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POV: Marco
The last thirty minutes of the siege were a blur of blood, brass, and roaring lungs.
We were down to our last clips, running on fury and survival instinct. My forearms ached from the recoil, my shirt soaked in sweat and dried ichor. But we were still standing.
Kiriko was at my side—always at my side—her submachine gun long since out of ammo. Now she fought with her sidearm, executing headshots like a goddamn machine. She moved with precision that made my military training look sloppy. Every time I turned, she was there, dancing the line between control and madness.
Between shots, she barked to me, breathless but grinning.
"Still think you can keep up, Marco-kun?"
I smirked through my own haze. "At this point, I'm just trying not to stare at your ass too much when you're clearing left flank."
A laugh. Sharp. Hot.
"That's rich coming from someone who grunts like a gorilla every time he reloads."
"Part of the charm."
I ducked, rolled, and came up behind her just as she pivoted to shoot the last of a trio of walkers lunging toward me. My revolver barked in sync with her pistol—our two final bullets. Both heads exploded in a spray of rotten gore.
A pause.
Silence.
We turned—panting, backs to each other—scanning.
No more moans.
No more shuffles.
Just the crackle of burning corpses and the scent of gunpowder hanging thick like perfume of the apocalypse.
Slowly, I turned to face her.
"That's it?"
"For now," she whispered, shoulders heaving.
Our eyes locked.
And there—between the steaming remains and the crumbled streets—we didn't speak.
I stepped closer.
She didn't move away.
Just one breath closer. Her hand dropped from her holster. Mine from my belt.
"You gonna say something witty now, Marco-kun?" she asked, her voice low and quiet.
"Thought I'd try something different."
I leaned in. She didn't stop me.
And then we kissed.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't slow. It was desperate. Fierce. Like the world could end again tomorrow and neither of us gave a single fuck.
POV: Takashi
"Duck!" Mizuho Kazami yelled, and I dropped just in time to avoid a rusted crowbar swinging through where my skull had been. Her knee came up fast, cracking the infected bastard's chest, and her knife found its home between his ribs.
He dropped.
I blinked.
"That was hot."
Mizuho groaned. "Focus, Komuro-san."
"Right. Sorry. Thanks."
We turned, backs against each other. Five more were approaching from the alley.
"I'll take left, you take right?"
"Don't miss."
"I never do."
We charged. I swung my bat, breaking two knees and pivoted hard, cracking another skull. She flowed like water—low kicks, double shots, finishing slash. She moved like a trained soldier, someone who'd seen much combat before this hell began.
"You're not just a police officer, are you?" I asked between grunts.
"My job was… more complicated than that."
"Good complicated?"
"Sexy complicated. Shut up and kill."
I saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
When the last corpse dropped, we stood again in silence, both breathing heavy. The moment stretched—heat rising from the pavement, blood cooling on our skin.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"You still staring?"
"Yeah."
"...You're a dork."
"But a grateful dork."
She rolled her eyes. "Let's go. They'll need us at the fallback point."
And just before she turned, she reached back—
—and slapped my ass.
"Move it, Komuro-san."
I didn't argue.
POV: Marco
The battle was over.
Burned bodies littered the roads. The stench of death lingered, thick and greasy. The teams moved methodically—checking the copses, reinforcing the gates, gathering the last of the salvageable ammunition. Medics were already tending to the wounded—Ayumu and Shizuka moving like angels with rolled sleeves and bloodstained gloves, treating everyone.
I walked the perimeter with Kiriko now. Neither of us had said a word since the kiss.
She finally glanced sideways. "You kiss like someone who's been waiting for the right apocalypse."
"Better than waiting for the wrong girl."
She smirked, but didn't reply.
That silence said more than words could.
At the top of the guard tower, Rei stood watching the horizon. Saeko was sharpening her blade under the floodlight, Saya fiddled with her earpiece and remote drone prototype, and Chika… she was watching me from a bench near the fountain, her cheeks flushed.
Kanoko and Kyoko were clearing the supplies with Kaede and Miho, while Ruri and Shinka stacked new weapons into the armory.
We were alive.
We had our stronghold.
And tomorrow, we'd have our reckoning—with the world, with each other, and with what we were becoming in the aftermath of the end.
I looked at them all.
And I knew one thing for damn sure.
This wasn't the end.
This was just the first breath between storms.
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POV: Marco
The silence after the bloodshed felt heavier than the gunfire ever did.
Night had settled across Fortress One like a quilt woven from smoke, exhaustion, and lingering adrenaline. The air was still thick with the copper scent of the dead, but within our reinforced walls… there was a rare moment of peace.
People were talking again. Laughing, even. Some quietly cried into the arms of people they barely knew a week ago. Others sat alone, processing what they had just lived through. We'd won—but at a cost measured not in lives lost, but in what we all had to kill inside ourselves to survive another night.
I stood at the edge of the upper deck, overlooking the courtyard as floodlights bathed the camp in pale gold. I wasn't alone for long.
Rei-chan was the first to step beside me.
She didn't say anything at first—just leaned her head on my shoulder. She'd cleaned her gear, but not changed yet. Her gloves were off, hands cold.
"He would've been proud," she whispered, referring to her father.
I wrapped an arm around her waist. "He raised one hell of a fighter."
She turned to look at me, eyes glassy but steady. "Thank you. For not just today. For... keeping us human."
I didn't respond. Just held her there in the quiet.
Saeko-chan found me in the lower armory later, kneeling beside a pile of weapons we'd just finished cleaning.
"You were precise today," she said, voice low, thoughtful.
I smiled. "Is that a compliment or an evaluation?"
"Both." She knelt opposite me, her violet hair tied back, a faint bruise across her jaw. "You fight like someone who doesn't care if they die."
"I care," I said. "But I also care about what happens if I don't fight hard enough."
She didn't break eye contact. "I understand that."
We stayed there for a while, sharpening blades, reloading magazines—saying everything we needed to without speaking.
Saya was in the lab area, recalibrating a makeshift radar drone we recovered from the Takagi estate, when I entered after spending time with Saeko.
"You gonna keep staring or actually help me with this servo mount, baka?" she snapped.
I chuckled, stepping in. "Sorry. You're cute when you're mad."
"I'm always mad, Marco-kun."
I leaned closer, our hands brushing as I adjusted the panel. "Then you must always be cute."
She glared at me, cheeks flushing. "Idiot…"
And then—without warning—she kissed me. Quick. Conflicted.
"Don't read too much into it," she muttered. "You just... didn't die. I guess that counts for something."
I didn't push.
Not yet.
Shizuka-sensei found me while I was grabbing a ration bar later in the mess hall.
She looped her arms around me from behind and sighed against my shoulder. "You scared me, Marco-kun. Running into the middle of the chaos like that…"
"You know me. I like dramatic entrances."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, surprisingly sober for once. "I like you better in one piece."
"Yeah?"
She nodded, her tone softer than usual. "And I like when you come back to me."
I touched her cheek and smiled. "I always will."
Later, I sat alone near the storage corridor—just trying to breathe.
Until Kiriko sat down beside me, sliding off her gloves and setting her pistol on the bench.
We didn't say anything for a long time.
"You didn't hesitate," she finally said.
"You either."
She glanced sideways. "I liked that kiss."
I swallowed. "Me too."
She leaned in again—closer this time—but stopped just before our lips touched. "I'm not good at soft. You know that."
"I don't need soft," I whispered. "I need you."
She kissed me again. Slower. Deeper. And when we pulled away, she rested her forehead against mine.
"I'm still married to my mission," she said.
"Then we've got the same wedding ring."
After some time, Chika-chan found me cleaning the mud off my boots.
She sat down beside me, fidgeting.
"Hey," she said shyly. "Can I... can I stay near you tonight?"
I looked up. Her hands were trembling.
"You don't need to ask," I replied.
She nodded, eyes damp. "Thanks for not treating me like I'm broken."
"You're not," I said. "You're just healing."
She leaned on me quietly, no words needed.
Kanako, Miho, Ruri, Shinka, and Kyoko all crossed paths with me throughout the night. Brief moments. Short smiles. Shared drinks. Quiet embraces. Each of them carried their own scars. Each one now part of this strange family built through fire and death.
Kyoko, always the quiet strength, whispered to me before she left the hall, "You're holding all of us together. Don't forget to let someone hold you too."
I watched her go, heart tight.
As the night deepened, and Fortress One fell into exhausted stillness, I sat alone by the generator room. Lights flickered overhead. Crickets returned. Somewhere, a song was playing faintly on an old MP3 player—half static, half melody.
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time since the world ended...
I exhaled.
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