects.

Shin, infuriated by Wakaba's escape, rushed the American, attempting to thrust his switchblade into Mitchell's abdomen, but Mitchell was far more furious. The American stepped to Shin's left, narrowly avoiding the thrust before catching the young man's wrist. He yanked hard, using the boy's momentum against him, then he wrapped his arm around Shin's neck, and before Shin even realized that he'd missed, Mitchell hip bumped him.

Shin's feet left the ground entirely, and with a growl of loathing, Mitchell threw Shin over his head, violently slamming him into the ground with all of his strength. Shin let out a wheeze, but before he could recover, Mitchell twisted the boy's wrist harshly, then slammed his palm into his outer elbow, hyperextending it, and causing the knife to fall from his hand. The boy yelled in agony. Mitchell quickly kicked the knife into the dark brush around them, then savagely stomped the boy in the face, temporarily silencing him.

The American didn't have time to dwell on his downed opponent. He heard one of Shin's buddies rapidly approaching and whipped around as fast as he was able, stepping back as he did so. Alas, he wasn't quick enough. Yuji's switchblade sliced into Mitchell's upper left arm right between the armor plates, and the American snarled in pain.

Although Mitchell could feel the blood seeping from the knife wound, he paid it no mind, turning to Yuji. The leader of the Thirsties swiped at Mitchell's throat, but Mitchell leaned back, barely avoiding the blow. When Yuji swung again, Mitchell sidestepped the blow, invading Yuji's guard and catching his wrist with his left hand. Unrelenting, Mitchell's right hand shot forward and viciously grasped Yuji's throat.

With an angry bellow, Mitchell channeled his upper-body strength, and Yuji was lifted off the ground, chains of iron choking the life out of him. Yuji's eyes boggled out of his head, and his hands shot towards the arm that gripped him, his legs kicking every which way, but Mitchel didn't budge at all. With a growl, Mitchell swept a leg around the back of Yuji's hanging feet and twisted, using his own strength and Yuji's own weight to violently chokeslam the young man into the ground. The knife came loose from Yuji's grip, and seeing it fall, Mitchell quickly kicked it away as he did the other.

Before he could do more, he was struck in the back, pain flaring in his spine as he was thrown forward a step. Like the flick of a switch, pure instinct took over, and Mitchell snapped around to see Takeo rearing back for another swing. Poor fool—he should've gone for the head.

"Come on, bitch," Mitchell snarled raspily. Takeo faltered at the deep, menacing, guttural challenge—he hadn't expected Mitchell to shrug off such a heavy blow. As such, when Takeo swung clumsily, Mitchell attempted to grab the weapon, but to no avail. Emboldened, Takeo reared back for a more powerful swing, but Mitchell stepped forward, meeting the blow—his hand shot out for the swinging bat, and shockingly, he caught it. Pain shot up his arm, but he held fast.

Stunned, Takeo never saw the blow coming.

"COME ON, BITCH!" Mitchell roared as he swung mightily, his clenched fist careening into Takeo's temple. Instantly—brutally, Takeo went limp, flopping over bonelessly into the ground, his head smashing against the floor, blood spilling from it.

Mitchell swiveled to meet his next opponent, only to see Yuji slowly getting to his feet. Stepping past Yuji, Daisuke approached Mitchell with a nightstick, already swinging. As fast as he could, Mitchell gripped Takeo's bat on both ends and just barely managed to parry Daisuke's swing, a loud metallic ringing reverberating throughout the field as the nightstick raked across the metal bat.

Daisuke, off balance, could not stop Mitchell from sliding his hands back to the grip of the bat, nor could he halt the swing that followed; without pause, Mitchell swung for Daisuke's knees. The young man attempted to step back, but Mitchell was too swift. With a sickening metal crack, Mitchell swept the boy's legs out from under him. Daisuke yelled in agony as he fell to the ground, but Mitchell gripped the bat by both sides once more, and he slammed the end of it right into Daisuke's nose. Daisuke's head snapped backwards, and he went out like a light. Huffing, shuddering with still unquenched rage, Mitchell turned to Yuji, who had now recovered and stood some distance away.

Mitchell immediately advanced on him. "You ain't shit, pretty boy!"

The situation was no longer life or death for him. Now, it was personal. Teeth gritting behind closed lips, Mitchell hurled the bat off to the side, sending it spinning end over end into the trees where it impacted wood with a loud thock.

"I'LL BREAK YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS! C'MERE!" With that punctuating roar, Mitchell charged Yuji down.

To Yuji's credit, he met Mitchell's charge. Brave, but very, very foolish. When Yuji attacked, Mitchell read him like a book; he watched as Yuji sprinted into a running roundhouse kick, and he waited for Yuji to complete his twist, then he twisted his own torso to the right, allowing Yuji's leg to fly harmlessly past his chest, missing by mere millimeters. Yuji, dumbfounded, was defenseless when Mitchell swung his hand forward like a bear's paw, slamming his palm into the leader's face.

Without a moment's pause, Mitchell gripped Yuji's face and smashed the back of Yuji's head into the ground, dazing him. Yuji attempted a quick, yet clumsy jab at Mitchell's face, but Mitchell leaned back, catching Yuji's wrist, ruthlessly twisting it out of the way. The American's fist snapped forward, colliding with Yuji's nose, causing his head to bounce off the ground like a basketball. Mitchell wasn't done. He gripped Yuji by the shirt and slammed him against the ground again, and again, and again, releasing his anger with every impact. When he deemed the punishment was enough, he sent a fist into the barely conscious boy's temple. There was a loud crack as Yuji's head snapped to the side, and the world went silent.

Mitchell, anger still pulsing in spite of Yuji's unconsciousness, backfisted the boy viciously before rising to his feet. Four, thoroughly maimed boys surrounded him, but he felt no remorse whatsoever. Mitchell strode past, glaring at each of them. When he reached Takeo, he saw the young man groaning, not quite as injured as the rest. He rectified that by drawing back his leg and swinging it forward, the tip of his boot smashing into the boy's nose. Takeo went silent after that.

Without another sound, Mitchell turned and hurried in the direction that Wakaba had gone, leaving the Thirsties where they lay. Maybe Zach would find them and hopefully do the world a favor.

---

When Mitchell came, Wakaba was ready to kiss him right then and there—that is how desperate she had been for freedom. As the American clashed with his adversaries, Wakaba ran like the wind, never once looking back no matter how much she desired to. Tears fell freely from her face, all because she'd been overwhelmed by gratitude, fear, and nauseating disgust. She didn't try to stop him—Mitchell was fighting alone now, and she needed to get help. The other girls, they had to know what Shido intended to do to her—to them.

Wakaba shut her eyes tightly for a moment, running wildly—blindly. Her emotions were far beyond her own control, and she couldn't take it. She sobbed as she ran, and as this messed with her breathing, her oxygen lowered, and she slowed down slightly. Though the change was slight, it was enough.

Wakaba screamed as she was all but tackled to the ground, arms like snakes coiling around her, constricting her. She struggled hard, but Shido struggled harder, glaring daggers at her as he grunted with effort.

"For two long years, I've had you between my sights, able to aim but never able to pull the trigger. Now that I have my chance, I shall not miss!"

With those final words, Shido spun the girl around and hugged her tightly, then attempted to plunge his lips against hers. Wakaba, eyes wide, moved her head at the last moment, and Shido's lips pressed against her cheek. Wakaba nearly vomited.

After sucking on the side of her face for a few seconds, struggling all the while, Shido pulled back, then went in once more. Wakaba turned her cheek again, and Shido's lips met her other cheek. He suckled on it anyways, like it was some treasure never to be let go. He chuckled sultrily, then pulled away.

This time, he gripped Wakaba's chin and turned her face to his. "There's nowhere left to run, Wakaba."

At that moment, seeing the smug, self-assured look in Shido's eyes, feeling his slimy grip around her waist, something within her snapped. In those precious seconds as Shido shoved his lips towards hers, she realized that she'd been fighting this war for nearly two years. Every day she had struggled to breath, gulping down mere mouthfuls of oxygen. Now, after drowning for so long, she was near the surface of the oceanic depths. After everything she'd been through, after everything every one of her friends had to deal with for her sake and for their own, after the constant fight that she'd been fighting for so long… she was done.

She did not come this far to lose now.

A memory flashed through her mind—it was a lovely day, one in which she, Mitchell, Kasumi, and Soryan had been playing a game of basketball. When the game had finished, Mitchell had sought her, and he had taught her a number of rudimentary defensive techniques. She put them to use.

Shido's lips mere centimeters away from her own, Wakaba's fist balled and her eyes narrowed into a glare of fire. With a howl of two years worth of pent-up frustration and well-hidden anger, her dainty, yet powerful fist flew forward at a near superhuman speed. With zero remorse, her knuckles smashed into Shido's testicles.

The reaction was immediate.

Shido bellowed in agony, falling to his knees as his hands shot to his crotch. Before he could fall all the way to the ground, Wakaba let loose a mighty yell, and her palm slammed into the front of Shido's face. There was a loud crack as Shido's glasses snapped and broke, and the man fell backwards like a sack of potatoes, his head smashing into the ground.

Wakaba stood there for one second, then two, then three, then four, then, as a singular tear fell from her eye, she fell to her knees and screamed, fists clenched as she poured every ounce of her fear, frustration, hate, anger—every last bit of negativity within her soul into an all-encompassing scream that echoed throughout Takagi Estate. When the world fell silent, she sat back on her legs, her fists unclenching. She didn't move, merely staring at the object she hated most.

What rocked her out of her numbness was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Wakaba turned her head, just in time to see Soryan approach, teeth showing, eyes glaring, and with his Tactical Shovel in hand. When he caught sight of Wakaba, he hurried over and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up.

"What happened? What's going on—" Then he saw Shido's still body. His mouth clamped shut. "You… I..."

Wakaba shook her head, frantic. More footsteps were approaching, and in the distance, she and Soryan could see Tsunoda and Miura rapidly closing in on them.

"Fucking Hell! Give me the cliff notes version!" Soryan demanded, squaring his shoulders towards the oncoming threat.

"They tried to rape me! They want the others too! I'm going to get them!" Wakaba replied quickly, stepping away from Soryan.

"They WHAT!?"

"I—They—I—"

"I heard what you said, now run and get to safety!" Soryan said, interrupting her. Wakaba hesitated, then without another word, she ran off.

Soryan's fist clenched around his spade as he glared at Shido's lackeys. He looked down at Shido, then to the thugs again, then to Shido. Rage bubbled up within him, and he growled. This fucker tried to rape Wakaba? And since when was he here!?

Then it hit Soryan. Shido must have been the reason for the ramp up in hostility the other day. He had been there, watching from the shadows, influencing the minds of those within the estate. He had played them, psychologically tormented, all so he could get his hands on some pussy. Soryan seethed.

Tsunoda slowed, then stopped when he approached, as did Miura.

"Ah, Harry-fucking-Potter," Tsunoda spat, fists clenching. "I owe you one of these for that shit-talk on the bus." He punched a meaty fist into his palm. Miura said nothing, lowering into a stance.

Soryan merely glared. "... I fucking hate you."

"That makes two of us."

Tsunoda was the first one to move, leaping at Soryan like a gorilla and throwing a large fist forward. Soryan, eyes glaring and adrenaline flooding his body, blocked the blow with the spade of his shovel. There was a loud, metallic bang, then Tsunoda retracted his fist.

"Fuck!" The thug cursed. His reply was the metal flat of a spade slamming against the side of his face. "Agh! FUCK!"

"Ah! Am I too violent for ya, CUPCAKE!?" Soryan roared, raising his weapon again. He swung downwards again, but Tsunoda raised his left arm while his head was down, managing to deflect it; the spade dragged along his arm, cutting it in the process. Head still down, his other arm shot forward, throwing a fist that slammed against Soryan's ribs.

The Cambodian stumbled back and hadn't the time to block Miura's follow up: a blow to the chin. Soryan was knocked to the ground, dazed, and Miura leapt atop him, but not before the Ung recovered just enough to bring his shovel up horizontally across his body. Miura fell onto it, grabbing the weapon, and Soryan, capitalizing on such a move, threw a kick at Miura's gut, sending the boy right over his head.

As Miura hit the ground, Tsunoda stomped at Soryan. The Cambodian frantically rolled out of the way and just barely dodged the blow. He rose from the ground two meters away only for his eyes to widen when Tsunoda shoulder-charged him. The large thug slammed harshly against Soryan's gut and carried his body right into a tree.

The impact was hard and painful, but even with the wind knocked out of him, Soryan haphazardly tossed himself away when Tsunoda pulled away from him. Soryan stumbled slightly, ribs and gut aching, but nevertheless, he glared. Once more, Tsunoda charged again, but this time Soryan had time to retaliate.

"FUCK OFF, CLOWN!" Soryan yelled, swinging his shovel like a bat. It slammed against Tsunoda's side, making him falter. The thug's momentum didn't slow, so he still hit the Ung, but with much less of a driving force. As such, even as Soryan was pushed back, Tsunoda's head against his chest, Soryan slammed an elbow onto the thug's head once, twice, then thrice, then Tsunoda finally relaxed, pulling away from him.

The thug was replaced by Miura, who grabbed Soryan's weapon. With a mighty bellow, Soryan stepped away, then spun, using centrifugal force to his advantage. Miura was forced to let go, and he ran into a tree. Slightly dizzy, Soryan followed him, then swung powerfully once more. This time, it was the blade of the spade that met its mark. Muira screamed in agony as half of a spade was embedded into his side, blood spilling from his wound.

There was a sickening, slimy sound as Soryan pulled his weapon away. He made to finish the job, no sympathy in his eyes, but once again, Tsunoda struck. Soryan yelped when his head snapped forward, and his body was forced in the same direction, a fist smashing against the back of his skull. Black spots appeared in his vision, and he whirled and made a wild, blind swing.

When the blow connected, Tsunoda, who had his arms raised in a rudimentary guard, suffered slices on the back of his wrists. It wasn't enough. Tsunoda punched again, his fist cracking against Soryan's shoulder. The Cambodian stepped back, pained, then he swung again. Metal met flesh, and Tsunoda finally backed away, a sizable gash in his side.

Soryan also stepped away, winded. For a moment, he wondered how much longer he would be forced to two on one.

He breathed heavily, adrenaline running through his veins, ready to swing again. Then he heard heavy, rapid footsteps approaching. Alarmed, Soryan turned his head just in time to see Mitchell bearing down on Tsunoda with an unmistakable look of fury in his eyes.

The American twisted into a running roundhouse kick that connected with Tsunoda's chest, sending him sailing back and away from Soryan entirely. As Tsunoda tumbled to a stop, Mitchell breathed deep, then advanced on him.

"... Boy, you don't even know how fucked you are, do ya Thug Life? I saw what you were doin' to her… the sweetest girl I've ever known. Get over here so I can snap your goddamn neck."

Tsunoda, wounded and now heaving, realized with a mixture of rage and fear that he was now completely outgunned. Without a word, Tsunoda scrambled to his feet and fled into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him.

For a moment, Mitchell considered running the rat-bastard down to make good on his threat, but his worry for Wakaba far outweighed his desire for vengeance; her raw scream had brought worry to him.

Mitchell turned to his comrade. "You good, Sor?"

Soryan exhaled, jaw tight and eye twitching. "... I hate everything."

"Preachin' to the fuckin' converted, dude." Mitchell sighed deeply, releasing the anger boiling within him. "C'mon. Let's get back to the girls. I wanna check on Waka."

Soryan stared at the ground, then nodded stiffly. He rubbed his shoulder, then followed after Mitchell as the American began walking away.

---

When Mitchell and Soryan broke through the treeline, they immediately zeroed in on their camp and began hurrying to it. In the distance, they caught sight of a stressed Wakaba, crying as she huddled in a lawn chair, staring into the forest as Chizuru, Sango, and Kasumi fussed over her, hands each on their weapons, looking as if they were prepared to go to war.

Instantly, Wakaba's teary eyes went wide when she caught sight of the duo, and she all but jumped out of her seat, pulling away from the other girls, much to their concern. At her speed, Wakaba stumbled, but never did she stop. She sprinted, and when Mitchell saw her coming, he too let go of his inhibitions and ran for her.

When they embraced, Wakaba tilted her head to the side, tears flowing as she wrapped her arms around Mitchell's body, hugging him as close as their bodies would allow. At the same time, Mitchell snagged her from the ground, holding her close like one would a child, relieved beyond belief. "Thank fucking God."

Wakaba didn't reply, only tightly squeezing Mitchell's back as she quietly sobbed. Soryan watched, then his head snapped left and right. He looked behind himself, back to the trees, paranoid. There was nothing there. After what had just happened, he wasn't sure if even that notion was believable.

The other Outcasts approached them quickly, their expressions an array of worry, anger, and unease that quickly became a sense of relief.

"I'm just gonna say this. I don't give a single flying fuck how many zombies I gotta kill, we're not stayin' here," Mitchell growled as they neared.

"We should move fast," Soryan agreed, hushed.

Kasumi had other worries. "Holy shit! Mitchell, your arm!" she fussed, hurrying to him.

"Jesus, are you okay!?" Chizuru cried, eyeing Mitchell's arm.

Sango gasped, a hand flying to her lips when she saw the bloodied limb. "Oh my God!"

Mitchell glanced over, and it was only then that he realized: his left arm had been painted red by the blood of his own wound. Through the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed it at all, but now, it stung like a bitch and a half. He ignored the pain.

"Well shit, Waka, I'm bleedin' all over ya," Mitchell drawled, letting the archer down.

By then, Wakaba's right arm was stained by Mitchell's blood, but she didn't fuss over it. She did, however, hop away from him, eyes wide. "Sorry! D-did I hurt you?"

"Nah. I'm just now startin' to even feel it." Mitchell put a hand over the wound.

"Fuck me," Soryan said. He hadn't even noticed. Shit. "Give me a minute." He rushed past the other Outcasts and disappeared into his tent.

Chizuru and Sango were aghast by Mitchell's bloody wound, but Kasumi was quick to pull him along by his good arm. "Get over here and sit down, before you lose any more blood," she worried.

"As you command," Mitchell replied, sighing. He followed Kasumi without resistance. The others kept near, Wakaba fidgeting with her hands as she stared at Mitchell with agonized eyes.

By then, Soryan reemerged from his tent, backpack in hand. He retrieved a bandage, an antiseptic, and a suture kit. "Shirt off. This is gonna be a bitch to deal with."

Wordlessly, Mitchell removed his armor, then his blood-soaked shirt. He set them on the side of the seat, settling in for a fun-filled time. Off to the side, Wakaba hugged his good arm, traumatized. She noticed how the American's body trembled slightly, the events of the past half-hour shaking him.

"What the hell happened?" Chizuru asked, eyeing Mitchell's wound. "The only thing we know is that Wakaba was almost raped!"

Sango concurred. "Yes. We were actually about to come after you to assist, but it seems that the situation has been dealt with." She gave Wakaba a deeply sympathetic look, then frowned.

Mitchell frowned. "All I know is, when Waka went to go do her business, I thought it was takin' her way too long. I was suspicious, but when I heard a really quick scream, I put two an' two together. Initially, I thought it was one of the people from here, but no, it was that motherfucker Shido." He growled, full of hatred. "The moment I saw him, I acted. I managed to free her, but Shido's stepchildren, Yuji-whatever and his band of degenerates, rushed me."

"Wait, Shido is here!?" Kasumi gasped, alarmed. She scowled. "Waka, you didn't say…!" she stopped when she saw the look on the archer's face. "Sorry."

Mitchell paused when he remembered that Shido had chased after Wakaba. Had he caught her? "He didn't do anythin' to ya, did he?"

Wakaba shivered. "He… he tried to. But I… I didn't let him." She looked at Mitchell with gentle, thankful eyes. "I did what you taught me to do."

Mitchell's approval was palpable. "Attagirl." He wrapped his good arm around her in a one-armed hug. "I'm proud of ya." Wakaba leaned into him.

"Wait… Shido?" Chizuru put a hand to her chin, eyes narrowed as she stared at the ground. She turned to Kasumi a moment later. "Hold on, do you mean that asshole you told me about?"

Kasumi growled, scowling once more. "Yeah. Him." She turned to Soryan and Mitchell. "That bastard's the reason for all the hate, isn't he?"

"I'd bet money on it. It's exactly something he'd do, the fuckin' rat," Mitchell wagered.

"Wait, who's Shido?" Everyone looked at Sango. There was a moment of silence.

Soryan sighed. "Look, right now, all you need to know is that he is enemy number one." He tore his gaze from Sango and set it on Mitchell. "This is going to sting, dude," he said quietly. He tore open the antiseptic and applied it to a cloth, then pressed on Mitchell's wound, dabbing it and wiping it slightly. Mitchell twitched, grunting at the burning sensation, and Soryan eyed the American, then Wakaba. His mood dampened when he saw her daunted eyes.

Mitchell noticed as well. He nudged her gently. "Hey. None a' that. This is just a big paper cut; nothin' some sewin' won't fix."

Wakaba didn't giggle, nor did she smile. She did nod though, more self-assured than she had been before. The girl pressed the side of her face against Mitchell's side.

Soryan removed the bloodied cloth, then brought the suture kit before him. "Fair warning, I've only ever done this once in a health class."

"Good enough. Go ahead before I pass out, please," Mitchell replied tiredly, giving a thumbs up.

Soryan nodded, and so he began threading, stitching, suturing Mitchell's open wound. Mitchell grunted at every prick, but he endured it. Wakaba, however, winced every time she saw the needle pierce through Mitchell's flesh. After a few moments, her eyes flitted to Soryan, then the others.

"Um…" Everyone sans Soryan turned to Wakaba. The girl trembled slightly, and the Outcasts each felt for her. "S… He… He had plans for you all too… I heard him and the others talking about a deal…"

"Deal?" Kasumi's fists clenched as she inferred. Her past experiences did not speak in Shido's favor.

"They were bargaining you!" Wakaba cried. "All of you… like objects to be traded…"

Everyone reacted with some form of disgust and anger; Sango shivered in abject disgust, her thoughts swirling. "I'm shocked that one can be so evil." She turned to Mitchell. "I feel I should thank you again for sparing us the trouble, Mitchell."

"Yeah. Since you're back so quick, I'm guessing you kicked their asses, right?" Chizuru added, brow raised. She nodded gratefully. "Good work."

Kasumi clicked her tongue. "I wish I could have been there. I would've given him a piece of my mind!"

Mitchell was silent as he listened to the girls' opinions on the matter. He watched as Soryan's hands moved as quickly as they safely could, then he looked at Soryan himself. He only then realized: Soryan's hands were shaking just slightly, as was his body. Wait—was he injured?

"Oh shit—hey, Sor, are you injured any? I got there kinda late to help ya out," Mitchell asked, staring at the Cambodian with concern.

"I'm fine, Mitch," Soryan said woodenly. "Just keep still for me."

At that, attention shifted to Soryan, Kasumi's in particular. "Wait, you fought too, Sor? What happened?"

"Nothing as bad as what he got," Soryan nodded to Mitchell. "I just… got my ass beat, that's all." He tried his best to add a little humor to the topic. "I got to hit some assholes with a shovel though."

Kasumi wasn't deterred. "After you're done fixing up Mitch, you're next."

Soryan's hands didn't stop moving. "Sure thing, but I think I'm good. Besides… I didn't really do too much. You don't need to worry about me. Mitch took the brunt of it. I'm okay."

"That's not right, Sor. You still helped me," Wakaba said quietly. She gave him a grateful look. "Thank you."

"You're no less of a badass, bruh. Don't even try to pull one over on us, now," Mitchell added firmly. He would've batted the teen's leg to emphasize his point, but his arm was currently occupied.

Soryan's hands stopped for half a second at most, his eyes flitting down in quiet contemplation. He sighed. "..."

"Yeah. Don't you dare go downplaying your actions." Kasumi's grip on her weapon tightened slightly. He was doing that thing he does again. "If you really think you didn't do anything, then you're bullshitting yourself. You did good, Sor."

"… Thanks." Soryan breathed.

Sango stepped forward, gently resting a hand on the Ung's shoulder. "I agree with Kasumi. You both have a warrior's spirit. Well done."

"I might not be as flowery as Sango, but yeah what she said," Chizuru said, ignoring Sango's look. She placed her hands on her hips. "You guys are awesome."

Soryan was silent, retrieving a pair of scissors from his backpack. A moment later, he was finished with Mitchell's sutures. After, he applied an ointment, then a large bandage. He sighed before falling back. "Done."

Mitchell carefully rolled his shoulder and moved his arm experimentally. He nodded in satisfaction. "Seems good. Nice job for your first attempt, Sor." He patted Wakaba on the arm, who released him with extreme reluctance. He rose to his feet.

"Wait for it to heal before straining it too much, Mitch," Soryan said.

"Yeah, I know," Mitchell replied, bending down to get his things. He quickly began equipping himself.

"So, when are we getting out of here?" Kasumi asked. Her grip on her spear was tight.

"Now," Soryan said, putting his medical equipment away. "One of you lot should go tell the other survivors what happened. We need to move fast, because… fuck!" He turned to Mitchell. "Was Shido still there when we left the forest?"

At that, Mitchell tensed. "No, he wasn't."

Soryan's hand shot to his head, and he glared at the ground. "Shit! How could I forget!? He was right, fucking, there!" His teeth grit when he remembered the way Tsunoda and Muira had managed to toss him around. Shit, he was liable for that.

"Okay, that settles it." Mitchell turned to the worried girls, his expression grave. "Go get your things, girls. Tell everyone we leave now. Shido has the mob on his side."

"We've got no proof that he did what he did. We're in the shit, guys," Soryan seethed.

"Oh God, that bastard is going to blame us for everything, isn't he," Kasumi said, her eyes widening in realization.

Chizuru paled and Sango gripped her katana tighter as Wakaba's breathing quickened. "No! He… he can't!"

"Oh, he will. That's why you lot better move your asses," Soryan urged. He threw on his backpack, then hurried to his tent and started dismantling it. He looked back when he realized that the Outcasts hadn't moved. "Well, what are you waiting for? A fucking kiss? Let's go!"

The Outcasts were broken out of their self-imposed trance, and they quickly got to work, each moving to take down their respective tents. Chizuru went off to look for the bus survivors, rousing them and informing them of the situation—it was still very early in the morning, and the sun had only just fully risen over the horizon, still orange.

Of course, every survivor came to the same agreement: it was not safe here. Soon, they too were gathering their belongings and tucking them away into bags and packs, dismantling tents and equipment, throwing everything into the bus's undercarriage storage compartment.

Alas, even this much did not go without strife. For as the survivors worked, the sun grew brighter, and refugees in other camps awakened. They noticed the busy bus survivors, but they did not yet do anything.

The peace didn't last long though; while Soryan was helping another survivor move a large cooler, he noticed an amalgamation of movement at the other side of the courtyard; rapidly approaching the bus was a large group of more than fifty people. They didn't look too friendly, and among them was the accusatory man and woman from the day before. Soryan pursed his lips. "We've got visitors, guys!"

Mitchell had noticed the growing mob even before Soryan had mentioned it, and he had already left his bike near the entrance of the bus to prepare for a confrontation. He stood ten paces away from the driver-side of the bus, a hand resting on his sword, tense and ready for shit to hit the fan as he stared at the mob. Outwardly, he was calm and relaxed, but within, he was anything but.

Other bus survivors grew slightly panicked, some moving into the bus, others actually taking up rudimentary arms and standing near the vehicle, Yoshie and Chisato among them. The girls were also quick to act, and though the atmosphere grew tense, they brandished their weapons and joined Mitchell. Soryan rushed up to them a moment later. He gave each of his companions a pained look, then stared ahead into the approaching mob.

Mitchell and Sango were stone-faced, Chizuru and Kasumi wore knitted brows, Soryan glared, but Wakaba was frightened. The archer's whole body shook, her arms trembling as they gripped her bow shallowly. She stared into the approaching mob, mouth slightly open.

The mob itself was seething, angry refugees barely holding themselves back from simply leaping forward with malicious intent. Soryan had half-a-mind to start the bus and leave immediately, but his companions seemed intent on seeing this confrontation through.

The mob halted a street's distance away, and the tension was thick as they glared at the only two foreigners at the estate, hurling insults, yelling, waving their arms around, full of fury.

The man from the day before stepped forward and pointed a claw-like finger at the boys. "You motherfuckers really think you can just walk out of here after what you did!? Huh!?"

"And what exactly did they do?" Kasumi demanded. Although she and her companions knew what the man was referring to, she asked anyway, if only for verbal confirmation.

The man exploded. "What did they do? What did they do!?" He jabbed a finger at Mitchell. "That fucking foreigner bastard raped that girl! Look at her! Look at how she's shaking!"

"Maybe she's shaking because you're all acting like a lynch mob," Yoshie interjected, calmly. "Let's all just calm down, alright? There's no need for all this."

"Of course you'd say that! You've been swayed by them! All buddy-buddy with those outsiders!" The woman who had bashed Soryan stepped forward, hissing. "And for what? What could they possibly do for you to make you stay with them? It makes no sense!"

"For one, they've saved the lives of myself and a lot of other people here. I know for a fact they're good people," Chisato said firmly. Her face scrunched in confusion. "Where are you even getting all of these terrible lies about them?"

"Lies? What lies?" The voice that spilled those words, was, to the original Outcasts, a voice of venom, snakelike, similar to a viper's hiss. "Look! Everyone, look at what those fetid foreigners have done to me!"

Upon seeing the bane of his and his companions' existence, Mitchell's eyes turned cold. When he saw the man's face though, his lips curled into an approving, vindictive smirk. Despite the situation, he barked a laugh. "Waka sure fucked yer ass up." He pulled out his phone and took a picture. "What a Kodiak moment. If only the cracked glass could've punctured your eyes, you fucking rattlesnake."

Shido stood there, blood running down the side of his head and from his broken nose. Despite Mitchell's taunting, he managed to keep a pained, pitiful aura about him. "Don't listen to him. You know what must be done. Try as my wonderful students might, no matter how we came at him, he wouldn't keep his filthy hands off of poor, sweet Wakaba! We tried to save her, but that monster was too vile. Too strong. He and his malefactor ambushed us… But now, we're here again, and this time, we mustn't fail!" There was applause, and Shido's subsequent grin was vulgar. Wakaba grew shakier, but for a different reason. "Don't worry, my dear Wakaba. Soon, you will be safe once more."

"You lie…" It was nothing more than a whisper, but the voice quickly grew in volume. "You lie! How dare you accuse him! You kidnapped me! You threatened my friends! You… violated me…" She shuddered at the dark memory. "You called me your prized possession." She stepped up beside Mitchell, drawing strength from his presence. "He saved me from you." Her fists gripped her bow powerfully. "How dare you say that, when for two years, all you've done is hurt me! Hurt them! You suffocated us, turned the world against us—you showed us Hell on Earth. For you to even insinuate that Mitchell would hurt me… How dare you…"

For the first time, Shido flinched fearfully when he saw her glare of fire in her eyes—the same one that had met him when she'd put him out of commission not thirty minutes ago. Further pressure was placed upon his shoulders when the crowd faltered, looking towards him.

"Damn right! This has been a long time coming, you absolute bastard," Kasumi growled, glaring intensely at Shido. "You have a lot to answer for. I don't think I've ever wished for something terrible to happen, but when you finally get bit, or when people finally see you for who you really are, I hope you go straight to Hell. Right past all nine circles and straight into the boiler room of Hell."

Shido sputtered, then groaned in exaggerated pain. "Indeed, I have watched you for years, Wakaba. Kasumi. But I have not watched for the reasons you believe. You are simply too far gone. I… am sorry." He turned to the crowd. "It is too late for them—that foreign devil sank his claws into them years ago, swaying their minds and claiming their bodies. They cannot—will not be convinced without force. We must save them from themselves. It's for their own good." He looked at Chizuru and Sango, committing their figures to memory. "Those two newcomers though—they can still be saved! Convinced to leave that devil and his malefactor behind! We must show them the way." He looked at the crowd, resolute. "Who will join me to stand against this foreign tyranny!?"

"Are ya givin' us the chance, Shido?" Mitchell stared him down, drawing his sword. He swept his blank gaze across the crowd. "Just so y'all know, I won't be held responsible for defendin' myself. If ya try anythin' against me or my friends, you will be made an example of." He turned to stare flatly at the man. "Are ya gonna lead the charge, snake-eyes?"

Menacingly, Sango stepped forward, drawing her blade ostentatiously. So did Kasumi flourish her spear and Chizuru slashed her weapon. Wakaba drew an arrow and aimed at Shido, glaring hard, and Soryan slashed his shovel hard, shifting it into its pickaxe configuration. Mitchell simply stood ready, confident, self-assured, and with his companions fully prepared to bloody their weapons.

The mob faltered again, some stepping back, unsure, but within the crowd, the far more confident dwellers stepped forward. Some had bats, others had pipes and pans, and some had actual bladed weapons.

"Guys, I know what you're thinking," Soryan whispered. "I don't think we should risk it. I don't want to lose anybody today. Not to Shido."

"I don't wanna do this either, but goddamn it, they refuse to see common sense." Mitchell whispered back, irritated.

The mob grew restless, hurling insults and death threats galore, their inhibitions slowly leaving them. Shido chuckled, then laughed. He grinned at Mitchell and Soryan, daggers in his eyes, as if saying that he had won. The crowd grew closer, and it finally seemed as though the metaphorical dam was at its breaking point. Yoshie and Chisato, who had been staying near the bus, had now come up to meet the Outcasts.

"Looks like we're really doing this. You all really don't have any problems attacking a group of kids, huh?" Yoshie asked. There was some resignation in her voice.

"It's really, really sad this is actually happening. Why can't you just let us leave in peace?" Chisato added. Of course, she received no reply.

The Outcasts waited for all hell to break loose...

"Hey! What do you idiots think you're doing, creating a scene in the middle of my family property?" It was like a button had been pushed; one moment, the mob was set aflame, the next, it was as cool as ice, silent, wavering. The refugees turned their heads, and there, standing not far from the bus, was the heiress of the Takagi family: Saya Takagi. The girl tossed her hair, scoffing. "You do know that all of you are here only because I allow it? With just one word, I can ensure that every single one of you buffoons will be tossed out the gates."

Soryan breathed deeply, his muscles relaxing. He watched the mob shuffle uneasily, then he turned to the heiress, staring. "... Saya?"

The heiress rolled her eyes. "No, I'm Hatsune Miku—of course it's Saya, you idiot. Is there anyone else you know that has pink hair, glasses, and twin-tails this long?"

Before the Ung could reply, Saya turned away, looking back at the mob. Her eyes zeroed in on Shido. "In case you air-heads weren't aware, this guy right here is a certified serial sex offender. Every word that has ever come out of his mouth is bullshit, and if you actually bought into it, then you really are just a bunch of bandwagon sheep. Good job helping him harass his targets, who are all innocent by the way. Anyone here who supports this man will be held accountable for attempted rape. Idiots." She scoffed. "Isn't that right, Professor Pedo?"

Shido gaped. After a moment, he started backing away. It wasn't until he backed into an angry member of the mob that he realized just how fucked he was. He turned, met with the rage-filled faces of the mob he had just had control over. Shocked, he took a step, then bolted.

"After that lying fucker!"

"Don't let him get away!"

And the mob chased him, seeking vengeance for his treachery. The Outcasts watched, stunned as the mob disappeared out of sight. After a moment, everyone relaxed, stress visibly melting from them.

Mitchell sighed, sheathing his sword. Wakaba released a breath, then collapsed to her knees. Kasumi joined her, hugging her tightly. Sango, surprised, merely sheathed her weapon, as did Chizuru holster hers. Soryan merely swallowed, shifting his shovel back into its original configuration. He looked at Saya, who leveled the Outcasts with an analytical stare.

"... Saya—"

"Don't," Saya interrupted, thrusting a finger at him. "Just… consider this payback."

Soryan searched his memories. "Payback? For what?"

Saya shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I suggest you get out of here, though. Even after dealing with these idiots, there are still a lot who want your shit kicked in. No offence, but the girls in your group are just way too… hot," she admitted. "Maybe if they were even a little uglier, none of this would have happened." She sighed, shaking her head. "Also, my father really doesn't like foreigners. As much as I hate to admit it, you guys were in a bad position from the start. Anyways, I have a fatass to search for. I'll see you around. Try not to die out there, by the way." Without another word, she turned and walked away, arms folded in that judgemental position of hers.

Soryan sputtered. "Well… bye! I guess…"

Mitchell grunted, heading back over to his bike. "Fuckin' finally. Time to roleplay Romero, I guess. Mall time."

Soryan blinked, his head swirling. It took him a full five seconds and Chizuru placing a hand on his shoulder for him to snap out of his daze. "Hey, come on masseuse. We're leaving."

He nodded numbly. "Yeah."

On the ground, Kasumi rose, hoisting a tired Wakaba up off of the ground. "Kas, did you see that?" Wakaba asked incredulously. "Am I dead? Are my eyes broken? Or did… did Shido just… lose?"

"You're not going crazy, Waka," Kasumi replied. She, too, was still shocked. "We won…"

"We won… it's finally over," Wakaba breathed.

Within the next five minutes, the Outcasts loaded themselves onto the bus, and the vehicle roared to life, as did Mitchell's motorcycle. Then, they drove away, leaving the Takagi Estate behind forever.

---

A/N:

Sir Yeetus Deletus: My fingers have gone numb.

RPG Proficient: I'm not surprised. Jesus Christ, this is the single biggest chapter I've ever worked on.

Sir Yeetus Deletus: I… have nothing to say. That's a lie, I have a lot to say, but there is just so much going on, I might throw it all up.

RPG Proficient: I'm just glad we got through this arc. It was a rollercoaster.

Sir Yeetus Deletus: Yeppp. What a shame it is, though, that this is my most overlooked fic. (Hint-hint readers, if you like my shit, advertise(?). No, wait nevermind.)

RPG Proficient: Do it, you fuckers. *Racks a shell*

Sir Yeetus Deletus: Alright, alright, let's calm down bud. Welp, I've really got not much else to say. Mostly because my brain is fried at the moment. How about you?"

RPG Proficient: Yeah. Finally we can have a moment to breathe before movin' on. Speakin' of which, wanna head out?

Sir Yeetus Deletus: Yeah… see you lot later.

RPG Proficient: Later on y'all.