Somewhere in Shibuya
Isamu stood alone on the bloodstained street, surrounded by the motionless corpses of the undead. His katana dripped with crimson, his hands coated in a sticky layer of gore. He exhaled slowly, stepping onto the pile of bodies before lowering himself to sit atop them. With an absentminded motion, he slid his katana back into its sheath.
A face twisted unnaturally beneath him, the dead flesh shifting as Sato's grinning visage emerged from the body Isamu was sitting on. His head turned a full 180 degrees, his eerie smile unwavering.
"You're sitting on my back, you know."
Isamu rested his face against his palm, utterly unbothered. "Just go, Sato. Nothing you say matters to me. I don't know why you persist."
Sato arched an eyebrow. "You're amusing, really. I'm starting to think you're bipolar. Your behavior keeps flipping, it's kinda weird."
