The stench of death - a repulsive odor which now penetrated every plain and hill across all of Japan. Wherever a human foot stumbled, there followed the virus. Undeterred by any effort to escape, like a predator it always caught its prey, and so, the human population slowly dwindled until only a lucky few persisted in their survival.

And there, amidst the chaos and despair of the new world, was Dazai - a man who had sought an end to his own existence for years on end, yet even in the face of an apocalypse he lived on. And live on he would until death finally deigned to welcome him into its frigid, hollow embrace.

Now, as he stood surrounded by members of The Sheep, multiple guns pointed straight at him, one could think it was the perfect opportunity to leave this plane of existence, but Dazai knew better than to expect death to accept him so easily.

His gaze swept over the group. Four people, barely out of their teens it seemed, held their guns with unsteady, clumsy grips. Even a whole year into the apocalypse, they still seemed unused to handling their weapons, still reeked of uncertainty and arrogance.

A bunch of glorified brats, all of them... All of them, but one. All of them, but a short, fiery red-head, in whom Dazai saw no hesitation, in whom he sensed no fear. The fifth member of their small patrolling team, and the only one worth Dazai's attention - Chuuya, the supposed leader of The Sheep.

"Ah, easy there." Dazai said airily, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Those things can kill, you know?"