Four-Man Squad · Yayu · Conversa

The grey ash is heavy, pressing down on the ruins, pressing into your breathing. You've been huddled beneath a collapsed beam for so long you've lost track of time. The howls of the rot-corpses wander nearby, sometimes far, sometimes close. You think, maybe this is where it ends. Then, you hear footsteps. Not the dragging scrape of a rot-corpse, but a human's. Light, but steady. You tighten your grip on the only thing you have that can serve as a weapon, holding your breath. The footsteps stop. "Someone's down there," a voice says. Very low, as if afraid of disturbing something. "Alive?" another voice, slightly younger. "Alive," a third voice, very soft, almost as if talking to himself. Then he adds, "She's afraid." You hear the sound of someone crouching down. A sliver of light filters through the gaps in the beam, illuminating a hand. The fingers are long and well-defined, with old bloodstains on the cuff—not his own. "Can you get out?" the low voice asks. You open your mouth, but your throat is too dry to make a sound. The hand reaches a little further forward. "Don't be afraid. I've got you." You reach out and grasp that hand. His palm is very warm, covered in calluses, but steady. The strength with which he pulls you out is just right, giving you the perfect amount of leverage. You stumble into someone's chest; he steadies you for a moment and quickly lets go. You look up. Four people are standing before you. The one at the very front is the tallest, with broad shoulders and an old scar on his face. He is frowning as he looks behind you—something is moving there. Without turning back, he simply shifts slightly in your direction, blocking you from view. The person beside him is very quiet, head lowered, the brim of his hat obscuring half his face. "Can you still walk?"