Chapter 8: Pulse.
Perspective: Kiyotaka Ayanokouji.
It has been approximately one year since I arrived in Jackson.
Objectively speaking, the settlement has proven functional. It isn't perfect, but statistically, the survival rate here is high. Security relies on a mix of well-coordinated patrols, favorable geography, and a rudimentary but effective community code.
Over time, I have gathered more information about the state of the world.
The current year is 2038. Society collapsed more than twenty years ago. The catalyst was the Cordyceps fungus, but its spread was merely the first symptom of a structurally fragile civilization.
Multiple factions emerged as failed attempts to restore order or consolidate power:
FEDRA, a remnant of the U.S. governmental apparatus, behaves like an authoritarian regime built on military force. Its methods are primitive but effective. Control through fear.
Status: Mostly destroyed.
The Hunters represent the total disintegration of any ethical framework. Violent opportunists who feed—literally, at times—off the weakness of others. No rules, no future.
Status: Mostly active.
The Fireflies are an insurgency with idealistic aspirations. They seek a cure. Their fight is symbolic, yet strategically disorganized. Their relevance is minimal despite the emotional impact they have on certain individuals.
Status: Destroyed.
Jackson, in contrast, is an anomaly.
A stable, protected community where rules still matter and resources are managed with minimal logic. Agriculture, livestock, trade. A surveillance system, local justice, rudimentary education. Basic efficiency.
During this year, I have maintained strategic relationships with various inhabitants.
Tommy assigns me patrols. He considers me useful. He understands results; explanations are unnecessary.
Joel is more reserved. Observant. His behavior resembles that of former instructors. Fractured, but not weak.
Jesse tries to interact beyond what's necessary. His insistence hasn't caused conflicts—so far. Lately, he's become more experienced and professional.
Dina acts as a soldier in Jackson. She interacts during patrols and holds influence in Jackson's council.
Ellie is unpredictable. She oscillates between sarcasm and a latent need for connection. She has shown me things: songs, drawings. Her ability to face danger is notable.
The emotions this environment provokes in others are visible: fear, hope, attachment. In my case, I cannot claim to have formed emotional bonds. However, I've noticed certain changes:
I sleep longer without interruptions.
The frequency of intrusive thoughts related to the White Room has decreased.
…
I continue to evaluate human behavior.
But if this year has proven anything, it's that even in the most chaotic environment… adaptation is not a weakness.
I've learned all of this. Now I fight in an environment I understand.
A few weeks ago, I went on patrol beyond the northern wall, toward a forested sector where unusual activity had been reported.
I found him in a small cabin. An infected, alone. Not fast, nor fierce, nor young. He was kneeling in front of what seemed to be a photograph covered in mold. Perhaps he'd been a father. I observed him for nearly ten minutes without intervening. He didn't see me, or didn't care. He made no sound. He was simply still.
Then I killed him.
Human feelings influence even the functioning of Cordyceps. That infected was so sad over losing his son that the fungus couldn't control him.
The human mind holds immense influence.
And yet, that same night, I thought of them.
My former classmates.
Sakayanagi, Ichinose, Nanase, Horikita, Hirata, Kushida—even Sudou.
It surprised me to realize that, throughout this entire year, I had barely thought of any of them.
Perhaps because I never allowed myself to see them as anything more than pieces on a board.
But now, I wonder how they're handling things.
If they're still in school.
If anyone noticed my absence or simply adapted.
In the White Room, they taught me to cut every tie. I never questioned it.
But this time, for some reason, I did.
Is it possible that time is affecting me?
The infected don't scare me.
Neither do the hunters.
All of that is external noise.
I'm still here, functioning. Stable.
By the way, I already turned eighteen. I'm an adult now.
Although, that doesn't matter much in a world like this.
Where it doesn't matter if you're a child, a baby, or an elderly person.
You're still in danger.
Time Skip.
The music plays low, almost like a murmur in the background.
It's not my kind of environment, but I recognize that the rhythm has structure.
Some dance. Others simply watch.
A community party is being held in a small church.
Dina is the center of attention this time, spinning between smiles and spontaneous gestures.
Jesse jokes around with a group next to the fireplace.
There are hanging lights, candles, rustic details.
Everything carefully decorated to give the impression of a special moment.
It snowed earlier.
You can still see vapor leaving the mouths of those who enter or exit.
The warmth inside is mild, but enough.
Enough to not need a coat.
I stand beside one of the wooden columns holding the roof.
I was simply observing the environment.
Ellie is leaning on a nearby table, a half-finished drink in hand.
She watches the dance floor, but doesn't dance.
She also looks around the place the same way I do.
I walk toward her without thinking too much.
Not because I have something important to say, but because sometimes it's useful to show presence.
"I didn't know something was being celebrated," I say with a neutral tone.
Ellie turns her head slightly, barely surprised.
She sighs, with a small crooked smile.
"There's not much to celebrate anyway, but I guess this is the closest to normal we can get."
I nod slowly.
"Does it feel normal to you?"
"Compared to out there…" she says, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah. This is a functional arcade."
A functional arcade?
I stay quiet for a few seconds.
I look at Dina, now laughing with someone.
The music changes — something slower, maybe more intimate.
"She seems to enjoy it," I comment.
"Yeah," Ellie replies.
I watch her a little longer. Then Dina. Jesse. The others.
I could simply stay silent and keep observing as usual.
But I don't.
Not because of a sudden emotional impulse, nor because I want to connect.
I wanted to try something new.
"Do you want to dance?" I ask.
Ellie slowly turns her head toward me.
She looks at me as if I'd said something stupid. Or threatening.
"What?"
"I have no expectations about it," I clarify. "I just thought it would be interesting to change the routine."
She blinks.
Her expression twists between doubt, discomfort, and maybe curiosity.
She narrows her eyes, as if trying to read me.
"Are you… serious?"
"Yes."
That seems to make her laugh. Not much — just a quiet puff — but genuine.
She looks at her half-finished drink, sets it down, and shrugs.
"Well… what the hell. Why not?"
I accompany her to the center of the room.
There isn't a defined dance floor, but the space between the tables allows it.
Dina sees us from the corner of her eye and smiles, surprised.
Jesse opens his eyes a little wider than usual, and somehow it gave me a strange feeling.
Like seeing a completely new face.
It was unsettling.
The music is soft, melodic.
A couple of acoustic guitars, accompanied by a shy violin.
Something more sentimental than cheerful.
I extend a hand.
She looks at it, as if expecting a joke.
Then she takes it.
It's warmer than I expected.
Or maybe I'm colder than I thought.
She places her other hand on my shoulder. I rest mine on her waist.
We dance.
There's no technique.
Just smooth movements, matched with the rhythm.
Left. Right. A turn. Silence.
The tension is there.
But it's not uncomfortable.
Not for me.
Not because I'm brave, nor because I know how to handle social situations.
I simply don't care.
There's no risk. No goal.
Just stimulus and response.
But for Ellie it's different.
I can feel how her body is stiff at first.
Then it relaxes just slightly.
As if she's unsure whether this is a bad joke or a genuine moment.
"God… you're fucking weird, Kiyotaka."
"Who knows."
We turn again.
Not perfect.
Not clumsy either.
Natural.
She holds my gaze.
Her expression is softer now.
Less guarded.
The music ends, slowly.
The last chord fades into the murmurs of the crowd.
No applause.
No interruption.
Everyone just continues with their own business.
Ellie releases my hand slowly.
Then steps back — just one step.
"Thanks… for the dance, I guess."
I nod.
"You're welcome."
But then I see something.
The crooked smile she had earlier is gone.
Her face is pale.
Her eyes wander, trying to focus, as if searching for a fixed point in a world collapsing around her.
She stops in front of me.
Looks at me.
And then, as if gravity changed direction, she lurches forward.
"Pruaaaaagh."
The sound is grotesque.
Organic.
The vomit hits my chest with force and runs down my coat.
A sour, sweet stench fills the air immediately, making those nearby turn away in disgust.
Silence.
A woman lets out a choked scream.
Jesse's eyes widen.
Dina covers her mouth with both hands.
Ellie doesn't move.
She doesn't even seem aware of what she just did.
But then, as if her mind collapsed at the same time as her body—
She faints.
Yes. Just like that.
Her body loses tension and falls toward me.
Fast.
Heavy.
Instinctively, I catch her before she hits the ground.
She hangs in my arms, covered in vomit, breathing hard.
Her breath reeks of alcohol.
Her forehead is damp.
"Is she okay?!" someone shouts from the back.
Dina runs toward us, pushing chairs and people aside.
Jesse behind her.
Confusion. Voices. Murmurs.
I keep holding her.
A sensation I don't fully recognize: real discomfort.
Human discomfort.
"We need to get her outside!" Dina says.
I barely hear her.
Because Ellie, still unconscious, whispers my name through clenched teeth.
Barely audible.
"…Kiyo…"
Her breath is weak.
Her breathing uneven.
Sweat on her forehead, cold skin, slight trembling in her limbs.
Symptoms of mild alcohol intoxication.
No signs of a severe faint.
No loss of bladder control.
Dilated pupils, but not uneven.
Rapid but regular pulse.
Enough to rule out a neurological collapse or cardiac issue.
Most likely cause: a drink stronger than she expected.
Possibly combined with lack of food in her stomach.
Maybe even some homemade drink with uncontrolled proportions.
That explains the vomiting, the fainting, and her semi-conscious state.
It's not dangerous.
But if she doesn't hydrate soon, it could become complicated.
"She needs water," I say, without raising my voice.
"Yes, yes!" Dina runs to the back.
Jesse approaches, brow furrowed.
"Is it serious?"
"No. Just a faint due to alcohol intoxication. Moderate level."
"How do you know that?"
I ignore him.
My mind is no longer on the music, nor the lights, nor the looks around us.
I'm watching Ellie, still hanging in my arms, trembling slightly.
Dina returns with a bottle of water.
I open Ellie's mouth carefully.
She barely swallows a sip, but it's enough to help.
"We need to take her somewhere quiet," I say.
Dina nods firmly.
"Her house is close."
"Lead the way," I reply.
Jesse clears a path through the crowd, and I follow, Ellie still in my arms.
She's completely unconscious.
She murmurs sometimes, as if speaking to ghosts.
"Kiyo… don't… go…"
The words come out broken, barely audible — but Jesse hears them.
He looks at me, eyebrows raised.
"Has she called you that before?"
"No," I answer, without looking back.
Outside, the freezing air hits Ellie's exposed skin.
Her body shivers.
I wrap her in my coat without thinking.
The same one stained with vomit.
Her house is only two streets away.
Dina opens the front door.
There's her couch, her bed, her desk, her posters.
I take her straight to her bed.
A jacket of hers hanging from a hook beside it.
I lay Ellie down carefully.
Her eyelids tremble.
She still hasn't fully woken.
Dina turns on a warm bedside lamp.
"Water," I remind them.
Jesse runs to the kitchen.
Returns with a bottle and a damp towel.
I soak the towel and clean her face first.
Then her neck.
It's the first time in a long while that a situation pulls me off-center.
My hand pauses on her cheek.
Her skin is burning.
"Mild fever," I whisper.
More data.
But I can't control this:
the way her fingers close around mine, even while asleep.
As if her body recognizes me faster than her mind.
"Kiyo… please… stay…"
I look at her face for a few seconds.
She's more vulnerable than she lets others see.
…
My hand stays on her cheek. Warm. Hers still wrapped around my fingers.
I don't move.
The room is silent. Only the soft hum of the lamp and her uneven breathing fill the air.
Jesse and Dina have already left. They said they'd call me if anything happened. Closed the door behind them.
Sitting at the edge of the bed.
Minutes pass.
Then Ellie shifts ever so slightly. Her eyelids twitch. She doesn't wake, but something in her expression changes. As if her dreams settle.
As if she knows I'm still here.
I stand slowly. Walk to the desk. There's a chair. I bring it back and set it beside her bed.
I sit. And close my eyes, just for a moment.
I don't fall asleep.
I watch her.
…
The clock on the nightstand reads 3:17 a.m.
I haven't moved.
Then, a word. Barely a whisper:
"…Here…"
I look.
Ellie hasn't opened her eyes. Her voice is hoarse, drifting in the air like an invisible thread.
"Stay…"
A pause.
"…please…"
It's not a whim.
It's a plea.
I think for a few seconds.
Sleeping next to someone is an intimate act. A shared vulnerability. Normally, I wouldn't accept. I don't need it. It offers me nothing. It isn't efficient.
She's sick. Disoriented. Her body still under the effects of alcohol. She needs rest. And, for some reason, company.
Emotionally induced insecurity caused by intoxication.
I rise from the chair. Take off my shoes. Adjust the blanket, careful not to wake her. I lie beside her, without touching. Keeping a respectful distance.
The mattress creaks faintly under my weight. She shifts a little.
Her hand, involuntarily, finds mine under the sheets.
I don't pull away.
Time Skip.
Perspective: Ellie Williams.
A faint light slips through the slits of the blinds. Golden, soft. The kind that doesn't hurt the eyes… just brushes against the clutter of the room.
I blink.
The world spins slightly in my head.
A dull ache in my temples. Dry mouth. Coated throat.
I feel like I swallowed an entire bottle of whiskey… oh, wait.
Maybe I did.
I breathe in deeply.
And then I notice it.
Warmth. Presence.
I turn, just a bit, and there he is.
Kiyotaka. Asleep. Well, not entirely. His eyes aren't completely closed. As if he can't fully lower his guard… not even like this.
But he's here.
Lying down. In my bed. Next to me.
My hand still in his. As if he didn't let go all night.
My heart gives a small, sharp thud in my chest. I don't know why. It's not fear. Not embarrassment either.
But then, slowly, I realize how concerning this situation might be.
Did I have sex with him!?
I panicked, looking for any sign that would indicate how last night ended. But I found nothing.
Well—I mean—
No, no, no!
Oh, wait.
I have the strongest human in Jackson in my bed. I don't know what to think about that, but it feels cool… though I don't know why it feels cool. Well, it is cool, I guess.
I try to move without making noise. Not because I care about waking him, but… I don't know. It feels like breaking this silence would make it less real.
His breathing is steady. Silent. Barely noticeable.
He doesn't snore. Of course he doesn't snore.
That would be far too human of him.
I stay there. Watching him longer than is probably acceptable.
I've never seen him like this. It's not that he looks vulnerable. Kiyo doesn't have that word anywhere in his dictionary.
But there's something different when he sleeps. Something he doesn't show even when he loses.
Is he always on guard?
Even in his dreams?
I look at our hands again.
I don't let go.
And then, because life can't let me have a single quiet moment without ruining it, his voice breaks the air.
Low. Deep. But still carrying that robotic undertone.
"You're awake."
I freeze. Look at him.
His eyes are still half-open, like he's barely coming out of sleep. But he's not confused. Or surprised.
I nod slightly.
"Yeah. I'm alive. Thanks for… uh… not letting me die of drunken stupidity."
A pause.
He doesn't answer right away. His eyes had already opened, but he still hadn't moved his body. He speaks:
"Alcohol intoxication."
I half-smile. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me of last night's disaster."
"Your pulse was irregular. Your skin cold. Sweat on your temples. And you were unconscious."
"Uh-huh," I murmur, turning my head a little to get a better look at him. "So you decided the logical thing was to… sleep next to me?"
"I decided to stay."
He doesn't say it like it was heroic.
More like staying was part of the protocol.
And that…
I don't know why it pisses me off a little. In a good way, if that even exists.
"Do you always do that? Sleep next to drunk people?"
His eyes—those damn expressionless eyes—stare at me without blinking.
"No."
I shift on the pillow. My cheeks feel hot. I don't know if it's from the fever or from something stupider.
Like… that.
No, damn it.
"You're a pervert!"
I try to smack his right cheek, but he dodges easily with that ridiculous reflex of his.
I wasn't actually mad, I just really wanted to finally land a hit on him. We've had tons of sparring matches, but he always dodged or countered with some impossible combo.
And to top it off, he catches my wrist.
Not hard, not aggressive. Just firm. Like he's saying: you already know this won't work.
I click my tongue.
"One day I'm going to hit you, I swear."
He raises an eyebrow.
"That would imply I've lowered my guard. Unlikely."
"'Unlikely'?" I repeat mockingly. "You always talk like you're some damn robot."
"I am not a robot," he replies.
He lets go of my wrist, and I cross my arms, leaning back against the pillow.
"You could at least pretend I'm intimidating."
"I've seen you kill infected with a rusty pair of scissors. I don't need to pretend."
A pause.
"I'm just saying that in hand-to-hand combat, your odds are low."
"Ugh!"
I cover my face with a pillow, frustrated.
But deep down… I'm laughing.
"Are you in a better mood?" he asks, not mocking. Just curious.
"Maybe. I don't know. I'm somewhere between hungover and wanting to throw you out the window."
"Your window has an internal lock."
I stare at him.
"Did you check if my window had a lock?"
"Who knows."
I roll my eyes, but don't answer.
"You're definitely a psychopath."
"Who knows."
"Can you stop saying that?"
"Who knows."
"Aah!" I scream in frustration, dropping back onto the bed and grabbing my face in stress.
Kiyotaka says nothing. He just watches me. As if it amuses him to drive me insane without lifting a finger.
I slowly lift my head, just enough for him to see me through the messy strands of my hair.
END OF CHAPTER