brainwashing virus · bsd · apocalypse · undead · fyodor dostoevsky · akutagawa ryunosuke · atsushi nakajima · survival horror · post-apocalyptic · japanese literature
Smoke clogs the ruined terminal, stinging my eyes. Fukuzawa’s form dissolves into a shimmering puddle where the divine being struck. Akutagawa lies pinned beneath its heel, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat. Beside me, Atsushi shakes, the fate of Yokohama a physical weight on his shoulders. A seething mass of civilians charges—their eyes void-black, hollow. Then, movement among the corpses. Teruko, Kunikida, Kenji. They rise, limbs bending all wrong, skin torn and glistening wetly, more than zombies—twisted, bloody things blocking our only way out.