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.

3. To The Apartment

The microbus was strangely silent as it barreled down the even stranger empty streets of Tokonosu City. The occupants of the bus were still and kept to themselves, only shifting when the wheels of the bus bumped against some invisible road deformation every once in a while. The collective thoughts of almost every survivor revolved around the disbelief of their own survival, the denial of the current national and quite possibly global situation at hand, and the potentially dangerous events that were soon to come in the near future. Most were still reeling in shock, riding the high of the chase down, Wakaba included.

The young archer lowered her head as she rest her eyes, subconsciously leaning against Mitchell's shoulder. Her thoughts swirled in a violent storm that belied the fatigue on her face. Although she was tired to the point of almost sleeping, she couldn't shake the images of what she'd seen from her head, nor could she yet fully comprehend them. She wasn't alone.

Towards the middle of the bus, Takashi had similar thoughts. "Can't believe we did it," the young man said quietly. Kohta looked over, his hands preoccupied with rudimentary weapon maintenance. The nail gun felt right in his hands, but the boy found himself wishing for more.

"Yeah," Kohta replied, though Takashi's statement had been clearly rhetorical. The sound of footsteps drew their attention to an approaching Shido.

"And thank god we did," the viper said. He leaned towards Saeko, who diligently wiped the blood from her bokken. "I take it you have been appointed leader?" His smile was plastic, and the tip of his tongue weighed heavily with silver.

Saeko regarded him without emotion. She paused her ministrations. "...There's no such thing. We just work together in order to live. That's all," she said plainly.

The viper struck. "That's not good at all. In order to survive, we definitely need a leader." His eyes glowed with ambition. "A leader who bears everything. With valor. With confidence!" From his seat, Mitchell could hear the malcontent dripping from his voice. The American's skin crawled.

"Jesus. Why did we let him in again?" Mitchell wondered. Wakaba shivered next to him. Kasumi silently agreed with the unsaid implications. With less subtlety than she really cared for, she looked back and glared a hole into the man she had come to despise.

"Tell me about it," Kasumi said venomously. "God, he's so pretentious you could cut it with a knife." There was a soundless agreement between the outcasts. Soryan merely stared ahead, his mind less on the immediate and more on the soon to be. His thoughts were so fumbled that he couldn't conjure up a plan, though he knew it would be wise to develop one. The glare in his eyes lowered slightly, magnified by the glasses that sat on the bridge of his nostrils.

His focus was snagged from him when a nameless student towards the rear of the bus suddenly let out a cry of surprise, a finger directed at the distant city under siege. The survivors followed his gaze to see smokestacks rising from the streets. The harrowing image crushed what remaining hope there was of a functioning civilization, foreshadowing the coming future.

Mitchell was less interested in the scenery, and more on how he and his companions would survive what was likely to be a living nightmare. He pushed his thoughts of the many ways he wanted to pummel the pedophile to the back of his mind and instead focused his musings on his apartment. He wasn't a Doomsday prepper by any means, but he wasn't empty handed either. Perhaps today could be considered Doomsday, and he'd finally have an excuse to use his stashed equipment.

"So, look guys, hear me out for a second." The American brought the Outcasts together, talking amongst them. "I think we should head to my apartment first before we do anything else."

Wakaba tilted her head. "Why your apartment?" The question served no real functional purpose other than to settle her nerves: perhaps she had made it more obvious by asking—Mitchell was going to elaborate anyways—but her inquiry was only to help stifle the feeling of the eyes on her head, to help her take her mind off of her surroundings, to help her ignore the tension in her shaking hands. It helped, if only slightly.

"I have a lotta stuff there that we could use," Mitchell replied. He could see the discomfort in Wakaba's shoulders but he made no comment. "I have food, bottled water, my motorcycle gear, and more importantly, my bastard sword."

"The bare essentials," Soryan breathed silently. "You got a gun somewhere in there too, Tex?" he ventured jokingly. He waved Mitchell off when the American opened his mouth. "Actually, don't answer that."

"Dude, I wish." Mitchell rolled his eyes. "But we'd have to have the Devil's luck to find any guns here in Japan."

"I said don't answer—y'know what, nevermind." Soryan curled his lips. His thoughts summoned the images he'd seen on the news earlier that day. People were dying, obviously, and perhaps a bit morbidly, cops were dying too, which meant they were leaving stuff behind for easy pickings. "We might find some, actually. Whatever, I wouldn't bet on it." Though, 'easy' was subjective when it came to the apocalypse. Now that he thought about it, this whole apocalypse thing was happening incredibly fast. That means that nobody had warning or time to prepare… which meant that the inevitability of looters sacking through markets and stores never came to pass. Stores should be full… for now.

"There's another reason why we should do this," Mitchell continued, ignoring the Ung. "You guys know I live pretty close to that sporting goods complex, so I thought we could swing by and get you two—" he motioned towards the girls, "—some good weapons."

"Ah, yes, I remember there's an Asahi Archery store there!" Wakaba perked up at the prospect of having a bow in her grasp once again.

"Hm, if I'm not an idiot, then there's a Sinonome on the second floor too," Kasumi added thoughtfully. "Say no more—I'm in."

Wakaba nodded in agreement. To the slight surprise of her companions, she wore a small, rare smirk. "I don't approve of stealing, but I think I can make an exception this once considering our situation."

"Well check you out~" Mitchell drawled, a teasing smile on his face. He nudged her with his elbow suggestively. "Go on with your bad self."

Soryan looked between his fellow weapon enthusiasts. Unfortunately, firearms of any kind were sparse on this island nation. They were his specialty. Since this was the case, it was likely that he'd be stuck with a melee weapon for some time. The question was, what melee weapon would be best suited for such a situation?

He thought for a minute, his mind looking back to the shambling zeds that they had encountered before. They were slow and sightless, but they were strong, unrelenting, and were undoubtedly immune to pain. From firsthand experience, their flesh appeared to be slightly more susceptible to cuts, meaning that bladed weapons held superior when it came to dismemberment, but while normally this would be a plus for bladed weapons, therein lies a problem that stemmed inherently from the Zs inability to feel pain.

If one such as Soryan was inexperienced in the ways of bladed combat, and thus was incapable of decapitation for instantaneous victory, instead managing to slice off a limb, the Z would be totally unhindered and would be upon them in the next moment—even worse if they managed a clean slice. Slicing off a limb too cleanly meant no change in momentum on the Z's part, which meant that any slice that didn't kill was an opportunity for the Z to simply push through the blow and lunge. Zs also appeared to be strong enough to grapple weapons right from one's hands, and thus, lodging a bladed weapon in a Z would be even worse, especially in the neck.

With blunt weapons on the other hand… although it would be significantly harder to dismember opponents, crippling limbs would be much easier, and in the case of the Zs, crippling limbs would be a much better boon than dismemberment. Dismemberment in this case—unless aiming for the legs—only offered free range of motion, while crippling limbs made locomotion incredibly difficult, and better yet, if a Z is unaware that their own limbs are crippled, then it is possible that, rather than going straight for the bite, they will attempt to grapple first, as they seem to be wont to do when attached to limbs. Grappling at that point would be futile, as the limbs don't work like they're supposed to.

Better yet, blunt melee weapons offer much more surface area with each swing, making it difficult to actually miss, and easier to deal crippling damage over larger areas, including the head. To top it all off, Zs are inherently unsteady, shambling messes, meaning a good blow to any part of the body would be staggering. Sending discombobulated Zs into groups of other, already unsteady Zs would be most effective. Of course, if all else fails, a good skull-crushing blow to the head would be enough to fell a Z.

Having analyzed the possibilities, Soryan made his decision. "Uh… got a bat?" he inquired intelligently.

"Uh… right here?" Mitchell hefted the bat from his side.

The Cambodian shrugged. "It'll do. But after you get your shit."

Mitchell nodded. "Y'all wanna wait 'till morning before we head out?"

Soryan blinked, uncomprehending. "Like, wait until morning before we leave the apartment, or…?"

"Nah, I'm sayin' we should get some sleep while we still can," Mitchell said plainly.

"Ah," the Cambodian nodded. "Welp, so long as we don't miss our stop. Also, if you plan on resting, don't oversleep. It'll do you more harm than good. You'll be groggy as Hell and it'll feel like you're burning up for half of the day." He shivered. "Trust me, it's a shit experience."

"Well, we all know where he lives so it shouldn't be a problem if we take turns," Kasumi mused. Memories of the many outings they'd attended together surfaced, many in which the outcasts had to drag the American from his domicile.

Wakaba made to agree, but she was cut off when a loud student at the rear of the bus suddenly spoke up. The outcasts turned, and they recognized him as one of the students that cozied up to Shido.

"Shit," Tsunoda's voice ground out roughly. "Like I said, it's only dangerous if we keep going!" He ranted and raved, stepping forward to preach to all that would listen. Or, those that he could annoy. None of the outcasts had been paying attention to what had transpired, but it was likely that he had been replying to whatever inane prophecies Shido spoke of.

"First of all, why do we have to go with Komuro and those foreigners?" He continued. "I heard what you guys were talking about! You guys want to go back into that?" He gestured to the burning cityscape, eyes angered. "Maybe we should just…. look for a safe place inside the school! If you ask me, we were better off where we were."

"He's right, I kind of agree with Tsunoda," Kurokami, another student, inspired by his comrade's words, also decided to share his input. "We should barricade ourselves—"

Suddenly, the survivors jerked forward as Doctor Marikawa slammed on the brakes. She ripped off her seatbelt and turned around with an aggravated expression. Like moths drawn to a flame, the eyes of every male on the bus locked on to her swinging bust. "Okay you all, that's enough! I can't focus on driving with all this yelling!"

Tsunoda, cowed by her sudden reprimand, looked away from her dangling assets. "Yeah whatever," he mumbled.

Saeko raised a brow, arms crossed. She gave Tsunoda a half-lidded look. "How about you tell me what you want to do?"

Tsunoda seethed. He pointed squarely at Takashi, then to the foreigners. "I just can't stand these guys," he growled. "I hate 'em!"

Kohta made to stand from his seat, but Saya halted him. There was glare about her visage, but she didn't act. Wakaba gave the delinquent a look of distaste, but beyond that, she said nothing. Kasumi was more vocal about her anger.

"Ugh, you're so full of yourself," She scoffed, glaring at the boy. "You and Shido are perfect for each other."

"Pretty sure that's a you problem anyway," Mitchell added flatly.

Tsunoda ground his teeth together, eyeing the American. "Shut up you piece of shit foreigner! All this time I could have had it—and you're the only thing standing in my way..." His eyes were drawn to Wakaba.

The archer could feel his eyes undressing her form. She hid herself behind the American.

Tsunoda gnashed his teeth in fury at the sight. "Oh I get it. She warms your bed for you, huh?"

Mitchell straightened at the accusation, glaring coldly at the boy.

"Yeah, I bet she does. And you," He turned on Soryan. "Harry-fucking-Potter."

Soryan bristled, rising from his seat at the same time Takashi did. His glare was the equivalent of a nuclear bomb. The reason for his ocular lenses was not cosmetic; it was only functional. With rectangular lenses, horizontal clarity reigns supreme. With these perfectly circular lenses, they added verticality to his vision; they allowed him to look up and down, right and left with equal measure. Though he was fine when the reference was brought up, he loathed it when someone insulted him with the pop culture reference. The dichotomy was not lost on him. He said nothing though, so Takashi spoke first.

"Why do you hate me?" he inquired, genuine curiosity in his dry voice. He turned, fully facing Tsunoda. "What the hell did I ever do to you? I don't even know you."

The thuggish teen glared at him. "You know!" he accused, rushing forward, overcome by anger.

Kasumi shot to her feet as Soryan moved to defend the boy, nostrils flaring, but they were beaten quickly; before either of them could even act, Rei surged past them, her improvised spear slamming against Tsunoda's solar plexus. The thug wheezed, spit flowing from his lips. He tumbled over in an agonised mess.

"Asshole." Rei spat. Takashi watched her in slight awe. His thoughts swam.

Kasumi sat back down, irritated. Her chest bounced at the motion. "Damn," she huffed, eyeing the pained thug. "I wanted to do that."

As Tsunoda groaned in pain, there was a slow clapping that resonated throughout the small micro bus. The silvery tongue of the lecherous serpent struck once more.

"Bravo. Simply outstanding teamwork," he smiled, eyes lidded. He put a hand on his hip. "I'm impressed. I commend both of you. At any rate, a conflict like that only proves my point. We need a leader. We do," he urged. "Surely neither of you want such a difficult responsibility on your shoulders."

Saya rolled her eyes, readjusting her glasses. "So," she started, "You're going to run for the position then."

Shido leaned down to her. Even his movement and mannerisms were that of a viper's. "I'm a teacher, Ms. Takagi, and while mature, all of you are barely in your teens." He rose, his volume rising with his height. He pressed a self-imposed hand to himself. "That alone makes it very clear who's more qualified to assume such a role." He gestured to himself again, as if in a theater. "I have experience." He thrust a hand out, ever-more pretentious. "Why, just moments ago I saved all of these brave students. What do you say, guys?" he finished.

The bus was silent for a moment. Then…

Soryan stepped forward. "Fuck off will you?" The atmosphere went cold, and all eyes were suddenly on him. His teeth were clenched so hard, he feared he may break his molars.

Shido eyed him, stupefied. "Excuse me? That is not very civil of you, Mr. Ung—"

"All of you," Soryan's finger found the cult at the back of the bus, "do me a favor," he jerked a thumb behind himself, "FUCK OFF!" he roared. The sound was almost deafening.

"You, you, and you." He pointed at Tsunoda first. "He's a horny posy who can't get his dick wet because he's drugged up like Michael Jackson on the fucking stretcher," his pointer finger found Kurokami, "he's got a slimy thumb up his dirty fucking crack and fucks dolls in his free time," his fury found Shido, "And YOU touch children you sister-opening pedophilic Bill-Cosby-looking FUCK!"

There was silence for a moment. Tsunoda roared. "What the hell did you just say!?"

Soryan roared louder. "Did I fucking stutter you stupid ugly muppet!? I've watched your eyes stick like Phil Swift's Flex Harem on Wakaba's rear since second year. Don't give me shit, or I'll blow the insides of your head. Right through four fucking counties. CUNT!"

Complete and utter silence. Wakaba and Kasumi eyed him as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, not so smug now, are you, snake? I bet you're wondering how to entice the crowd, pull them to your side, yeah?" Ung spat venomously. "Fuck off."

Shido was caught totally off guard. He struggled to understand and comprehend what he'd just heard, but when he finally did, he seethed. He immediately stuffed that anger behind a mask of hurt. He switched tactics, his tongue waving over the resident American. Surely, now that Ung had let out such an ugly outburst, the prey around him would be inclined to follow, yes?

"Well, that was certainly uncalled for," Shido said in a pained voice—one that hid the anger boiling beneath the surface. "Surely you all don't think so ill of me?"

Mitchell stared at him for a second, brows set in a dry look. "...I like to think I have a high tolerance for bullshit. You passed that point long ago," He said calmly. Too calmly. Shido instantly understood that he'd made a mistake. "I'm only going to say this once. We're not part of your flock. Try something with us, try anything, and I'll do what I've been wanting to do for the past year. Give me an excuse."

The pedophile grunted lowly, his smile faltering slightly. "I see. So that's how it is." His gaze turned to Kasumi and Wakaba. "Then what about you lovely young stars? How do you feel about this impertinence?"

Wakaba shivered horribly at the upturn of his lips. Immediately, Kasumi gripped her makeshift spear and stood from her seat, placing herself next to Wakaba. Wordlessly, Mitchell got up and joined Kasumi, bat in hand.

"How do we feel? I feel like it's about damn time someone called you out on your crap!" Kasumi growled, much to Shido's chagrin. Her grip on the spear tightened in anger. "I actually can't believe you think we have anything to say to you after all you did!"

Shido was running on fumes. He could see most of the bus's occupants turning on him, their gazes heated. He grasped at thin air. "C-Come now, surely you can't take such a blatant accusation at face value? I would never do such a thing to one of my beloved students. Why, I could never forgive myself if such a thing were true." He posed dramatically.

There was a bout of silence.

"I… I believe you Mr. Shido!" a small voice said. One of the girls at the back of the bus rose.

"I do too!" Her seatmate rose as well.

Soryan stared, incredulous. "WHAAAAT?"

The girls turned on him. "Nothing you said is true. You're… just a big bully!"

"Yeah!"

"Pervert!"

"Creep!"

"Four-eyes!"

"Hound dog!"

Soryan blinked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Are you bloody mental!? What, next you're going to tell me that cold water boils faster than hot water?" He thrust an accusatory finger at Shido. "Look at him. He's like a fucking anime supervillain. I can see the damn theme-song on his face!"

Saya would have openly laughed at Soryan's wit had she not noticed a discrepancy in Shido's defense. Mizuhara had accused Shido of doing… something that clearly brought the ire of her and her friends. Obviously, it must have been horrible to inspire such anger, especially in the usually composed Soryan, and like anyone else would, Shido had immediately argued for his innocence. But that in and of itself was an issue.

Mizuhara had been very vague about what Shido had supposedly done, but when Shido jumped to defend himself, apparently, he was aware of what this something was? Mizuhara's words played in her head again: I actually can't believe you think we have anything to say to you after all you did!

There was no actual mention of what the grievance was, and yet, Shido's immediate reply had been: I would never do such a thing to one of my beloved students. It is as if he was aware, it was as if he knew what sin Mizuhara had been talking about. And if that was the case, then Shido might not be innocent at all.

The heiress clicked her tongue in distaste. She let her gaze fall to the rear of the bus, where Soryan stood his ground against a veritable onslaught of undeserved insults. Before the current situation could devolve any further, she huffed.

"Hold it!" Her voice demanded attention. It was received. She focused it on Shido. "I think I may have misheard you, but I'm pretty sure I heard you claim that you would never do such a thing to one of your beloved students?"

Imperceptibly, Shido's eyes widened. Saya smirked. Bingo. Now, he had no way to deflect other than a white lie, right in the faces of the students he swore to protect. This would be happening, whether he liked it or not.

The snake's brow twitched in well-hidden rage. "Why, yes, Ms. Takagi," he said calmly.

"Hm, funny that you mention that." She put a finger to her chin and stared out into space, mocking the mannerisms of a pop culture detective. Shido scowled. "Because, I don't recall any mention of what this oh so terrible atrocity was." She gestured to Kasumi, who jerked at the sudden realization. "I don't think I heard Mizuhara here mention it, unless I'm deaf. Last I checked, my hearing is perfect." The growing grin on her lips was maddening. "Shido-sensei, would you perhaps be willing to elaborate on what that something was?"

Shido was livid, but he remained silent. Saya hummed at that, nodding to herself. "I see. Well," she drawled, "since Mr. Sex-Offender doesn't want to answer, I guess Mizuhara will have to answer for him." She paused, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "If you're willing to, that is."

The survivors stared at her in a twisted mix of awe and approval, or confusion and anger. Subsequently, their gazes were drawn to Kasumi, and the Mizuhara was put in the spotlight.

She looked around her, suddenly much more claustrophobic now that the attention was on her. "Uhh…"

Memories of the past years burned, scorching hot, and she became reluctant to elaborate. The leering gaze of the snake in the room did nothing to help. She glanced at Wakaba, who squirmed at the mention of her past. Their eyes met for a moment, Kasumi apprehensive, Wakaba stressed and afraid. They were jolted when Mitchell's hands touched their shoulders, but they relaxed at his unspoken assurance. After a moment of hesitation, Wakaba built up the courage and nodded affirmatively. A silent conversation passed between them.

Inwardly, Kasumi laughed morbidly. The context of her friendship with Wakaba, Mitchell, and even Soryan had been built on suffering. The Mizuhara sighed, reining in her spontaneously bubbling emotions. Normally she would never give out such personal info. But, if Wakaba was okay with it, and if it was for the purpose of exposing the treachery of an evil man, then she wouldn't be opposed to… reliving the nightmares.

She took another deep breath, then her gaze settled on Shido, anger filling her, driving her words. "He… Shido made this last year Hell for us. Us, Outcasts." The title came out bitterly. "I could talk for hours about the crap he put us through, but I'll spare you the details since it's not really your business." She gave a pointed look to Saya, who nodded slightly in silent understanding. "It's kind of funny actually. If he never did what he did, I'm not sure the four of us would be as close as we are. Heh."

She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure it started back in second year. Wakaba was…" she bit her lip as she eyed her friend. "She's always been a… target, even before—" she paused. "Look, all you need to know is that he," she turned and glared at Shido, "has been trying to get into our panties since second year. Neither Mitchell nor I would let him have it, and for that…" she looked at the survivors. "... he alienated us, turned us into the class exhibit. The Outcasts I'm sure you've heard. He tried to bully us into submission. Take the goods he wanted. It wasn't that hard when the one defending you was a foreigner." She looked at the aforementioned foreigner. "No offence, by the way."

"None taken." Mitchell said plainly.

"I thought so. Anyways," she cleared her throat, "this absolute prick sicced the class on us, even a few of his personal goons. We had to keep a constant watch, especially for Wakaba's sake." She eyed the girl once more, who remained still but watched her with uncomfortable eyes. Her brows narrowed further in anger. "If I hadn't been there, Hell, if Mitchell wasn't there, I don't know what would've happened. From the beginning, he and his thugs were touchy-feely, then things got grabby, and soon shit got ridiculous. They wrote seriously disturbing and perverted shit on our desks, and…" she swallowed, on the verge of retching when her eyes fell on Kurokami. "Fuck. That guy tried to make voodoo dolls of us! The way things were going, we were on a one-way trip to ra—" she stopped herself, taking deep breaths before she actually emptied the contents of her gut. "Nevermind. Erm, basically, he's just like Soryan said. A lying, pedophilic snake. If you ask me, it was a mistake to let him on the bus."

She finished, then surveyed the people around her, gauging the reactions of her audience. On one side of the bus, some people like Takashi, Saya, and especially Rei wore their disgust on their faces. Kohta had an uncanny frown on his brow that had slowly darkened with every one of Kasumi's words. Saeko sat expressionless, but thoughtful, perhaps even full of well-hidden disdain. Doctor Marikawa was frowning, unconsciously covering her more private areas. It was clear that they sympathised with the outcasts, and for that, Kasumi was thankful.

She turned her head. On the other side of the bus, however...

"Ugh, of course the sukeban would say that. Anything to talk shit about the teacher. You're just trying to cause trouble, like always." The well-renowned pink-haired slut of Fujimi Academy, Yuuki Miku scoffed as she gave her a bored look.

"Yeah, you and your stupid foreigner friends are just a bunch of bullies!"

"How could you be so mean to Shido-sensei?" One of the snowflakes at the back, Taniuchi, turned to the snake, nearly teary-eyed. "Are you alright, Shido-sensei?"

The viper smirked at the Outcasts, as if having the last laugh. It quickly turned into a much more reserved smile. "I'm alright, my darling student. It's going to take a lot more than just a few scathing words to bring me down." The smirk returned, seen only by the ones not blinded by unconditional faith. "As a leader, it is expected that I must be strong and forthright at all times, and thus, I can bring you all a prosperous future! Wouldn't you say, my lovely students?"

Half of the bus cheered at that. The other half remained silent.

Mitchell glared angrily at the group of followers. He knew his friends were reliving the same awful experience as he was and these hopeless idiots had the gall to brush it off. He didn't even pity them at this point—they deserved Shido if anything.

Towards the front, Rei grunted in disdain. After hearing Kasumi's story, she was more disgusted than she'd ever been in her whole life. Not even a bottle of bleach would cleanse the dirt from her eyes and ears, especially the grime from that Kurokami creep. Voodoo dolls? Seriously, what the fuck!? The spear-user had finally had enough. Without wasting another minute, she kicked the front doors of the bus open, hopping out.

Takashi followed after her. "Rei!" he shouted.

Mitchell could barely make out her following words.

"No way. I'm not staying here with him."

The American tuned out their conversation. It was clear that, at the very least, whatever they did, they sided with him and his. He tapped both Kasumi and Wakaba on the arm. "I think we got our point across." the American said, gesturing to the front of the bus. "Let's go. I'm done with these people."

"Yeah," Kasumi readily agreed. Wakaba nodded along with her, grateful that she'd be able to get as far away from her tormentors as possible.

Despite everything, both girls felt… lighter, even if by a minute amount. Perhaps spilling the hard repressed secrets to a few people that might have actually cared for their well being had something to do with it.

Unfortunately, they'd chosen an inopportune moment to reminisce. As they moved up a couple of seats, there was a sudden change in the lighting, a loud screech in the distance. Mitchell's gaze was drawn to the right. His eyes widened.

"Oh shit—Doctor, REVERSE NOW!" he yelled in English instinctively.

At the same time, Saeko spoke. "Okay, you need to punch it," she said calmly, as much composed as Mitchell was panicked.

Soryan saw it too, and his eyes widened. Perhaps a bit melodramatically, he dove for the front of the bus, away from the incoming vehicle. Takagi shouted at him as he clipped her, Kohta watching the oncoming bus, shaken. Mitchell had the same idea as Soryan. His arms latched onto Kasumi and Wakaba and pulled them towards him as he dove into the middle of the aisle.

Doctor Marikawa, unsure of herself and reeling from the revealed treachery of her former coworker, was slow to respond, even as a loud crash echoed from her right. The occupants of the microbus turned to see the entire vehicle flip over. It came down, groaning metallically as it slammed on its side, sparks flying as the pavement cracked. It slid quickly with the inertia of a speeding freight train, just barely missing the front of the microbus as it slammed into a tunnel on their left. After a moment, the crashed bus spontaneously burst into flames.

There was a moment of quiet as the survivors collected themselves. Saeko was the first to fully recover. She rushed from the microbus, standing before the crash site. Flaming Zs burst from the crash, but they quickly fell, turning to ash. Saeko paid them no mind.

"Komuro! Are you alright?" she called, concern evident. For a few seconds, she received no reply.

"At the police station!" A familiar voice replied. "Meet up at the East Police Station!"

"What time?"

"Seven o'clock! If not today, then tomorrow at the same time!"

The conversation ended quickly, and Saeko rushed back to the microbus with near superhuman speed. "Looks like we aren't taking this freeway anymore."

Doctor Marikawa let out a breath. "Okay," she replied, nerves shaken. "We'll… find another way."

As the micro bus began to accelerate once more, Mitchell rose from the aisle with a guilty air about him; he felt like he'd overreacted. The American looked at the girls as they collected themselves, dusting off their clothes and whatnot.

"Sorry for just... manhandling you two like that," Mitchell said awkwardly. "I overreacted just now."

Wakaba shook her head. "It shows that you care," she said quietly. Reassuringly. "I promise it's nothing to beat yourself up about."

"Yeah, no worries," Kasumi said, patting herself down. "As you can see, no harm done!" She gave him a teasing smile. "Just make sure to give us a little warning next time, okay?"

Mitchell gave a small sigh of relief. "I'll try not to make it a habit," he replied, smirking good-naturedly.

"Are… Are you guys alright?"

Mitchell looked towards the speaker. To his minute surprise, it was Kohta who leaned over Saya to check in on them.

"Yeah. We're good." Kasumi smiled at him.

"Oh… Well, that's good." He idly fiddled with the nail gun in his hands. "So, uh… sorry about what you guys went through." He rubbed the back of his head. "For what it's worth at least." Saya shifted next to him uncomfortably.

Mitchell shrugged. "It is what it is. Can't change that." He gave Kohta a meaningful look. "But thanks anyway." The boy understood instantly, nodding with empathy. Saya glanced at the three outcasts, but said nothing.

The lot of them heard a groan, and they looked down to see Soryan rising to his feet, that regular, stoic glare back on his face. He looked at them. "... Yes?"

"That rant earlier was clearly a long time coming," Mitchell raised a brow. "You get it all out, dude?"

Soryan shrugged. "The man's a pedophilic wanker. That's all there is to it." He frowned. "Nah, I lied. Shit like this goes much deeper, but I'm too lazy to explain stuff so take that how you will. Also, I'm pretty sure it's all self-explanatory anyways."

He gestured to the snake behind him, who was now riling his newfound cult, encouraging them with lies and honeyed words.

"Anyways. You mates wanna head to the front of the bus?" he asked his companions, who all nodded. His eyes flitted over to Kohta and Saya. "Kohta? Saya?"

Saya grumbled. "When the hell did I give you permission to use my first name so casually?"

The Cambodian winced slightly. "Right. Takagi, and—"

"Just call me Kohta," the boy interjected suddenly. Soryan was surprised by his openness. "It's fine," the boy waved him off.

"Right then. You care to join us?"

Kohta's expression brightened. "...Sure."

Next to him, Saya scoffed. "Sure, whatever. As long as I don't have to listen to whatever that idiot has to say." She didn't indicate who, but everyone knew who she was referring to regardless.

With that, the remaining, uncorrupted survivors took their spots at the front of the bus.

---

At some point during the impromptu road trip, the micro bus had lurched to a stop. Surrounded by irritated and fearful drivers, Doctor Marikawa had no way of maneuvering out of the sudden congestion. Even during the apocalypse, traffic jams were a bitch to deal with.

The good doctor exhaustedly rest her forehead on the steering wheel, a symphony of honking horns and police whistles rising and falling around her. The noise was damn annoying, and it really made her want to just floor it. The other survivors were in none too dissimilar states of unrest, though some appeared to be unaffected.

Despite how irritating the noise was, it was also a return to familiarity. They had made it to what might have been one of the last few bastions of humanity in the city. It was this fact that allowed them to relax, if only a bit. Some, however, didn't exactly appreciate their new situation.

"If we move any slower, we'll be going in reverse," Saeko said, slightly exasperated.

Saya agreed, a hint of concern in her voice, brows drawn into a frown. "Looking at this, at this rate, I'm not sure we can cross the bridge before dawn."

Mitchell ignored the conversation—his thoughts were elsewhere. His eyes swept across the neighborhood, and it wasn't long before he recognized the area. They weren't far from his apartment. He let his thoughts simmer.

Across the aisle, Soryan grunted as he scrutinized the Bus's surroundings. The honking of traffic concerned him. "... This jam is… not a good place to be. We should..." He licked his lips. He wasn't quite sure where they'd go if they were to leave.

Kasumi turned to him. "We should…?" she gave him a look, waiting for him to finish his unfinished sentence.

"We should leave," he replied.

"Leave!?" Wakaba yelped. Kasumi and Soryan turned to look at her. She quieted a bit under their gazes. "Er, I mean, it's so dark now," she half-mumbled. "Weren't we going to wait until we got around Mitchell's apartment?"

The outcasts turned when the American spoke. "I don't think you have to worry about that," Mitchell interjected. "I recognise this place. We're actually not that far from my apartment now. Just a couple of blocks away it looks like."

Soryan nodded thoughtfully at that. "Right then. This place is going to be a deathtrap by tonight or tomorrow, I'm sure. I don't know about you, but in my experience, traffic sounds are pretty damn noticeable."

"So, you're basically saying we should get out of here before we get swarmed by a tide of undead." Kasumi asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

The Ung shrugged. "Yeah. No, yeah there's nothing else to say, really."

The sound of gunshots cracked nearby. Heads turned just in time to see a squadron of police forces put down a small group of Zs that had approached from a nearby side street. Atop a practical emplacement, one officer wielded a megaphone, his voice booming, warning the inhabitants of the traffic jam not to leave their vehicles for any reason, likely to keep order.

Soryan gestured to the police squad, a blank expression on his visage. "My point. It's even worse like this, actually. Zs come, police shoot, sound travels for miles, and you've got a positive feedback loop. Shoot, kill, repeat, then we get overwhelmed."

Wakaba nervously peeked out towards a dark street, as if expecting a horde of corpses to stumble into sight—like Soryan had implied.

"A full-on chain swarm. That means our timetable just got a lot shorter." Mitchell emphasized. "We really should leave—I mean, it's not that far."

"... I think we should go." Kasumi gave them resolute looks. "If what you're saying is true, the longer we stay here, the more dangerous it gets. If we stay too long, this place might get overrun. Who's to say a horde isn't already on its way? Besides," she scoffed, eyeing the snake in the bus, "I don't really wanna be here any longer than I need to."

Wakaba looked conflicted, her gaze flitting between her companions. What was worse: Stay here and accept a false sense of security with her tormentors? Or face down the very real possibility of the monsters in the dark?

Seeing her plight, Mitchell offered her a metaphorical hand. "Hey," he nudged her, "we'll be fine. All we have to do is stick close to each other and watch each other's backs. Just watch, this won't take long," He said in an attempt to instill confidence.

"Plus, there's four of us," Kasumi added. "And we have some advantages: we know how they work and how to sneak around them, and they're really slow. As long as we keep it down, we're good to go."

Wakaba looked between them. Seeing their self-assuredness, their resolute expressions, she took a breath and calmed herself. Her friends were smart. More than capable people. If they were truly sure, then it wouldn't hurt to trust them. "Okay," she breathed shakily.

With all four finally in agreement, they took stock of what belongings they had left, then stood one by one. Their sporadic movements did not go unnoticed.

Saya's attention fell on them, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What are you doing?"

Her question, conveniently asked at a time in which no one had spoken and when there'd been no sound coming in from the outside world, drew the gazes of everyone on the bus.

Soryan looked at her. "... We're getting out of here."

"Any reason why?" the question came.

Soryan replied in kind. "It's not quite safe here. If you are unaware, traffic is loud."

Saya held his gaze for a moment as his friends moved up the bus. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't die, Ung."

He nodded to her. "Same to you."

The interaction was unceremonious with no fanfare. Saya recognized that she couldn't really do anything to stop Soryan or his companions from leaving, and either way, their decision to leave was theirs to make. Inwardly, the Takagi was surprised that she was so indifferent about this, at least, considering her rivalry with the Cambodian. While she wasn't expecting some tear-jerking separation, she thought she'd protest a little more, or that the Ung would have a little more to say.

Next to her Kohta shifted. His confused gaze followed the Outcasts as they made their way to the Bus's entrance. "Uh, where are they going?"

Saya sighed. "They're leaving."

Immediately, Kohta was alarmed. "Huh? Wait… but, wouldn't it be better to stick together?"

"... I'm not so sure." Saya's eyes were drawn to the snake in the bus. "If you haven't noticed, we aren't exactly keeping the best company."

Kohta blinked in confusion before he understood. His expression fell into a solemn stare. "Oh… yeah, I think I understand them." His gaze hardened. "More than anyone, really." His thoughts settled on the Outcasts and their current actions. He noticed—there was something about the situation that they didn't like, and despite having been ridiculed all this time in such a demoralizing fashion, they were still getting up and doing something about it.

He'd seen it all in class—the way others had treated them. Some had seen them as nuisances, others had seen them as something even less than human for no other reason than because they were different. That, and Shido had forced them to kneel… only, when the Outcasts were sent to their knees, they got right back up. Instead of cowering under the scrutiny of their peers, they challenged them, and more than that, they won.

Kohta looked down at himself. They were just like him, and yet, despite the treachery they'd been through, they still stood strong. If they could do it… why couldn't he?

At the rear of the bus, Shido's eyes widened imperceptibly as he watched his prized prey slip away. He couldn't let those two girls leave—they were too valuable. Too ripe. Too pristine. His eyes roamed their bodies, their alluring curves that had been burned into his memory for over a year. He'd waited for too long to obtain their wonderful, oh-so corruptible bodies. He wouldn't lose them now. "Are you certain that's wise? You're stepping into danger, and as a teacher, I cannot allow that in good conscience."

The moment the honeyed words left his lips, Soryan wheeled around on the spot and stared him dead in the eyes, his visage in an unimpressed glower. He said nothing, only stared—no, scrutinized the viper before him, looking him up and down.

"You have a conscience?" Kasumi asked flatly, eyes lidded in disbelief. Her mocking tone was abundantly clear. "Whatever, I'd rather make-out with a walking corpse than stay in here with you."

Shido ground his teeth together. "Whether you like it or not, you will stay! Obey your elders!" He reached forward, but a figure appeared before him.

Kohta blocked his path, glaring with unrivaled hatred, the nailgun leveled on Shido mercilessly. The air went cold, and the viper froze, unconsciously stepping back. Kasumi and Wakaba watched the ordeal with no small amount of surprise, Mitchell stared impassively, though his attention fell on Kohta for a moment. Soryan looked at Kohta with an unplaceable gaze.

"My, things are certainly getting interesting," Saeko mused offhandedly. She wore a smirk as she observed the situation play out.

"Mr. Hirano." Shido raised a placating hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

Kohta ignored him. "... If you want to go, now's your chance."

Kasumi took that as her cue to step off the bus. Wakaba quickly followed her, refusing to make eye contact with her tormentors.

Shido's gaze followed them. He growled to himself. "Mr. Hirano, stand down—"

"I could kill you, y'know?"

The viper's blood ran cold. "What?"

"How many of my fellow students do you think I killed at school today?" Kohta's grip tightened on his weapon. He allowed his painful memories to fuel his anger. "I could kill you too—for all the ways you made fun of me!" His voice crescendoed into a roar.

Without turning he gestured to the outcasts. "They aren't the only ones whose lives you made hell! I was holding back… I was holding back for a long time! I just wanted to have a normal life!" His voice cracked as the emotions spilled, his eyes growing venomous with each word. "But there's no need to do that anymore. Nothing we know is normal anymore—that's why I'm able to kill now. I can even kill living people too….starting with ones who PISS ME OFF!"

Behind the Hirano, Soryan followed after his female companions, but paused in the doorway. He looked considerate, his eyes falling to the floor. After a moment, his gaze found Shido's again. "For the record," he said softly, "you were shit at calculus." Then he stepped off the bus.

Mitchell stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He gave Kohta a look of respect. "Thanks Kohta."

The Hirano grunted. "Don't mention it. Just go."

The American complied, but not before giving Shido one last staredown, a calm, serious expression on his face. "I hope you have a nice seat in Hell waitin' on ya. Right next to David Koresh, you fucking clownshoes."

Outside of the bus, one could hear a distant Ung shout in English. "Too right, mate!"

With that, Mitchell stepped off the bus. He ignored whatever Shido had to say to him, making his way towards his companions, who'd congregated under a streetlight. Although nobody mentioned it, and even though they were now vulnerable in the open, Mitchell could see that the tension in his companions' shoulders had lessened considerably. It was no time for celebration yet, though.

"We can't let the police see us." Mitchell urged as he approached. "They'll just detain us."

"If that's the case, then let's not stand under the glaring streetlight," Kasumi pointed out. There was a silent agreement as the group stepped into the darkness of an alleyway. The spear-user scanned the street, ultimately concluding that they were clear. "Alright, what's the plan?"

"You probably can't tell 'cause it's so dark, but my apartment is about two streets over that way," Mitchell pointed to his one o'clock. "I'll lead the way. We're in Zach's house now. If you have to say something, just whisper."

His companions gave their respective affirmations, then they were off. They left the alleyway, following the main road before Mitchell led them off into a side street, cautiously checking for bodies, corpses or otherwise. His companions followed briskly and silently, taking care not to draw the attention of any authoritative figures. Considering that the police were busy dealing with a steadily increasing number of shambling Zs, it was easy to slip by.

After traversing the dark passage, Mitchell peeked around the wall of a building that opened up into another street. From its appearance, Mitchell determined that it was a main street reserved for traffic. There was smoking wreckage and vacant vehicles scattered about it. Some vehicles even had blood splattered across their windshields.

The American noticed a large group of Zs down the street already shambling towards the noisy, traffic-jammed freeway that he and his companions had just left. Swiftly, he took his friends across the street, cutting into another side alley. They made it halfway down the alley before a loud crash alerted them. A thin sliding door had been plowed through by two Zs, which had likely been infected from within the building. It was even more likely that they were following after the other Zs looking to bite down on flesh.

Mitchell wordlessly hefted his bat, Kasumi stepping forward with him. They moved with intent, routine already drilled into their heads. There was no hesitation when Mitchell brought his bat down on the first Z's head, angled so as to not swing too wide and unintentionally clip Kasumi in the dark, dimly lit narrow alley. The Z gave no resistance as it crumpled, Kasumi soaring past it. With practiced precision, she thrust her improvised spear through the other Z's eye with a quiet grunt. It went still, then Kasumi yanked the weapon from it, and it slumped over. Thankfully, the corpses had gone down quietly.

The moment the bodies hit the floor, Mitchell moved quickly, intent on leaving the narrow alley as soon as possible in the event that any Zs somehow heard the commotion and blocked the exits. He reached the opposite end of the alleyway and took a cautious peek to the right. His apartment building was at the far end of the street. No Zs were in the immediate vicinity but when he looked to the left, there were more making their way in the group's direction. He wasn't sure whether they'd heard the noise or not, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. He hugged the wall to his right and led the group down the street, checking every alleyway he passed. They made it to the building without resistance, though they did circumvent a trio of Zs that had stumbled out of an alley with an ominously flickering streetlight.

As he opened the gate to the building, Mitchell diligently scanned for surprises. He found none. All clear. He quietly waved the others in as he went to collect his hidden keys. Routinely, he reached into his neighbor's bonsai tree and withdrew the key as his companions moved up to the second floor. He followed, then stepped up to unlock his door, eager to return to his abode. He figured since Zs were pretty much braindead, they wouldn't be able to make it up inclines like staircases, so he and his group should be in the clear—so long as Zs weren't also on the second floor. As he opened the door, he allowed the others to go in first before entering, shutting and locking the door. He looked around for anything to barricade it with, just in case. There was nothing of note. Opting for a simpler approach, he wordlessly stepped into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, then returned and jammed it under the door handle.

---

The very moment Mitchell finished 'barricading' his front door, he straightened, relaxing. They were safe. For now. "Make yourselves at home y'all," Mitchell offered. Maybe, after all of the drama that had occurred that day, they could finally catch a break now—the bus ride hadn't counted, what with the thick, tense atmosphere that had weighed on their shoulders. Apparently, Wakaba agreed.

"Thank goodness that's over." The Archer let out a deep, relieved sigh as the tension in her body began melting away. Padding her way into the meager living room, she gave no attention to her surroundings, flopping over onto the only sofa in the room in a comical fashion, her skirt fluttering. Kasumi, unphased, followed her lead and let gravity take her. She fell atop the archer in a half-hearted dogpile of sorts. Wakaba yelped at that, much to Kasumi's satisfaction. Adjacent to them, Mitchell strode over to an old recliner and fell into it, leaning back with a sigh.

Soryan stared at the strange sight for a moment, his eyes lingering on the exhausted bodies of his female friends. He inwardly slapped himself when he realized that he was admiring the curves of his companions a bit too much. Shaking his head, he turned away, stepping into the kitchen before pulling the refrigerator open. He took Mitchell's offer to heart, his fingers instinctively curled around a can of Orange Fanta. He hesitated. Now wasn't the time—for tomorrow, he'd need all the hydration he could get. Almost painfully, he tore his greedy fingers away, then grasped a bottle of water, noticeably unenthusiastic.

"Is that the fridge?" Kasumi sat up, her chest defying gravity. She saw Soryan holding his refreshing beverage. Said Cambodian was giving her a half-lidded stare. "Ah! Toss me one?" A frigid bottle of water promptly bopped her on the forehead. "Ouch!"

Wakaba giggled. It was a pleasant, dopamine-inducing sound. "One for me, too?" A bottle gently landed next to her. "Thanks."

Kasumi pouted. "Hey! Why does she get the nice treatment?"

Soryan merely shrugged. "I missed." He left it unsaid whether he was aiming for Wakaba's head, or the spot next to Kasumi.

"Is that really something to get huffy about?" Mitchell asked, reluctantly pulling himself from his seat. "You could've easily caught that."

"Well…" she searched for a rebuttal, but found none, ultimately huffing to herself in mild annoyance before twisting the cap of her beverage. After taking a nice, long sip, she exhaled, then leaned back, relaxing into the sofa's cushions.

Mitchell watched her for a moment, expecting some sort of retort, witty or not, but when it didn't come, he put his mind to more important matters.

So, they'd escaped the school and had managed to get back to his apartment—a lifeline in the darkness of this changing world. All was well and good, but he knew this was only temporary. Tomorrow, they would prioritize weapon and apparel gathering, but until then, they would be stuck with whatever he had here.

To that end, certain arrangements bounced around in his thoughts. "Okay, so, I'm gonna address the elephant in the room and ask if you two—" he looked at Wakaba and Kasumi, "—need a change of clothes. If you wanna shower, now's your chance."

Kasumi's hand shot up excitedly. "I call first dibs! I'm so sweaty—I can't stand another second in these." She tugged at her uniform before releasing it suddenly. The cloth snapped back into place, causing her chest to bounce slightly. The sudden movement drew Mitchell's attention, but he pulled his gaze away respectfully, setting his eyes on Wakaba.

The archer tilted her head cutely. "Okay, but do you have clothes that could fit us?" she asked.

Mitchell looked her up and down. "I'm pretty sure anything I have will swallow you whole, Waka." She pouted at that.

Kasumi snorted. "Not with those badonkers." She pressed an accusatory finger against Wakaba's admittedly large bust. The shy archer squeaked at the sudden, invasive sensation. "You'd fit any of his shirts, I bet."

Wakaba blushed, her cheeks heating to a rosy red. "A-As if you have any right to talk!" She shot back.

Kasumi smirked at that. "You know I don't!" She puffed her chest out proudly.

Mitchell grunted. "Y'know what?" he asked drily. "I think I'll just let you two choose what you wanna wear." He had seen this type of conversation happen more times than he cared to admit.

From across the room, Soryan approached them, beverage in hand. He saw the strange position everyone was in: Wakaba and Kasumi quarrelling about chest size or something similar, Mitchell averting his attention from them. The Cambodian looked down at himself, then to his female companions, then to Mitchell. "You mind if I ruin one of your shirts? I don't think I have the means to…" he paused, his eyes sweeping over the previous topic of conversation, "... fit."

"Dude, I don't care." Mitchell said frankly. "Do what you need to."

"Aight then. I'll take the Doom one if you'd please," Soryan gestured. "A pair of sweatpants would do nicely too." In Japan, it stayed cool all year long. Sweatpants would do well enough to keep his body in homeostasis, while still giving him the free range of motion that a pair of sports shorts would.

"Oh, you just reminded me." Soryan watched as Mitchell turned and disappeared into his room. Kasumi noticed and halted her playful banter, following behind him and leaving a flustered Wakaba behind.

The American reemerged a moment later with a number of clothes. After handing Soryan his requested outfit, he turned to Wakaba, the remaining outfit in hand. "Here, try this one. Amazon sent this in the wrong damn size so I figured you could have it since it's around your size."

Wakaba took the offered shirt gratefully, the iconic pharmaceutical logo emblazoned on the left breast. "Oh! I love Biohazard!" The happy smile that spread across her lips was heart-melting. Mitchell couldn't help but feel a tug to his own lips at that. "Thanks. I'll definitely try it on." She took the offered pajama pants as well. In light of current events, the dichotomy of her feelings was totally lost on her.

As Wakaba set the outfit beside her, Kasumi emerged from Mitchell's room with her choice of clothes in hand.

"Alright. I'm gonna get washed up if you guys don't mind." The spear-user strode towards the bathroom, but stopped before entering. She leered over her shoulder, smirking. "No peeking, boys~!"

Mitchell shook his head in amusement as Wakaba rolled her eyes. Soryan merely stared after her, only relenting after she disappeared into the bathroom. He fixed his gaze on the floor, pondering to himself before taking a seat on the sofa, ushering Wakaba to scoot over. The timid archer complied as she twisted the cap from her beverage. She took a sip, then let out a content sigh.

"... Hey Sor?"

The Cambodian turned his head to her. "Yeah?"

"Would you mind…"

As the two made themselves comfortable, Mitchell took to retrieving his main objective—the reason why he'd brought them to his apartment. He entered his room again, deliberately moving over to his bed where he lay down and searched around under it. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. Inwardly, a ferocious grin dared to split his face. As if grabbing hold of the mythical Excalibur, he pulled the weapon from its prison and rose, holding it before him with visible reverence.

The stainless Carbon steel, custom-forged, thirty-three inch blade shined in pristine condition, demanding the respect of those who lay eyes upon it. It was sharp, dangerously so, enough to cleave through flesh with a mere touch. Mitchell had cared for it with near religious discipline. The results of his efforts spoke for themselves. In the words of Andre the Blacksmith: as long as you treat a weapon with proper respect, it'll never betray you.

Mitchell returned to the living room with his prized bastard sword, its sheath and belt, a gym bag, a whetstone, a rag, and cleaning oil. He tossed the gym bag on the coffee table before the sofa.

The sudden thump caught the attention of Soryan and Wakaba, the former of whom had taken to massaging the latter's shoulders. Though the Cambodian's eyes were now on Mitchell, he never stopped his ministrations. Wakaba didn't protest, despite the new pair of eyes on her.

"The hassle of gettin' this through Customs is finally gonna pay off." Mitchell stated, a smirk of vindication on his lips. He sat down in the recliner to perform the necessary maintenance on his personal weapon. He took the bat that leaned against his seat and set it on the table. Soryan eyed the sword with interest before settling his gaze on the bat.

"... How long have you had that?" the Cambodian asked. Under his grasp, Wakaba moaned softly. He stopped, his eyes widening slightly as they fell on the back of Wakaba's head. At this distance, he could smell her hair, but he chose not to. The tips of her ears turned red, and she whispered something. It was incomprehensible. "What?"

"Keep going. Please," Wakaba urged. Soryan shrugged inwardly, resuming the massage. Though he couldn't see it, the archer's cheeks were as red as Mars.

Mitchell noticed, but he didn't comment. "I've had this for two years, to answer your question," he said. His hands began moving in a habitual manner, going through the motions of rudimentary maintenance.

"Damn. I have no frame of reference, but it looks like it's in good condition," Soryan observed.

"Of course," Mitchell said with pride. "I paid a lotta money for this. You can bet your ass I'm gonna take care of it."

Soryan nodded thoughtfully. "Nice. I would've brought my .22 540X, but you know the laws." Wakaba gasped, then let out another, almost sensual moan. The Ung swallowed thickly.

He had no clue why Wakaba had asked for a back massage from him, especially since he had yet to do any work that involved the movement of the fingers or palms… except for maybe Basketball. Now that he thought about it, he was an expert when it came to ball control. Had Wakaba noticed? And did the quick precise movements of the fingers necessarily translate to the foundations of a good massage?

Soryan thought back to his time back in Texas. His Basketball club team did bestow upon him the nickname: Magic Hands.

He shook the memories away, eyeing the gym bag on the coffee table. "And the bag? What's it for?"

"The stuff we're takin' with us." Mitchell said idly.

Soryan nodded. "Gotcha." He paused for a moment. "What's dinner? Got any quality microwaveables?"

"I got ramen, rice, bentos, soup—I'm stocked. Y'all take your pick 'cause we're only taking stuff that doesn't require cookin'," Mitchell informed.

"Shouldn't we take the—ahn~" Wakaba was cut off as another moan escaped her lips, Soryan's thumbs rolling into her trapezius muscles thoroughly. If it was even possible, she flushed deeper, rightfully embarrassed that she was even capable of uttering such a sound. Soryan pursed his lips and crossed his legs. "Erm, s-shouldn't we take the nonperishables with us?"

"Unless you want to carry a portable kitchen around, I don't think that we have much of an option." Mitchell said thoughtfully. "Thanks to huntin' with my dad and granddad, I'm used to it. We could get a water filter or water purifying tablets in case we need clean natural water. Food isn't too big of an issue I think, but water is mandatory."

"Okay. If you're sure," Wakaba conceded.

The room went silent for the next few moments, Mitchell tending to his blade as Wakaba closed her eyes and tried to relax into Soryan's fabled Magic Hands. Unfortunately for her, and much to her chagrin, Soryan had been dubbed Magic Hands for a reason. As such, she couldn't resist the occasional yelp or moan when his fingers found a particularly sensitive patch of nerves. For that reason, Soryan was hard-pressed to focus on the rhythmic movements more than anything else, lest he grow uncomfortable.

Approximately ten minutes elapsed as three of the four Outcasts traded light conversation and possible ideas and plans for the coming day, then, suddenly, the bathroom door swung open, and the boys instinctively turned to look. When their eyes fell upon the beauty in the doorway, they were stunned.

Kasumi emerged from the steam-filled room barefoot, a towel rubbing at her wet, matted hair. She tossed her flowing blue locks over her shoulders, letting the winsome strands flow freely down her back, akin to a particularly opulent waterfall.

A form-fitting light-blue t-shirt clung to her skin, showing off her luscious curves to a dangerous degree; the way that every inch of fabric stuck to her without imperfection revealed that her chest was marvelously large, the neck of the shirt showing an ample, less than appropriate amount of cleavage that drew the eyes of even Wakaba. With the smallest of movements, her wonderful chest moved with her body in an inherently enticing manner that conveyed how pleasantly soft and squishy they were. When Kasumi raised her arms to stretch, her shirt was pulled upwards, exposing the unblemished, creamy, yet toned skin of her lovely midriff.

The black sweatpants that clung to her lower-half hid absolutely nothing of her shape, showing off her not-too-wide hips, slim thighs, and deliciously slender legs. Her rear was cute, yet supple and round, enough to grab handfuls of.

To bring the picture together, her dark, chocolate eyes were set in a half-lidded look that was capable of bringing men to their knees, the image enhanced further by the steam that rose from her heated skin, and the red tint to her cheeks as she exhaled softly. The way she stood—she was very aware that she was gorgeous, and she was even more aware that she could seduce a number of men if she really wanted to—her friends included.

"Waka, you're up," Kasumi said, an air of nonchalance about her as she stepped over to join her companions. Wakaba sighed as she rose, picking up her clothes along the way and leaving a very anxious Soryan.

"Oh, yeah, thanks for the massage, by the way," Wakaba said over the shoulder, totally unaware of what she'd just done.

The Cambodian swallowed again and raised his beverage to moisten his dry lips when Kasumi plopped herself down next to him, her thighs brushing against his. They felt unnaturally soft, he thought. Mitchell was now laser focused on his maintenance, unwilling to be caught gawking at his friend like an open-mouthed idiot. Despite this, neither male was in the clear.

"... Saw you looking." Kasumi grinned like a vixen.

Mitchell flushed despite his best efforts not to. He really didn't want to give her more ammunition. Soryan shifted uncomfortably, all while damning the hormones that had forced their way into his bloodstream.

The spear-user pressed the offensive. "Well~" she drawled, "If it's you guys, I suppose I don't mind. I worked really hard to get this body after all. It would be a waste if I didn't have somebody to appreciate all of my hard work."

Soryan slowly turned his head to her and stared at her face. She flashed him a grin, then shook her hips a little, causing her chest to bounce. Soryan tore his gaze away. Almost immediately, Kasumi bellowed with laughter.

"Damn, you guys are really easy," she teased. "I didn't even do anything."

"Cease and desist, she-devil." Mitchell said flatly, at odds with his flushed face. What went unsaid was his intent to get her back—and he knew just the way to do it.

Soryan shrugged. "I mean, what the hell am I supposed to say? What do I say to that?" He looked at her again. "Huh?" he inquired.

Kasumi's smile only grew wider. "So you're saying you were speechless? I'm honored."

The Cambodian stared. "Well. Yeah. I mean, it's not like…" A self-deprecating thought passed through him. "Ah nevermind. Was I supposed to praise you?"

"Perhaps," Kasumi posited. Had she not been so focused on the Ung, Kasumi would have noticed the silent, vengeful smirk on Mitchell's lips as he tended to his blade.

Before the conversation could progress any further, the American dropped the smirk—hiding it from Kasumi. He chose to drive the conversation in a different direction. "Before you graced us with your humble presence, we were talkin' about what we were gonna do tomorrow. Do you have any suggestions?"

The spear-user made to argue, but stopped herself, recognizing the priorities at hand. She sighed before relaxing into the couch once again. "Alright. What have you discussed already?"

"Mainly our options for food and water," Mitchell said, sheathing his blade. "Since we've got that mostly covered, what else do you think we should do? Aside from weapons, I mean. We already know what we're doin' with those."

Kasumi frowned in thought. "Uh, I'm not sure. You guys know I don't think about the long term."

Mitchell paused at her words—long term. What were their goals in the long run? He considered: they would have to find their families eventually. He dreaded considering that they were, or had been in trouble. However, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to bring it up. He'd test the waters first.

"There is the issue of our parents." Mitchell said, eyes watching Kasumi carefully. As he expected, she tensed. After spending almost two years around her, listening to her vent about it, he knew what was coming.

"We can ask Wakaba if she knows anything about hers. You don't have to worry about my dad. I guarantee you he isn't worried about me." Kasumi replied with a scowl.

"I thought as much," Mitchell nodded. He didn't care for the man much either from what he'd heard from her. "We'll ask Wakaba about hers when she gets back."

"... You think our dads are together?" Soryan frowned slightly.

"With how much they keep in contact, I'd like to think so," Mitchell replied with his own frown.

Kasumi stared at her newly acquired water bottle in thought. "Isn't your father military, Mitch?"

"Yeah, whole family on my dad's side is, really," Mitchell responded. "Why do you ask?"

Kasumi rested her chin on her palm. "Well, if your father is here in Japan, do you think he might be able to find us?"

"In order for him to do that, he'd need authorization first," Mitchell informed. "There's a whole buncha hoops he'd have to jump through if he wanted to do that. And frankly, they still wouldn't let him. He's a pilot. Pilots are invaluable right now. They're gonna have him be busy for a while, I bet."

The spear-user hummed noncommittally. "Damn. Guess we'll have to do this whole survival thing the hard way, huh?"

"I don't think it'll be that difficult actually. At least, when it comes to food and water," Soryan reassured.

Kasumi raised a brow when he didn't continue. "You gonna elaborate? Or…"

"Well, I mean, think about it." The Cambodian gestured to nothing. "This whole thing happened so fast. You saw the news, yeah? It was one concurrent global event. It didn't spread like a wildfire—it was like Earth was just one big canvas and the infection or whatever was a big bucket of paint. But instead of taking a brush and making a masterpiece, some asshole dumped the whole bucket on the canvas. It's everywhere. Which means that nobody had time to prepare. I bet that the majority of the population was so focused on getting the fuck out that nobody actually stopped and considered looting stuff. The shelves in a lot of stores should be stocked, groceries and sporting stores included. If we can just get to a Walmart or something, we should be good for a while." He grunted, a complication coming to mind. "Problem with that is, I don't see anybody sticking around to keep the power-grid going, and once the electricity's out, all the perishables will be gone. We should be good with canned stuff though," he mused.

"Huh."

"Oh boy, Waka's not gonna like all of the implied stealing." Mitchell quipped, smirking.

A sudden, concerning thought troubled Soryan. "You lot think there'll be a lot of Zs hanging out there in the morning? I don't think the police are gonna be sticking around when the horde gets there. They'll probably fall back, and I don't think any of those things can follow them far."

"I think that's a question that can only be answered when we see it for ourselves." He gripped his sword powerfully. "Three of us are armed now. Being quiet has worked this long for us, so I don't really see it changing anytime soon—unless it's Undead Central out in our front yard," he ended, dry as a desert.

"Right then. We'll see tomorrow I guess."

The room went silent after that. Evidently, topics of conversation had run dry. As such, it wasn't long before the outcasts began thinking to themselves. And thinking usually entailed the future. It was hard not to ponder what the future held, especially after what they'd gone through today. Just this morning they'd been enjoying a friendly, routine lunch together. Now they were hiding out in an apartment, hopefully reassuring themselves that the current atmosphere of safety wouldn't end, that the monsters lurking in the night wouldn't find them.

In a snap, their reality had changed, and from here on out, they would have nothing to depend on, no shoulders to lean on, except their own. How long would they survive? Would they make it through this whole apocalypse? Would they ever find their loved ones again? Were they even alive?

They were brought out of their musings when the bathroom door creaked open. Three of the four outcasts turned, and everyone, even Kasumi's eyes widened. Wakaba stepped into the room with a serene, content look on her visage.

The Umbrella shirt hugged her form tightly, conforming to the shape of her melon-sized chest which bounced alluringly, moving with her every breath. Although her shirt was far more conservative than Kasumi's, the enticing effect was no less potent. One could tell just by looking that they were soft—pillowy, even.

Her whole body was shaped like an hour-glass—a figure that most could only ever dream of having. Her waist was curvaceous, and a single swing of her hips could draw the eyes of a roomful of people, unintentionally, even.

Adding to this, the pajama pants did naught to hide her maddeningly luscious, round, voluptuous rear, her thick thighs soft and creamy to the touch. Like Kasumi, steam wafted from her warm skin, but unlike Kasumi, who was decidedly gorgeous in a sexy way, Wakaba's beauty was more pure. Her soft, brown eyes held that certain, coy charm that imposed a feeling of shy, yet happy vulnerability—not quite innocent, but lethally cute. Oblivious even.

She walked forward, unaware of her enraptured audience, at least, until her eyes met theirs. She smiled timidly, pulling at her friends' heartstrings. "Hi."

"Holy shit…" Mitchell muttered in English, a little exasperated and awed. "You girls have no business being this hot."

Soryan bothered to give him a look before his eyes flitted back over to Wakaba's more than attractive form. There was a brief sense of cold shame that shot through him. He looked away.

Said archer blushed heavily at the American's words. "E-Erm," she stammered, timid, "T-Thanks, Mitch."

Mitchell blinked. Then the realization hit. His eyes widened. "Oh. Uh, you're welcome then." He flushed awkwardly for the second time in ten minutes. This had to be a record for him.

Instantly, Kasumi grew interested. "What did he say?" She grinned when Wakaba's blush deepened.

"W-Well," she looked over at Mitchell, who slowly, deliberately shook his head. "I shouldn't say."

Kasumi stood and brushed past Soryan, giving Wakaba a playful slap on the arm. "Oh, c'mon, what did he say? We're supposed to trust each other, right?"

"Do ya really wanna continue this line of thought, Kas?" Mitchell asked suddenly.

Kasumi turned her head to him, suddenly wary, but she wasn't deterred. Well, maybe slightly. "Of… Of course I do? I mean—of course I do! Wakaba, quick, what did he say?"

"Well," she glanced over at Mitchell once more, "he… he… he!"

"C'mon, say it!"

"He said we're hot!"

The room went cold and the conversation froze. For a moment, at least.

"Oh? Hot, huh?" she turned and leveled a half-lidded, smug look at the American. "So you do like what you see." It was a statement. Not a question.

Mitchell sighed. He was hoping Wakaba wouldn't cave to Kasumi's demands, but now he must punish her along with Kasumi for this betrayal.

"Yeah, yeah, get it outta your system," Mitchell rolled his eyes, acknowledging that there was no escape from what was coming. He brought this on himself after all.

Kasumi just smiled. "Just knowing you think that is enough. Now I know for sure what you think of us. It's nice knowing we have such an effect on you." She put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "It only took the apocalypse to finally bring it up, though," she added, dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, forgive me for not wantin' to seem like the rest of those degenerates at school." Mitchell replied drily, with equal sarcasm.

Kasumi's playful smirk dropped, replaced by a frown. Her mind wandered back to the many times she'd been ogled during class and in the hallways. It was different then—she wouldn't lie and say that she didn't like the attention, but when people were trying to touch her? To undress her with their eyes without restraint? That had disgusted her.

With her friends though… it was reassuring in a way. It was also one hell of an ego-boost, knowing that two of her closest friends thought she was both a great personality, and was physically attractive. She knew Wakaba had to feel the same.

"It's different. With you guys, I mean," she spoke. "You guys are our friends and actually appreciate us. You don't, y'know, treat us like we're walking, talking, sexual objects. Honestly, I really like the attention you give us." Kasumi laughed, "God, now that I think about it—it's no wonder you guys are so easy."

"I agree," Wakaba said. She flushed immediately after. "W-With what she said about being friends and stuff, I mean…" she trailed off.

"And with that, I think I'll head out." Mitchell finally hit his embarrassment threshold, and he bee-lined towards the bathroom, Kasumi's laughs following him. He couldn't wait to change that smug look. Wakaba gave him a cute, redundant wave as he passed. He was confuzzled for a moment, then ultimately thought 'Fuck it,' and gave her an effective high-five as he passed, startling her.

He shut the bathroom door, leaving a perplexed Wakaba, an amused Kasumi, and a slightly less amused and equally anxious Soryan.

There was a moment of silence as they listened for the shower, then the remaining Outcasts looked at one another.

"... So, are you just gonna stand there? Or are you gonna sit with us?" Kasumi offered to the archer. Wakaba let out a small hum before she smiled and made her way over. Soryan decided to scoot over such that he would not be placed between the girls at the same time.

Kasumi noticed. Being her, she capitalized on his mistake instantly. "Hey," she turned her gaze to him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Soryan looked her in the eyes. "Uh… the other side of the couch?"

She pouted, but her eyes conveyed that her intent was devious. "Oh, c'mon we're not gonna bite. Come sit with us~"

The Cambodian stared. He wouldn't lie, he enjoyed, perhaps even loved the idea of having the attention of two hot girls that were sitting beside him, especially if they were his friends, but on that end, he wasn't sure his heart would be able to take it. There was a lingering, self-deprecating thought of inadequacy at the back of his head, but he pushed it away.

"Aha, uh, I…" Was he really hesitating? He licked his dry lips. He needed chapstick. Or Vaseline. "I'll…"

Kasumi pat the spot next to her. Wakaba was above him, looking down at him. She smiled. Was she aware? Or unaware of Kasumi's intent? That was the real question. He looked over at Kasumi again.

"Sure…" It was while he was scooting over that Soryan realized: this was the first time he'd ever really been alone with both Kasumi and Wakaba at the same time, unless you counted the number of times Mitchell had gone to get some napkins at a fast food, or headed off to take a piss. Only Mitchell had ever been alone with them for extended periods of time—but that's because they were classmates.

The Ung glared at nothing as the sofa decompressed, Wakaba seating herself next to him. After what seemed like a long moment of silence, he felt a weight on his left shoulder, and something soft and large pressed against his chest. It was lethally pleasant. Wakaba yawned.

Soryan blinked. In the corner of his eye, he could see Kasumi inching forward in her seat.

"So…"

He turned. "So?"

"So, I heard Wakaba say something about a massage?" she inquired.

Before Soryan could get a word in, Wakaba gave a cheerful smile. He backed down under it. "Oh, yeah. It was good. Really good." She turned to him. "You'd make a great masseuse, Soryan!" She gave him a thumbs-up.

The Ung's heart melted. "Uh, I don't think that would pay enough. Maybe it does—I don't know, but I really don't want to end up touching a bunch of random dudes."

"Well, how about me, then?" Soryan turned his head at Kasumi's offer. "C'mon, my shoulders are sore after swinging that stupid mop-handle around all day. You don't want that affecting my performance tomorrow, right?" she asked, pressing an 'innocent' finger to her lips.

The Cambodian shrugged. "Fine," he said, perhaps a little coldly. Kasumi turned her enticing back to him, wiggling her hips ever so slightly, likely to get comfortable. After a beat of silence, Soryan started.

His palms found the tense knots in her trapezius, and he began kneading them like dough. The moment after, Kasumi let out a tantalizing groan, just like Wakaba had, but much less contained. Soryan swallowed, chills running up and down his spine as his face heated-up to an uncomfortable degree. If Kasumi noticed, she didn't make it apparent.

"Jesus Christ, Waka's right. You've got Magic Hands."

"I know, right?"

Soryan halted. "Where did you hear that from?"

"Uh… nowhere? It's just a saying."

"... Right then." Slowly, he resumed the massage. With every press and swirl of his thumbs, Kasumi moaned without restraint, possibly to an exaggerated level, but Soryan wasn't sure of that. Knowing Kasumi, she was telling the truth when she said her shoulders were sore. Training the way she had taught her many lessons about the body. Though, Soryan also couldn't be sure if Kasumi was trying to get a rise out of him.

Normally she was a tease, but she wasn't this much of a degenerate. Was it Mitchell's words that had set her off? Had she perhaps been previously unsure of her own attractiveness, only to be reassured when Mitchell accidentally gave his thoughts away? Thus leading her to tease them—knowing absolutely sure that she had a great sexual effect on them—without restraint?

Soryan gulped down a small glob of saliva when the girl in his grasp shuddered and moaned in obvious, real pleasure. His eyes roamed her body, studying her curves, but then the same feeling of shame came over him once more, the self-deprecating thoughts of inadequacy pulling him away. His teeth clenched painfully hard, but he didn't show it, fixing his eyes on the back of Kasumi's head, ultimately choosing to ignore her antics.

Behind him, Wakaba watched, unblinking. She looked down for a moment, Mitchell's words playing back in her head again and again. Her cheeks threatened to blush at the thought, but she pulled herself together. Now, she was curious.

"So…" she trailed off immediately.

Luckily, Soryan wasn't deaf. "So?"

The timid girl pressed the tips of her fingers together, pouting to herself. "So, what do you think?"

The Cambodian's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"About us."

The Ung frowned. "Us as in, our friend group? Or us as in..."

"Well, duh." Kasumi suddenly cut in. "She means us, as in, the girls. What else could we possibly be talking about at this time of day, in this part of the room, in this type of situation, right here in Mitchell's home?"

Soryan shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to be doing that a lot in the past half-hour or so. "Well… I'm a dude."

"Yes, you're a dude. Continue."

Soryan sighed. "Okay, bruh, I think you are acutely aware of what I think about both you and Wakaba. At this point, you're kind of just fishing for compliments."

Kasumi nodded. "Yep." She made no attempt to deny it. "Besides, after an entire year, I finally got Mitch to compliment my looks, so now it's your turn." She let out a sensual, almost seductive moan. "God, why are you so good at this," she commented offhandedly.

Soryan hummed. "First of all, Wakaba got Mitch to compliment your looks—" Kasumi squawked in protest as Wakaba blushed lightly, "—and second, you're on an ego high. I think you've got enough for both you and Wakaba right now."

Kasumi faltered for a moment. "Just say what you think and I'll leave you be. I'll wrestle the compliment out of ya if I have to."

The Cambodian almost yelped when a deceptively dainty hand landed on his back. He turned to see Wakaba pressing a hand on him. "You don't have to say it. Kas is just looking for validation."

Soryan blinked when her eyes flitted to Kasumi and her lips curled upwards slightly in the most teasing look he'd ever seen the girl give. He was surprised by her sudden fortitude, but regardless, he chuckled, even as Kasumi cried in protest.

"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side!" she objected. "Don't you want to know what he thinks? I mean, he is one of our only friends."

"I'm sitting right here." He was ignored.

"Well, I guess so," Wakaba replied. She considered the small feeling of empowerment she received when Mitchell had complimented her looks. It really did make her feel good about herself—it worked wonders for her self-esteem. "I guess, if you don't mind, Sor."

"Exactly, see my point?" Kasumi asked, whirling around. Soryan automatically stopped the massage, lest he unintentionally grope something other than her back. "C'mon. What've you got?"

The Cambodian looked at the two girls. Wakaba's eyes were hopeful and wide, akin to a puppy's, and Kasumi's were more teasing than anything else, but they still held a glint of curiosity beyond the mischief. After a moment of facing their combined scrutinies, he finally relented. "Look, you lot are in the next fucking ballpark compared to any other gill—blegh, any other girl that I've ever seen. In layman's terms… you guys are hot. Like, really hot." For the first time in a very long time, Soryan felt he may crumble and die from the sheer embarrassment of such a statement. He even fucked up his wording. If the pigments in his skin allowed it, he was sure that his cheeks would be redder than Satan's ass. "There, are you happy? Did that do enough to validate you?"

The rapidly growing grin shriveled on Kasumi's lips, and… was that a dust of pink on her cheeks? She opened her mouth to retort—

The bathroom door swung open, catching everyone off guard. Wakaba jumped from her position, then she and her companions fixed their eyes on the American. As Kasumi's eyes widened, Wakaba's jaw unhinged.

There in the doorway, Mitchell stood, totally topless with naught but a pair of baggy sweatpants to cover his lower-half, and a towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water glistened on his skin, emphasizing the lean and well-defined muscles in his biceps and abdominals. He strode into the living room in a casual manner, his movements making muscle swell like a well-oiled machine, creating a majestic showing that could make nostrils bleed. Although his pants were baggy, the weight of the towel pressed against them, causing them to conform to his body. Both girls could see his firm behind, as well as the hardened thighs and calves, indicative of his days in Motocross.

If he was trying to, he was doing an excellent job at getting his female companions flustered. For the first time in a long while, Soryan saw Kasumi blush deeply, and… was Wakaba drooling?

The American inwardly smirked as he passed them. He gave Soryan an apologetic glance—one that Soryan ignored—as he disappeared into his room, then moments later, he reappeared donning a form-fitting black t-shirt that very much exposed the muscles underneath. When he saw his companions staring at him, Mitchell appeared oblivious.

Without a word, he strode over to his beloved recliner and sat down with a content sigh, the gazes of his female friends tracking him. He heard Wakaba gulp, her throat suddenly dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Soryan slowly nodding before looking down, sighing, looking at Kasumi, then back to him.

"Uh-huh. And you called us easy?" Mitchell finally drawled, his brow raised.

Kasumi sputtered as Wakaba blushed. "Wha—Hey, I didn't say anything!" The red in her cheeks belied her protest.

"W-Well," Wakaba started timidly, "I for one, think that Mitch is..." she mumbled that last bit. Nobody heard it, but nobody pressed her to speak louder.

There was an encompassing silence for a moment. "Hm… Guess it's my turn now, I suppose." Soryan stood unceremoniously, stiffly making his way to the bathroom. The door closed softly behind him, the sound accompanied by a small click indicative of the locking mechanism being turned. After that, the shower could be heard. There was a light thud, like two objects had collided. The Outcasts could only guess what it was.

"So, what did y'all talk about?" Mitchell inquired, curious.

"We asked him what he liked about us and he gave me a killer massage." Kasumi answered. She was grateful that the American wasn't rubbing his victory in like she admittedly had. Though, she wouldn't mind seeing those abdominals again…

Wakaba nodded, having finally recovered. "Mhm. We just tried to make him more comfortable."

Kasumi snorted. "Tried."

"That's good to hear at least." Mitchell nodded. His eyes were drawn to the digital alarm clock that sat on a shelf next to the one and only television in the room. It was already a few minutes past midnight, and they'd yet to even eat. In the next moment, the American was the face of sobriety. "When he gets out, we're gonna have to discuss our next moves. Plus, we still gotta gather what we need from here so we can be ready for tomorrow."

"Since we're gonna loot and stuff, can we also stop by a clothing store on the way?" Kasumi asked, gesturing to her current attire. "No offense but I'd like something better."

Mitchell looked to Wakaba for her input, acknowledging that she abhorred stealing. She reluctantly nodded. She would keep the shirt he gave her, but she agreed with Kasumi when the spear-user said that she preferred something better.

"We'll put that on our to-do list then," Mitchell conceded. "Also, Waka, do you know if—"

Mitchell halted abruptly as a familiar ringtone reached his ears. Immediately, he shot to his feet and sprinted to his room, startling the shit out of his companions. There he found the satellite phone his dad gave him for emergencies. He snatched it and quickly stepped out onto the small balcony overlooking the streets. He slammed the accept key.

"Dad!?" Mitchell asked—almost demanded.

The unmistakable voice of his father met his ears. "Oh thank fucking God. It's damn good to hear your voice, son. Are you in a secure location?"

Mitchell, despite the intense feeling of relief that flooded his veins, found he could still snark. "Does my apartment count? 'Cause last I checked you told me to keep it here."

There was no audible reaction. "Mitch, that ratty apartment couldn't hold back our fuckin' Sheltie, much less zombies. Please tell me you're leavin' soon."

"Yeah, we're plannin' on leavin' tomorrow morning. Why're you askin'?" He could hear some whirring in the background. "Are ya in the air right now?"

"Yeah, the base was gettin' overrun—Okinawa's a lost cause, son. I and a couple of other birds managed to get airborne before they were beatin' on our wings. We're retasking to the Reagan's strike group now. And did you say we? Who's with you?"

"Soryan and my two other friends Kasumi and Wakaba. Is Soryan's dad with ya?"

"Yeah, he's in the back with about thirty others. Listen, I'm gonna have to switch frequencies pretty soon and I was just callin' to make sure Andrew and I didn't raise a pussy."

"Hell nah, Mom would beat my ass at the Pearly Gates if she found out I died to Romero zombies."

"That she would. But seriously, you and your friends need to get movin' soon. I won't be able to call back for a while so put what we taught you to use and survive until then, got it?"

"Yessir. We'll figure it out."

"Good. I gotta go now. Take care of yourself and your friends. Bye."

"Love ya, dad. Bye."

Mitchell hung up, letting out a sigh of relief as he walked back inside and sank into his bed. They were okay. And at the moment, that's all that mattered. The American looked down at his satellite phone, considering it for a moment. He set it down on it's charging station before rising to his feet. That's one worry taken care of. He even had some good news for Soryan when he finished his business.

He turned to leave the room, only to see Kasumi's head poking in, Wakaba standing behind her.

"Is… Is everything alright?" the spear-user asked softly, concern marring her pretty face.

"Was that… your dad?" Wakaba guessed, having caught some of the conversation.

"Yeah it was." Mitchell replied, his thoughts settling. "Turns out my dad's alive and so is Soryan's. They're on their way to the US carrier group out at sea right now. And Okinawa is lost." He frowned grimly.

The girls grew solemn at that. They were once again reminded that the world was changing at a terrifying rate. No power on Earth would be able to reverse what was happening. The best they could do was survive.

A thought occurred to Kasumi. "Hey, how did you even contact your dad? My phone went out of service hours ago."

Mitchell picked up the phone from it's charging station. "Satellite phone. My dad gave it to me in case of emergencies or if he needed to get in touch for any reason." He put it back. He wanted it charged to full before they left tomorrow.

"Ah. Neat." There was a lull in the conversation. "Well, I'm going back to the living room."

Kasumi did as she said, taking her seat on the couch once more.

Wakaba hesitated. "Er, is it possible for me to use it as well? The satellite phone, I mean."

Mitchell looked at Wakaba then back at the Iridium phone, unsure. "Uh, I'm not sure. I haven't used it for anythin' else but it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot." Mitchell picked up the phone and brought it over to her.

Wakaba's eyes brightened as she stepped forward to accept the offer. "Sorry about imposing on you. I just can't help but worry. It does look expensive though." She gave the device a curious look.

"You don't need to apologize for askin' about your parents, Waka," Mitchell reassured her, if only a bit drily. "It's only natural you're worried. What's the number?" Wakaba quickly gave him her mother's number, prompting Mitchell to input the necessary keys for an outbound call.

Wakaba was confused when he had input a greater number of keys than she'd conveyed. "Erm, you're pressing a lot of buttons there."

"Satellite phones require a different procedure from regular cell phones in order to make calls,'' Mitchell informed as he tapped away. "In order to make a call you have to enter in zero-zero and then the international code of the country you're callin'. In this case, Japan's code is eighty-one. You add those first before putting in the number you're callin'."

"Oh." Wakaba said, blinking. It sounded more complicated than what a regular cell-phone call needed to be. She wondered if there was a functional reason for it but didn't ask.

"Alright, number's in." Mitchell said, handing her the phone. "Let's hope this works…" He went silent, allowing her to hear the tone.

After a long, anxiety-inducing moment, Wakaba sighed. "I'm only getting the dial back tone—not even a ring." She handed the device back, disappointed.

"Ah. I guess it only works with other sat phones." Mitchell responded, equally disappointed. He was hoping he could call his family back in the States. "Sorry, Waka."

Wakaba shook her head. "It's fine. Thank you for letting me use it."

"Sure thing."

---

Wakaba left the room, going off to relax with Kasumi. Mitchell considered lounging with them, but he headed for the kitchen instead. As he pulled the pantry open, he called out to them. "What y'all wanna eat? I got rice, soup, bentos, ramen, lay it on me."

Wakaba perked up at that. "I'd like a bento, please."

Kasumi lazily glanced over. "I guess some rice and a bowl of soup would be nice." She paused. "Wait… Is the rice white? Or brown? And is it Jasmine? Or Basmati? Also, what soup?"

"White Jasmine and miso soup." Mitchell said plainly.

The spear-user nodded contently. "Cool. Order up, waiter."

Mitchell nodded. "Alright then. Comin' right up."

He worked on preparing the proper meals, reserving a packet of ramen for Soryan—he knew the Cambodian would be dining on it, but there was no way that Mitchell was going to be filling out Soryan's specific order. That shit took upwards of twenty minutes, at least when he tried it.

Wakaba's foodstuff of choice was quite simple—Mitchell had only store-bought bentos after all, but he supposed that she'd enjoy it at least a little bit more if he properly heated its contents. Most of his time was spent cooking Kasumi's meal and his own meal—a mix of both Wakaba's and Kasumi's—while trading idle chit chat with the two beauties.

It was another five minutes before the bathroom door creaked open. Naturally, this brought the attention of everyone in the room. The sight that met their eyes was… awfully mundane. Soryan stepped out donning a t-shirt with the iconic DOOM logo on it. The pair of sweatpants covering his legs contrasted with shirt on his chest, but not in too terrible of a way. The Cambodian had a tired, half-lidded glare in his eyes that was hidden by the fog on his glasses.

He surveyed the array of eyes on him. Immediately, he felt a terrible mix of what ultimately amounted to inadequacy. As a teenage boy, no matter how objective he liked to be, he was entitled to the thoughts and feelings that most teenagers would have, especially with all of the hormones that surged through his veins and whatnot.

He recognized that this self-deprecating shame he felt was stupid—really, objectively, it was, and worse still, it would be nothing but a detriment to his health and perhaps even the well being of those that surrounded him. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't a depressed, self-piteous flesh-suit of issues, but he couldn't help the feeling of judgement, of silent nakedness that washed over him when the eyes of his companions roamed over him.

He looked down at himself, examining the visible stomach he had developed over years of stagnation, his mind conjuring the number of shortcomings he had, the reasons that he'd considered himself a waste of space and air, ways in which he pitied himself. He loathed doing that. Because at the end of the day, despite himself, he had the power to change himself. He had the ability to improve himself everyday, but he was just too lazy to do it. Thus, the fault of the matter was entirely in his hands.

His eyes found the girls. They were absolutely smoking hot, he wouldn't deny it, and while he could just continue to admire them while hating on his own less-than-mundane body, instead, he asked the question: why? Why were they hot? It was simple really, and the same answer applied to Mitchell as well. They put in the work and effort to improve themselves, make themselves better each and every day—perhaps not in massive ways, but in minute changes that did bring them fruit. It wasn't a matter of genetics or something even more simple-minded like, 'I was born this way! I can't change it!' No, it was all a matter of the work you put in, something that Soryan had neglected to do.

He knew this to be true for sure, that it was hard work that brought results. A couple years back, his father had been at death's door. It was a harrowing time for the Ung, and he really did believe that the man he'd looked up to all his life would disappear. But Soryan's father would not be chained by fate. The man did his research, put in astronomical amounts of effort and dedication, and eventually, he'd found the secrets of longevity. In what seemed to be a miracle, Soryan's father recovered his health, and was now healthier than he'd ever been. The man worked hard—he'd refused to accept that he was going to die, that genetics was the cause for his heart disease and would ultimately lead to his downfall. And that was what Soryan aspired to be like.

Despite the self-deprecating thoughts, the feeling of shame at his own inadequacy in the face of his friends and their accomplishments, he knew they weren't perfect, and he knew damn sure that he could reach them, whether it be looks and beauty, or intelligence and wisdom.

On that note, Soryan shoved the self-deprecating thoughts down, the feelings of shame he got when he ogled the girls he considered better than he, the feeling of inadequacy he felt when his eyes laid upon the fruits of Mitchell's hard work—that quite stunning body of his—and he hid the veritable essay he'd just encountered by a thin, disinterested deadpan.

"... What did I miss?" the Ung inquired.

"My dad called. Your dad's with him. Okinawa is Zach's land now. They're on their way to the Reagan right now." Mitchell briefed him.

Soryan's attention was snagged. "Really? They're all good?"

"Yeah. They're good."

"Huh. That's good. They want us to do anything?"

"Survive. That's pretty much it."

Soryan chuckled. "I can do that much. Anyways," he said, stepping towards the kitchen, "what's on the menu?"

Mitchell gripped the reserved ramen packet and tossed it to him as he cooked. "Here. I'm not about to even attempt pullin' off your exact ramen specifications," he said flatly.

The Cambodian cracked a smile when he saw the brand. "Well shit, I haven't had a Maruchan packet in months. Thanks, man." He walked into the kitchen, pulling the fridge open.

Kasumi blinked, Mitchell's words playing in her head again. "You have ramen specifications?" That certainly took her curiosity. She rose to see what said specifications were about. Out of idle curiosity, Wakaba followed her.

Soryan gave the girls little more than a glance. "Well, yeah. Unless you want something like scurvy, then you'd better cook yourself a meal properly. Unlike some."

"That was one fuckin' time and you keep bringin' it up. I swear, you're like Gordon Ramsay over this shit." Mitchell groaned in exasperation.

"Ay man, I ain't a Michelin Star Chef, but I know my way around pre-packaged 'poison'." He licked his lips. "And all I have to say is: you just ain't doing it right." He searched the fridge a bit, Kasumi poking her head over his shoulder.

"What are ya looking for?" she asked, curious.

"Eggs. Speaking of which," the Cambodian looked over his shoulder towards the busy Marlowe. "Do you happen to have any raw eggs? And on the off chance of this being in your inventory, do you also happen to have a jar of pickled mustard greens? And a rotisserie chicken. Pink Himalayan Salt would do nicely as well. If you have any dried, crushed red peppers, or perhaps the oil, that would go great. I also need fried, crushed garlic, the one that goes in the oil jars. I would ask for carrots, but I don't really need them. Also, I'm an artificial fuck, so any extra flavor packets or soup stocks are pretty good."

"Have you tried the top left shelf? I should have eggs and mustard greens there. You're shit outta luck with the rest, Yukihira Sōma." Mitchell said, distracted with his own ministrations.

"Well shit," Soryan frowned. "Ah, piss it, it'll be fine." Kasumi stared with narrowed eyes and a slightly open-mouth at him as he gathered substitutes for his meal. She knew one could turn any artificial factory-made meal into something worth consuming, but ramen? She'd never really tried to sophisticate it, especially to the degree that Soryan currently was. Wakaba merely raised an incredulous brow at his choice of ingredients.

The Cambodian retrieved a carton of eggs and the jar of mustard greens and set them aside before tugging at a package of thinly-sliced turkey ham, likely filled to the brim with colon-destroying preservatives. He shut the fridge and moved over to the counter, checking the cabinets to find an unopened packet of tamarind soup base mix, and a chicken-flavored soup base. There was nothing he could do for peppers, but there were a few cloves of raw garlic sitting on the counter. He checked the cabinets again, retrieving a large bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil. With the necessary ingredients in place, he was set. Soryan leaned past Mitchell, grabbing one of the few kitchen knives.

Wakaba chose that moment to speak up. "Erm, now that we're all here, do you think it's a good time to talk about what we're going to do tomorrow?"

Soryan retrieved a cutting board, two small pots, and a pan. He began filling one almost to the brim with water. The other, he filled up to only an inch, then an inch worth of pure mustard green pickle juice.

"Yeah, now's as good a time as any, I guess." Kasumi shrugged, watching the boys work. "We already know we're going to stop by a clothing store and the sports complex—just not what comes after."

Soryan placed all three pieces of cookware on the gas multi-stove. In the pot with more water, he placed as many eggs as he could fit, then dashed a pinch of salt into it. In the pan, he drizzled a good amount of olive oil. His finger pressed on the fume hood, and it whirred to life as he turned the heat on.

"I figured we could stop by a clothing store on the way to the sports place," Mitchell emphasized. His food was almost finished. "I overheard Takagi sayin' that they were usin' a bridge as an evacuation zone. She didn't give a name though."

Soryan placed the cutting board adjacent to the stove. He took a clove of garlic and peeled it apart before crushing each piece with the flat of the blade. He chopped the remains finely, then dumped them into the pan. They began sizzling instantly. Next, he took two large, pickled mustard green leaves and whiffed them blissfully before he set himself to chopping them widthwise.

"I think she was talking about Onbetsu Bridge," Kasumi said, thoughtful. "It's one of the main bridges leading to the next section of the city. Plus, the road we were on leads to Onbetsu, so there's that."

"How quick should we be moving, do you think?" As the pot with less water began to boil, Soryan dumped the mustard greens in. He shook the pan a little. The browning garlic pieces sizzled wonderfully.

"Well, since the sports place is about five blocks away...I'd say once we handle that, we could haul ass to Onbetsu. I'm not keen on another night stroll." Mitchell replied as he mulled over their options.

"Aight then." As the eggs began to boil, Soryan set a mental timer and ripped the ramen packet open. He dropped the artificial noodles into the pot of boiling mustard greens, then added half of the flavor-packet before discarding it. On top of that, he added a pinch of sea salt, a relative teaspoon of tamarind soup base, and an equal amount of chicken-flavoured soup base.

"I agree with the night thing. Coming here did a number on my nerves." Wakaba shivered at the thought of moving through the void of night again. She'd like to avoid travelling at night at all costs.

She shook the images from her head as her eyes settled on Soryan's rapidly moving hands. The Cambodian tossed the pan of garlic whilst stirring the boiling noodles in his soup pot. After a few moments, when the pan began crackling, Soryan turned off its specific heat source, then deposited the freshly fried garlic into the soup pot, oil and all. Next, he tore the turkey-ham package open and tossed a good half-dozen slices into the pot.

"Alright, food's ready," Mitchell called as he finished. In a practiced manner, he walked over to the proper cabinets and retrieved the necessary dishware and the needed utensils—chopsticks. Kasumi and Wakaba returned to their earlier places on the couch with their respective meals set before them on the coffee table. Mitchell sat himself in his recliner, propping his bowl in his lap. The three promptly dug in without fanfare. It was a strange contrast to what the girls usually did. Mitchell recalled dozens of memories involving the girls giving the proper thanks before digging into their meals. Considering that they were currently enduring a world-wide crisis, such trivial matters probably weren't on their priority lists.

It was another minute or two before Soryan shut off the stove completely. He decided to enjoy his meal straight from the pot and brought it over to the coffee table, opting to sit on the floor across from his female companions. They stared into his pot for a bit, the simple, yet enticing aroma of the fried garlic reaching their nostrils—a key ingredient in more than a few dishes that they'd made. While Wakaba was mostly unphased, Kasumi was more astounded that Soryan had been able to produce something that actually smelled and likely tasted good, considering that most of, if not all of the ingredients he used were artificial empty calories that worked to deteriorate the body over ages.

Contrary to the energetic conversation they'd had at lunch earlier that day, they ate their dinners in silence—by now, fatigue had set in. They finished their meals quickly, setting their dishware and utensils in the kitchen sink, where it would likely be left to rot for years to come.

Mitchell decided to call it a night on his part. "Okay. We roughly know what we're doin' tomorrow. That's great. But I'm tired as hell and need all the sleep I can get. You girls can have the bed—I don't give a fuck. I'll take the recliner."

Neither girl had any issues with sharing a bed, though Kasumi did give a tired, half-hearted remark about how much of a gentleman Mitchell was. Soryan took the couch with little complication. After a short while, once everyone had settled in and made themselves comfortable, the apartment grew dark and quiet. The coming days would be busy as Hell. They'd need all the rest they could get.

---

A/N: … Well, I don't really have anything to say.

RPG Proficient: Aside from life bitch-slapping us?

Yeah, basically that. Welp, I ain't gonna deal with this shit this time. If you've got anything to say, go ahead, then sign off for me.

RPG Proficient: Also, as this chapter showed, there's more going on with the characters than meets the eye. The girls in particular. I've given these characters a lotta thought, so we're only just scratching the surface right now. Anyways, bye!