You Have to Let Someone In….
Since the Cataclysm, you’ve become very careful. Finding the right time to vacate your tiny apartment for a freshly abandoned property. Scavenging for food past FEMA and turning away wanderers from the house. Only accepting your old roommate after vigorously checking for signs of a Visitor.
All for it to be for naught since your dunce of a roommate is lonely.
“I had to let them in! They’re just like us!”
He tried to reason with you, unknowingly justifying the intrusive thought of shooting him then and there. Keeping the neutral expression on your face, you go to the room, he so willingly offered to these intruders. Standing in front of the door as you recounted the bullets in the gun’s magazine. Clicking it into place, you had every intention of opening the door and open firing on this couple until a hand tightly held yours.
Your roommate, wide-eyed with tears in their eyes, made you shiver. Incurring the burning in your eyes and making your nose run, you stop.
“Please, (Y/n)...the more people the better.”
Refusing to look at that pitiful expression any longer, you pulled your hand away. Turning to your bedroom, you purposefully stomped in its direction, “Just know this means you are sleeping alone.”
Offended noises sounded from him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Locking the bedroom door behind you and barricade it with a dresser. You closed your blinds and settled into the bed you’d found. Letting the tears that threatened to come dry up before you slept.
If you couldn’t trust the only one you had left, what good was it trusting anyway?
“So this is the infamous (Y/n), eh? I’m Satoru Gojo and this is Suguru. ”
“Geto. Suguru Geto. Thank you for letting us stay.”
“I’ll need to run tests.”
“What’s your farthest memory?”
“Ha that’s easy the first time I met this guy I totally tried to kill him.”
“With safety scissors in a kindergarten room, mind you.”
“Not a laugher, huh?”
“You?”
“Ah probably my Father and Mother sending me to boarding school.”
“What was it called?”
“Jujutsu prep.”
“Happy now? All your tests came back with good results.”
“Hm.”
“Your weapons all of them.”
“(Y/n) c’mon you can’t ask that! In these times–”
“They came here because they wanted to be safe, right. Well I’m armed and there’s no way in but the front door. You’re safe. You won’t be needing any of that anymore, right?”
“Right.”
“I said all of them.”
“(Y/n)! What is up with you?!”
“Shut. Up. Suguru?”
“....hm you caught me.”
“Enjoy your stay. Ration rules are two cans a day; fresh stuff is up for grabs if it’s still good. Try to feed someone other than yourself if you do make something.”
“Anything else?”
“Don’t get infected. It’ll save me the trash bags.”
“I’m so sorry about them—”
It has been three days since you let your guests stay. For now, the majority of your living space is lived in by the newcomers. Quickly, they make themselves at home, offering to cook and do chores when the sun is out. Your days consist of mapping out routes for larger scavenging trips that avoid the people-abducting FEMA. Coming home to the other mouths you have to feed makes you all the more insistent to check for signs of being a visitor. No matter how many times you’ve checked, you refuse to relent, wanting to be certain that the home was ready for the many guests it would be receiving soon. The only comfort was that your master bedroom was fitted with enough locks to wake you or, in the best case, halt the attack of any possible visitors.
Tonight, your roommate was awake and at your door. Demanding an audience while you washed off the stench of the journey.
“(Y/n) why are you icing me out?! We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
Running harshly over your skin the the dirt that comes off brings a rare satisfaction. The simplicity of a mere bath is better than dealing with the social intricacies of the Cataclysm. A semi-relaxed huff leaves your mouth and you don’t bother to look at the frazzled silhouette of your shower curtain, “We were until you chose yourself over our safety.”
He was angrily pacing all around the small expanse of the master bathroom, “Chose myself?! I did the right thing and gave people refuge! Besides, FEMA's coming and they’re going to need someone!”
You sucked your teeth, yelling at that stupid shadow through the curtain, “FEMA didn’t even know we were in here until you did that!”
“How could you possibly know that?!”
The question brings a point to light that you neglected. He didn’t know because you hadn’t told him. Such a small detail that could have very well towed the line of life and death. Rubbing the undressed scratch on your knee you're much gentler, your speech matching the sentiment.
“I’ve been around and I’ve seen things.”
. “...I thought you stopped,” His shadow stops pacing, and he sits on the closed toilet beside the tub. “…when did you start going back?”
The pause you initiate is heavy with the solemn command to never do something so dangerous alone again. The declaration was made by you after narrowly losing your roommate to a religious fanatic over a few cans of tomato soup. Very quickly, you discovered that such a concept wasn’t ideal for your living situation. This place wasn’t the home of a hermit, and you weren’t a conspiracy theorist waiting for the world to end. If you wanted to feed yourself and your roommate…and whoever else would be coming, you needed to have more than enough.
“The second shortage…we need everything we can get if I’m going to stop completely.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, head hanging low before he reaches to pull back the curtain. Pulling it back to comically show his mischievous grin, “Look at you offering two cans! So generous!”
Not bothering to rush, you playfully push at his face. Standing, you grab the towel waiting on a rack, wrapping it around you, “We’ll have to tighten up if we’re bringing others in.”
His eyes widened, and a smile far too wide quirked up.
“Really?! You want to?”
“No, but FEMA saw and so did other wanderers…and likely the visitors too.”
His posture slouches, and he pouts, looking up to you with a face similar to a begging puppy dog.
“Can we sleep together again?”
You chuckle, “I thought you were saving yourself for our new housemates?”
He huffs.
“I’m pretty sure they’re together, so that doesn’t really work.”
Strutting to the mirror, you finish drying yourself. Sparing a glance to look at his sullen expression as he glares at his hands.
“I don’t know, they are kinda zesty, I mean, isn’t that what you like?”
He joins you in the mirror, leaning on your bare shoulder.
“Yeah, but no one can beat the main side piece! I’m kidding, but please, I don’t want to be alone.”
Playing hardball, you finish the rest of your routine. Finding your mouth and heading for your bed, he desperately pleas.
“....You can be in the same bed—”
“YES!”
“---But you likely won’t see much of me. Between scavenges and checking for Visitors, I won’t be in here long.”
Finally, climbing into the bed, your roommate follows. Curling up beside you just like before the Cataclysm. Warm and grounded, the vibration of his voice is soothing upon your aching bones.
“It’s fine I’ll take it. Besides, who’s going to make sure you sleep?”
It hurt to distance yourself for the couple of days you did. It was necessary for the time to come. The house was going to get more filled, and the likelihood of a Visitor ruining any semblance of peace.
“Whatever.”
The house is slowly filling up with more people who have survived your many tests and are eating their share of the rations. Steadily bringing the four-digit number of cans and goods down to a hundred, you feel the need to search for more. That was the reason you cited to your roommate for your continuous trips. Which was only a partial truth.
In reality, the window for any scavenging was becoming smaller and smaller as FEMA, the Visitors, and the Death Cultists were becoming more aggressive. Already you’d spotted too many fellow scavengers being abducted or hung on street lamps acting as signs for the unhoused–an omen for death.
Inclined to listen, you wanted to push for two more scavenges, but seeing how this one turned out there may not be many. Heading out the second, the set you happened upon an abandoned shed, the blood of its former inhabitants decorating the door and floor it had. Within was a more optimistic sight as untouched groceries piled in the corner. Seeing as the blood-torn bodies of inhabitants ensure that poison wasn’t used in their end, you gather up all you can carry. Your back still aches in protest, but you keep your posture upright. Prepared for anything to disrupt your delivery.
Too bad you were outnumbered.
The horde of people who descended upon you were dressed in cloaks, haggard, and smelling of rot. Their fingers, scraped and bleeding, dug into any feature they could of you: your hair, your clothes, your cheeks. It was almost enough to pin you down, but your reflexes were fueled by a familiar adrenaline. Gun in your hand, you got most of them, aiming for the heart—watching them drop to the ground, you hoped the others would run. Most of them did, but the one too close to fire the gun did not. Hands tightly squeezing your neck, kicking their feet at your flailing hands. A well-aimed stomp on your hand loosens your grip on the gun, leaving your trusty defense on the sunburnt ground. Quickly, you search for the knife at your waist, but the hand you raise to search is grabbed by one of the uninjured assailants.
Unable to even claw at the one choking you, the black dots are overtaking your vision. The remaining air you have in your lungs is running out, and the burn within screeches as loud as your desperate heartbeat. Like in the books, your life does flash, but the brightest parts are of the time before, and the most recent is the sight of your roommate smiling widely while playing a card game with the newcomers.
How sweet.
You didn’t think you’d get to see them again.
This is where you will die.
The black of your vision slowly fades into the darkened suburb, where you were scouting. Along the barren ground are your attackers—the men in cloaks, still as you made. More accurately, some of them.
Hearing the sound of flesh being stabbed into and the swift ruffling of clothes. Someone—a blur currently—beats the remaining wild man into the ground. Their rabid lunges and foaming teeth are being evaded with an expertise you’d never seen before. This blur rolls and ducks a clawed grip, standing tall with your discarded firearm in hand.
In two shots, the fight is over.
All the cloaked people are dead and easily stepped over by the blur that walks closer to you. It bends down, and the tickling of their longer strands reminds you that this isn’t an out-of-body experience.
You are alive.
“What? Weren’t you curious when you found that many knives on me?”
Sitting you up before you can answer is Suguru Geto. One of the guests in your home—possibly the most polite one out of all of them. Other than his less-than-desired introduction, he wasn’t a deadweight. Cooking, cleaning, even sharing observations from suspicious guests, allowing you to weed out the Visitors before another night.
Your body tingles with the rush of blood allowed to flow, leaving you unresponsive as Suguru pulls at your hand to stand. Thankfully, you can rely on his strength more than your own, as you wobble to stand. Your backpack wasn’t helping, but you didn’t mind. Crouching delicately to pick up a can that escaped your bag.
Still in a haze, the smell of cedar puts you on alert much too late. Face to face with Suguru, who’s intently inspecting your face.
“When’s the last time you’ve eaten…or slept..?”
Pulling away from him, you move in the direction you came from, the shed behind you a good reminder.
“Gee, what a compliment, it is an apocalypse, you know?”
Suguru runs to catch up to you, “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself.”
Speeding up, you hope to kill any semblance of this conversation,“I appreciate the care, but I need to stay sharp so that I can–”
A sharp jab at the back of your ankle has you keeling over, “AH!”
On the ground, you quickly glare at Suguru, who casually walks to your side. With a glare of his own directed at you, “That’s sharp? That’s honestly so sad, (Y/n). You really think Visitors aren’t going to take advantage? “
He kicks into your side. Not quite your stomach, but still you feel the bruises freshly given yelp along with you. Stunting your attempt to stand. A light shadow crosses your face as you watch the steeled grooves of Suguru’s boot coming down on your head. Saving your nose you turn your head to the side, letting your cheek take the brunt of the force as he leans down over you,
“Desperate Wanderers? Pushing you down and taking everything you worked so hard to find?”
He doesn’t stop pressing even with you struggling, and your first response is to reach for your knife. Glancing above, you shrouded in darkness, you expect the endless scowl of your other attackers. The frenzied expression of their madness drives them to attack for no better reason, but this is different.
His visage reeks of anger.
Like the way you’re parents used to back when you were young and dumb.
Angry at your decisions.
Angry that you’d done something ill-advised.
Anger at your fragility.
Relenting, you raised your hands the best you could, “I GOT IT! I got it…I’m just scared.”
When he gets off of you, all the bruises and cuts you received ache as a unified front. Still you stand and prepare to ignore them in favor of finally completing this run. Trying to go forward you’re stopped by Suguru, who turns his back to you. Curling your lip you’re worried he’s about to say something outlandish after beating you into the ground.
“Get on my back.”
“What?!”
“Get on my back.”
“Ha I’m good.”
Walking past him, you only get a couple of steps ahead before his voice stops you in your tracks.
“Do you want me to knock you out and drag you the rest of the way?”
Slowly looking over your shoulder, it registers to you that he has nothing on but a tactical vest, your gun on his belt, and an entirely serious scowl that basically shouted, ‘I will definitely knock you out, I’m not joking.
Rubbing your hands over your face exasperatedly, you slouch in a defeated pout, “...I’ll get on your back.”
“Good.”
He smiles like a good-natured soul who didn’t just threaten you. Still smiling as you hobble to his crouched form and hop on, clutching the straps of your backpack. Seemingly unbothered by your weight and the cans he trudges back to the house at a steady pace. Observing the hidden route you’d made perfectly, he goes undetected by the various enemies of the Cataclysm roaming at night.
At some point, your head starts to fall. Heavy as a dumbbell, you accidentally find yourself waking to the black strands of Suguru’s hair. Every time you shake yourself awake cursing at yourself for being a burden, a poke at your thighs brings your attention to your ride, speaking quietly to you.
“Trust me, please. If only for this trip. I’ve got you.”
“Okay…I will.
When you wake, it’s at a fraction of your usual alertness. The heavy clopping of steps against the wooden creaking floors. The soft, sturdy weight beside your head is impossibly warm. More akin to a heating pad or heated water, something lightly cooling from a boil. It was both a reprieve from the chilled atmosphere of the night and a shock to feel such heat before the sun was up.
It could be a fever.
The circumstances lined up perfectly for just the thing. The lack of sleep, the scratchiness of your throat, your back twisted in knots—you could feel the onset of a natural regulation creeping up on you. It would make sense why you couldn’t fight the cultist’s dredges; the slowness of your body taking hold of you. Leaving you at the mercy of the one carrying you into the belly of your home.
“Gentle, I think they broke their foot.”
The authoritative, sultry voice was the guest: Suguru Geto. The survivalist who would rather drag you back unconscious if it meant you went willingly. Who discovered your route and tracked you more than 100 meters from the house? It’s impressive as it is frightening, and it’s slightly more daunting when you look to the side to see your roommate near tears as he speedily walks behind the one carrying you.
“Oh no, I knew this would happen one day! Why didn’t I just stop you!?”
He’s mulling over it himself, wiping tears that fall down to his neck. Wanting nothing more than to reach out to the exhaustion waves you off. Surely the duo busying themselves with putting you to bed will soothe your friend. In the faux sympathetic blanket way that they do in the movies, when a character is emotionally responsible witness the punishment of not intervening or their careless advice having consequences.
“You’re right. You should have stopped them long ago, or at least have gone with them. It’s a miracle, they haven’t died sooner.”
Your friend breaks into a fit of tears, crumbling to the floor as your door is pushed open. Returned to the confines of your bed, the lull of sleep demands you meet within seconds. A mercy is allowed, though you watch your fortified escape being boarded up by none other than the one who laid you down seconds ago.
His broad back and white spikey hair matched the smiley-looking guest: Gojo Satoru.
You felt the brush of a hand on your face, but your body is expressly seeking sleep. As the darkness welcomes you, a single thought dances into the void.
I’ll wipe his tears when I get up…”
The static crackling of a radio seeps into the dream you’re having. You know it’s a dream because your siblings were there, dumbly rolling in golden spun grass that waves into the wind like a woman’s hair in the wind. Soft with dead roots occasionally catching a leg, sending them tumbling further down the slope.
The broken words of the radio still creep in. Past the singing birds, the boisterous laughing, the wind wooshing past your ear to kiss your cheek. The illusion broke like shards of a mirror—sudden and disheartening.
Wasting no time, your eyes snap open to the Television. A small set you nabbed from a robbed store, it had a crack from the middle trailing to the bottom of the set. The same anchor droned about something, but all your brain wanted to focus on was the fizzling radio.
When you rose, it was nice not to feel the stabbing pain of lethargy clawing at your back. The bed dipped as you moved your numbed legs and arms. Swinging them to the ground, the heat of the wood against your toes told you the day was here. The rays peaking out from the vents you closed, temporarily blind and burn; their reflection on the opposite wall is still powerful enough. Shutting your eyes, you already know where the furniture and supplies are placed. The routine of passing by them so many times, you don’t need your sight to view them.
Before you can step through the door, you're against something warm.
Too warm to be a human…so it must be a column, something reacting to the reflection of the sun’s heat. Making a note to patch up the spot later, you step around it, walking directly to the radio sitting on an end table.
It’s easy for your hands to find the knobs, to twist and turn them until the broken conversations become whole.
“--astard FEMA! THEY’VE TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME! What are we supposed to do!? Let the VISITOR’S WIN?! Let these guys in suits take ALL WE HAVE!? WHAT CAN WE DO–”
This poor man’s lamentations fade into broken static, the white noise of empty radio waves owning the channels once again. His words survive with you, rolling with the quieted sense of danger that settled with your body when you slept. Waking it up with the gentleness of ice-water.
“Shine? Where’s Shine?!”
Eyes wide open, your vision fills with the colorful spots that sudden brightness brings. Yet it doesn’t stop you from analyzing the silhouettes or lack thereof that are familiar to you. The number of guests lounging about has dwindled a trio unfamiliar to you occupies the corners of the few rooms you have.
Slapping a hand on your forehead, the obvious truth dawns on you. Running back to your room, you're certain the weight beside you on the bed was him. It had to be. Slamming your door open to your room, your heart breaks at the sight of the first guests you let in.
“Glad that you’re up and moving! Feeling any bett–”
“Where’s Shine?”
The platinum-haired man’s face contorts at the name, as if he hadn’t the slightest idea who that was. The ravennette who stands beside rises from the bed in a casual state of undress. Whose locks diligently cling to the pillows you’ve slept on, suggesting that he stayed in the same place the entire time.
“Your roommate?” His voice is much too calm for the severity of the situation, and it angers you.
“Yes! The other person who owns this place?! Where has he gone!? Why can’t I find him?!”
The two of them share a look, pity directed at you.
“FEMA came and took them.”
Grabbing at the shirt that hung loosely on him, you shook him.
“How could you let that happen?!”
The man who’d tracked you, however many days or hours it was when you had left. The man who’d wrestled your attackers with unfathomable ease. Who actually carried you and the cans you’d harvested with ease and speed to get you home before sunrise.
Who woefully shrugged when you asked how they lost your roommate to Them.
Hands warm as the sun grabbed at your shoulders, sliding down your arm to pull at your wrists, ”Calm down…it was just a day ago…we can get them back.”
Suguru’s eyes snapped to the man behind you, a conversation too covert to decipher. Still, you released him, turning to Gojo in hopes of understanding if this was the truth. Eyes as blue as the sky used to be, you find yourself struggling to read him.
“Really…how would you do that?”
He hesitates, and Suguru coughs. Turning back to him to find him smiling, you're once again certain they’re communicating over your head.
“After I follow them when you give them the rest of the people in here.
You turn to him in horror, ”But then I’d be all alone…that thing would kill me.”
The floors didn’t creak, the wind didn’t swish. All you felt was Suguru’s breath in your ear as he stood at your side.
“You won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”
Your gaze flickers between the two, their smiles a sheer glass over something else, something unknown. But seeing no better option, you relent.
“Great, now let’s make sure you eat.”
Between their suffocating care and their endless chatter, you found no time to slip away to speak to your other guests. To warn them about the plan to save your roommate, mind you it wouldn’t have been asking, but the thought would have counted. So that when night fell and the officer demanded people, you ushered the odd number of people out.
“Thank you for the extra people. We’ll remember this the next time we come to collect.”
The masked man’s reassurance did not reassure you as you watched him disappear from your limited view. Even when Suguru pulled you from the door, the worry in your stomach didn’t settle in the slightest.
“Let me handle the door. You still need your rest.”
Your belief in that command was nonexistent, continuously turning on your side while Suguru stayed at the door, answering those who came to the door. While you expected someone to be let in, Suguru returned you all too early into the night.
“Was everyone who visited a visitor?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“How’d you know?”
“Checked their teeth.”
It was too quick. An answer baked and cooled before icing needed to be applied. A lie prepared before you’d even asked.
“What were their disguises?”
He tilted his head at you as if amused that you’d even asked.
“A woman, a man, and a child. Happy?”
“....what else made you think they were a visitor?”
His smile faltered and returned, but his eyes darkened by the candlelight. Ominously depicting your warping view of the man in front of you.
“You really don’t trust me after all we’ve been through?”
It dawns on you that any honest person wouldn’t deflect so blatantly. A pathological liar would have created a whole backstory before questioning your trust. This was villainy unshrouding itself, and your tired muscles were tensing like they already knew this.
“Why would you let them take Shine? You can fight!”
“I’m not exactly equipped with all my usual tools, am I?”
The glance is short. It’s the third drawer of the dresser.
“But you know where they are…I know you’ve opened it. Why didn’t you use it then?”
The lock was loose, hanging delicately enough to appear to still be intact. A cold sweat burns through your body as the true face of your pain isn’t a masked soldier, “...unless you didn’t want to fight them in the first place.”
“That makes me sound bad, doesn’t it?”
The silence between you both is the milliseconds of a chess match played by grandmasters. The seconds allowed between the timers for each master to recognize the strategy, understand their opponent's intention. Waiting until the latest moment to move their hands, adjust their pieces fast enough to baffle the enemy. Your gazes are locked with a weight that precedes time, and when you know his next move, you strike.
“Heagh–Ack!”
Suguru lunges to grab you, narrowly scraping the fabric of your clothes as you duck under the bed. His fingers are digging into your back as you curl deeper underneath, your legs following with a momentum that jabs at his neck. Gurgling for air, you have seconds to click the safety off on your gun. It’s barrel raised to shoot at the recovering man.
A shot rings out.
The wood beside your door burns with a blackened hole.
The bullet lodged in the cedar supports above the frame.
Suguru still breathes. His hot breath fans your face, grunting at the physical strain. Your arms ache with the weight of the gun, but the squeezing of your throat is a much more urgent matter..Your unoccupied hand held down by his foot, and your chest caving at the weight of the man above you.
One of his fists grabs the nose of the firearm, bending metal with a sickening creak.
“We wanted you to get comfy. Get safe. Not cuddle up with that worthless—”
It snaps and with a frightful pop that triggers tears. Suguru’s sneer softens, “---Sorry he was your friend….as unfortunate as that is, but you’ll have to agree at just about how terrible Shine was.”
The grip on your neck allows you to croak, “Stop it!”
Suguru’s disgusted expression twists with a sadistic smile.
“He mooched off of your survival strategies.”
Pushing at his grip, you're able to leave the floor a centimeter. That second of hope revives your spirit.
“STOP!”
That grip on your neck silences the fight within you, crushing your windpipe like your spirits.
“Put you on the cult's hit-list after saving his sorry–self.”
“No…please…don’t..”
The memories of the adventures you had with Shine weren’t always positive, but it was with Shine, your best friend, your roommate, your ride or die as the world ended. It hurt more than the pressure at your throat that you’re best friend likely wasn’t just taken by FEMA. That your best friend was more than likely dead, and you were none the wiser when it came to his killers. All that you could do was weakly defend his name while black spots clouded your vision.
“And even worse, let in absolute strangers simply because ‘their face-cards did not decline.’ How helpful.”
Allowing you to breathe but not sit up, Suguru readjusted. Letting you weakly gasp for air.
“We’ve been watching you for so long. It hurt not to intervene…but you're such a good little rabbit finding a place to burrow.”
The patronizing made you want to puke. The cool savior from before was marred by the madman above you, whose smile was sharp and sinister for a man you were certain was a human.
”Making this place a perfect little nest. If it weren’t for that thing, we would have holed up a lot sooner, but we had to clear out the rats first.”
At the mention of your friend, the tears come at full force. Your mind is replaying your last moments. Grief-stricken to the fullest, his words become white noise. Mindless static in the grand scheme of the life you knew…the life you’d come to love.
“Don’t cry over him. You haven’t even drunk enough water today for that.”
The distant slamming of your front door interrupts. The fear dulled by your grief reanimated at the greater threats. Visitors.
“Oh, that should be him.”
The gleeful remark is nothing but a harbinger for the monster at your doorway; ducking down to fit past its frame is a figure enshrouded in darkness. Hauntingly cerulean eyes are unnaturally staring, contrasting against the inevitable shadows of the home. Stepping into the flickering light of that lonesome candle, the white-haired pale man is there smiling with all too perfect teeth.
“I’ve got more planks.”
Said planks crash onto the floor as he lazily releases them. The wood he retrieved has nails on the end as if they were ripped off someone else's home. Which begs the question of where, but considering the soot all over him, the former possibility was incredibly likely. Though Suguru doesn’t seem to care, swiftly coming off of you, to hug the Visitor: Gojo Satoru.
He kisses him, “Good boy. Now let’s fix that door. Then that tunnel, if there’s any way (Y/n) is leaving this house again, it’ll be in a bag.”
You don’t ask him to elaborate. Don’t protest when you're lifted. You don’t do anything.
Because what can you do?
In a world like this?
You can only live for the people you love.
If the person you love is dead…then you should live for the people who love you, right?
That’s what you tell yourself as the scorching day passes by while you're held tight by Satoru and Suguru. After all in this world, the rule is that you have to let someone in, and if it happens to be the enemies in this apocalypse, so be it.
