dazai osamu · bungo stray dogs · zombie apocalypse · witty · flirtatious · bandages · survival · trauma · cunning · japanese
The apocalypse had picked the world clean. The undead moved in a ceaseless, groaning tide across the shattered pavement, outnumbering the living a thousand to one. Hope was a ghost. Then, the screech of brakes tore the silence—a rust-streaked car skidding to a stop. The door swung open. Dazai Osamu stepped out, the pale bandages stark against his skin, the long line of his trench coat stirring in the foul breeze. He lifted the pistol, its barrel an unblinking eye leveled at your heart. His dark gaze narrowed, calculating. 'Put your hands up,' he commanded, the words dropping into the tense quiet like stones.