𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!

𝟏𝟐-𝟏

‘I'm wondering what the reason is. The reason behind all of this?’

Quite tragic. Tragic to be told.

A man sitting cross legs in a swivel chair, in the middle of a cold and empty room. Darkness envelops the metallic walls as rich rustic smells of ichor as well its wonderful color of vitality stained every half part of it.

Blue neon colors from big glass tubes reflected his silver eyes. It was horrifyingly beautiful how it shows the one who owns the eyes’ terror of madness.

A graceful killing intent.

Dressed in a conspicuous white lab coat, eyes adorned with rimless silver eyeglasses he watched the magnificent scene in front of him— as if he was just watching random kids playing hero and evil in front.

One person can't bear the pain, regardless of which part and how deep it is. But the two people fighting in front of him, naked and thrusting their rusty weapons against each other as they paint the tiles with another liter of blood, seemingly do not know when to stop and end their hell— They have no choice.

For food and the sake of their survival.

Inside the stifling room, the coppery smell, a bit sweet or fruity when fresh blending simultaneously alongside with the rich scent of disinfectant, spreads that smothers your senses but suffocates your breath.

Three months have passed since the start of the nightmare. The once flourishing world turns into crumbled pieces of unfinished masterpiece. The cities, the former towering glories to brag as the Capital was populated by tourists and natives, now looked like abandoned places where a nuclear bomb was dropped.

The end of civilization and the start of a new era. Like a caterpillar who cocooned itself to slowly ascend to the realm of beauty just to perish for a week or two.

“Tsk. No fun.”

The man was lean but tall, with white ankles exposed by the long black trousers that were ironed repeatedly as he stretched his limbs. As if genes on his family's good features were also blessed to him, his silver eyes narrowed as his long eyelashes flapped, creating a shadow underneath thanks to the luminescence from the big tubes. His nose was a perfect low dorsum, with a bulbous tip, short columella, flaring nostrils, a wide alar base, and an acute nasolabial angle— a desired nose of some Asians. His red cupid lips like a fine color of wine, pale or not were too arousing.

Nevertheless, the most distinctive is his white hair which was cut neat and clean. Not too short but a bit long, emphasizing his unique race.

The unconcerned aura that surrounds him saying: I'm noble and you're not, we wake a majestic feeling to someone who is concerned themselves in the state of M— degenerated homo sapiens desire of wanting to be oppressed and be blessed with pain.

Be that as it may be, his focus is still on the two people, plunging each other to death, thrusting corroded weapons considering that their lives are at stake to entertain that madman.

In the middle of that never-turbulent scene, Suan wants to kneel, pray, and beg for all the 18,000 different gods, goddesses, and various animals or objects that are worshiped by humans.

The reason? Because of Zeke!

Thanks to another extra person, Suan's storage which was said to end in three months didn't go as far as he conjectured or surmised. So the two of them who lived with each other needed to team up for the sake of food.

The youth was carrying his guns with frenzy, his hair being pushed back by the air, completely exposing the small and clean forehead, as he ran with all of his speed to escape from the hoard of zombies that Zeke provoked.

“Gordonfudgingramsay Zeke!!”

He can only scream, his blunt expression not betraying his paralyzed face amid being chased, not the fact that there's a possibility of Suan meeting the never met Grandma and Grandpa he has.

Zeke, the red-eyed man, who is currently sitting on the roof of the bus, having a cup of not warm and also not cold beer, very early in the morning, watches Suan run around. Without a doubt, he was enjoying the sight.

“You sand off the beach! Motherfather ungrateful wolf!”.

Suan triggered another reason for his death— exasperation. Raining profanities is what he can and at least can do. He can't waste his precious bullets on that ungracious…

“Common people are not sages; who never makes a mistake?” (人非圣贤，孰能无过). 情有可原 (Be) Excusable and forgivable, from the historic record Zuozhuan, an ancient text which covers the period 722 to 468 BCE that mistakes should be forgiven and be pardoned. As that cub's father, patience is a must. Sadly, he has no patience.

“Yes, dear father! This son is not very filial at all!” Then Zeke laughed, he didn't even try to hide that he was enjoying his (S) state. His (Z) shoulders were trembling, mouth covered and almost teary-eyed when he tried to hold back from laughing.

Unsuccessfully, he burst out laughing. It was so loud and hard that some of the zombies couldn't stop from turning their heads up and side to look at their Yama Guowang with a look of scaredness but wanted to eat, still chasing Suan.

“Don't make me let you sleep in the garage again. You and the mosquitoes will have a bonding night and will eat each other."

After with his word to the fool, he slid down, one knee bent and the other was laid. He releases the safety lever of his assault rifle, holds the trigger, and reverberates a silenced salvo of shots to the zombies without a care about the damage to his surroundings.

Apathetic, Suan's attitude turns zero again. His bit of goofy personality that he managed to copy from Zeke, fritters away, resembling that melted ice cream that was dropped to the ground, only to be evaporated by the sun, contributing itself to a raindrop.

Goodnight.

—I want to create a misunderstood-that-he-was-sick main character, no reincarnation/transmigration, and of course not reborn. Typical cannon fodder (I value them so much). Yeah, but my hands say otherwise.