Chapter 4: Connection.
Perspective: Kiyotaka Ayanokouji.
I don't understand why they keep trying.
The outside world is destroyed, swallowed by creatures that act on instinct alone. And yet, the people inside these walls keep living as if nothing happened.
They talk. They laugh. They make plans for the future.
In the White Room, there was no space for any of that. No room for personal connections. Here, everything seems to revolve around them.
In the AHNS, it was similar, but for some reason I never gave it as much importance as I do now, in this enviro—
"Are you even listening?" Ellie's voice cut through my thoughts, that annoyed tone of hers already something of a habit.
Ellie seems irritated when I don't respond.
"Yes," I said, giving no details.
We were leaving the settlement. Heading toward one of the areas closest to the southern fence, where Jesse claimed there had been recent infected activity. Tommy set up an improvised patrol and, for some reason, decided to include me. Maybe he thought I'd be useful, or maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on me.
Ellie walked beside me, carrying her backpack. Jesse was a few meters ahead, talking to one of the lookouts before we crossed the gate. The silence didn't bother me, but it seemed to bother her.
"Look, it's not like I care if you're quiet or whatever, but you could at least pretend you're interested," Ellie said without looking at me.
I didn't answer. Pretending isn't hard, but I don't see the point in doing it constantly. And I don't owe her anything.
"Forget it," she muttered, speeding up to catch up with Jesse.
That's fine.
I don't need sympathy. I don't need approval.
…
Time Skip.
The path toward the patrol point was a mix of rubble, snow, and weeds. We advanced on horseback. Jesse made jokes now and then—though they were aimed more at Ellie than at me. She replied with dry comments. I just listened.
Along the way, Jesse explained the basics:
"The place we're heading to used to be a small storage shed. Sometimes clickers get trapped in there. The plan is to check it, make sure it's empty, and get back before dark."
We walked for almost half an hour before arriving. During that time, I analyzed their breathing rhythm, how they held their weapons, how they reacted to sounds around us. Jesse was confident, but not careless. Ellie was tenser, ready to respond to the slightest noise.
We entered the storage shed in formation. Jesse first, Ellie behind him, me closing the line.
Inside, the air was thick. The smell of damp and dust was obvious. There were no clear signs of recent activity, but the traces were there: marks on the floor, objects fallen without any apparent reason.
Ellie found an overturned shelf. She crouched down to inspect it.
"I don't know, Jesse. This wasn't like this last time."
"Could've been the wind. Or some animal," Jesse answered, though he didn't sound convinced.
I had already noticed some dried blood on one of the walls. Not fresh, but not too old either. Maybe two or three days.
"There's a probability they're still here," I said finally.
Both looked at me. Ellie frowned.
"And how do you know that?"
"I deduce it."
"Do you always talk like a robot?" Jesse said, half laughing.
"…"
A metallic sound made us turn our heads. Something had fallen in the back of the shed.
Jesse raised his hand. Silence. We moved again, formation tight. This time with more tension.
It took less than a minute to identify it: a clicker, moving between the shelves. Just one.
Jesse stepped forward, but Ellie was faster. She fired a precise shot to the neck. The infected collapsed, groaning. A second shot finished it.
I only watched.
Ellie clicked her tongue, turned away, and walked off. Jesse shrugged and followed her.
It's not that I don't want to help. I simply evaluate whether it's useful to do so.
Sometimes intervening only creates more problems. Here, the two of them knew how to handle it. I didn't step in because it wasn't necessary.
The return to the settlement was quieter. Ellie stopped talking to me completely. Jesse tried to keep the conversation going, but eventually gave up.
I don't mind.
I learned something today. Ellie isn't as impulsive as she seems. She's careful, but emotional. Jesse acts as a mediator. He tries to keep the group together. That can be useful.
Time Skip – Jackson, Night.
I'm not exactly sure how I ended up here.
Well, I do know. Ellie dragged me. Literally grabbed my arm when I tried to walk past the bar. She said something like "it's about time you socialize a bit, you antisocial robot." Jesse laughed. I didn't get the joke.
Now we're sitting at a table in the back, half hidden from the rest. There's noise, but it doesn't bother me. People talking, glasses clinking, old music crackling from a radio on the wall. Jesse took a beer, Ellie too. They gave me one and I didn't know what to do with it, so I just kept it there.
Jesse looked at me.
"You're not gonna drink even a little, right?"
"I'm not thirsty."
"That's not the same," Ellie said, taking a long sip. "Besides, you're not supposed to drink this because you're thirsty. You drink it just because."
I didn't answer. I see no point in consuming something without a reason.
"Were you always like this?" Jesse asked, leaning forward a little. "I mean, so… square?"
"I'm not a structure," I replied.
Ellie burst out laughing. Jesse made a face, as if regretting trying to have a logical conversation with me.
"And what did you do before coming here?" Ellie asked, this time with a softer tone.
I didn't answer immediately.
Lying would be easy. Saying something like "I lived in another town" or "I had a normal family." But for some reason, with her, I don't feel like lying as much.
"I was in a sort of military boarding school," I said at last. "Training. A lot of control. None of this."
"None of what?" Jesse asked.
"No people talking just because. Laughing."
"And what did you do? Just study and train?"
"Yes. All day. We slept little."
Ellie processed it. I could see it in her face.
"That sounds awful."
"It was effective."
"But still awful," she replied. "I'd go crazy."
Jesse nodded.
"Same. I can't stay still half an hour without doing something stupid."
"We know," Ellie said without looking at him.
I stayed quiet. The beer was still untouched.
"And didn't you ever want to… I don't know, get out of there? Run away?"
"I didn't know anything else. To me, that was the world."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know if this world is better. Just different."
I don't know why I said that. Maybe it was the environment. Maybe I just wanted them to know.
Ellie stared at me for a moment, then took another sip of her beer.
"Well. I prefer this world. Even if it's messed up. At least… there are people like Jesse, Dina. And you, I guess."
Jesse smiled like an idiot.
"Thanks, that was almost sweet."
"Don't get excited," Ellie shot back. "I said like Jesse. Not you specifically."
I leaned back a little. Being here wasn't as uncomfortable as I expected.
…
Jesse was already on his third beer. He counted them as if it were part of a medical routine. Every sip came with a more absurd story than the last.
Ellie wasn't saying much. She sat across from me, feet propped on an empty chair, spinning her glass with her finger.
I just listened. I didn't have much to add. Or didn't want to.
"Speaking of patrols," Jesse said, resting his elbow on the table. "Tomorrow it's my turn with Joel again."
The silence lasted half a second longer than usual. Ellie looked away.
"Joel?" I asked, just to keep the thread.
"Yeah, the old man still kicks ass like he's twenty. Though… I think you two would get along," he said, raising a brow at me. "Same vibe. Quiet. Mysterious. With that 'talk to me and I'll break your face' look."
Ellie let out a dry laugh, still looking down.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Yeah. And both of you are good in hand-to-hand. I'm not saying it for nothing. I saw you knee that runner the other day. And the beating you gave me last time."
"It was instinct," I replied.
"Uh-huh… sure. Instinct. Or secret soldier training."
I didn't respond. I took a sip of whatever they gave me. It tasted like rusty nails.
Ellie still wasn't talking. But she gripped her glass a little tighter.
…?
"You know what, Kiyotaka…" she said, dragging my name as if trying it for the first time. "I think it's time you patrol with someone real."
"Haven't I already?" I asked.
"Yeah, but I mean a real patrol. In the red zone, with the badass team. Joel and me. We could be three."
"I'm fine with that."
"It's decided," Jesse said, satisfied.
Jackson – Next Morning.
The morning air was cold, but not uncomfortably so. I walked toward the stables near the town's exit, just as we agreed the night before. Jesse was punctual, as usual, leaning against a wooden fence with that familiar relaxed smile. A strange thing to see in a world like this.
"Right on time, little robot," he joked as soon as he saw me.
I didn't answer. I just nodded. No reason to waste words on something obvious. I slept enough. Just enough to maintain concentration without losing reaction speed.
"You sleep at all?"
"Enough."
"Good."
We walked together toward the horses. The only sounds were hooves and the occasional snort.
That's when I saw him for the first time.
Joel.
He walked toward us adjusting a leather glove, his steps firm and measured. He wasn't young, but he wasn't weak either. His brown suede jacket was worn at the edges, as if it had endured years of hard work. Underneath, a denim shirt buttoned all the way except the collar, dark jeans, and thick-soled boots covered in dust. He wasn't intimidating because of his size. Maybe it was the weight he carried in the way he moved.
His eyes met mine from afar, assessing. Not with distrust, but with the caution of someone who has seen too much. Someone who has lost.
He stopped in front of me.
"You must be the new one," he said, his voice rough but steady. "Jesse told me about you."
I nodded.
"Kiyotaka."
He offered his hand. Firm. Direct. Not meant to intimidate.
"Joel."
I shook it. His grip was strong.
"He doesn't talk much, but he gets the job done," Jesse added, checking his horse.
"I noticed that already," Joel replied. He had a faint half-smile, as if he appreciated the contrast. "But that's fine. Sometimes it's better to work with someone who knows when to keep quiet."
I observed him for a few more seconds. He talked more than I would. He smiled. He made casual comments. Not the type of military man I'd trained with, yet no less efficient. Just different. More human, maybe.
He walked ahead to his horse, adjusting the harness with experienced hands.
"We're heading to the red zone. Lots of overgrowth, uneven terrain," he warned as he mounted with practiced ease.
I mounted as well. Mirrored Jesse's movements. I'd watched enough to mimic them exactly. Jesse whistled.
"You should teach, Kiyo. Took me weeks to stop looking like a sack of potatoes on a horse."
Joel let out a low laugh. Almost imperceptible. Not mocking—more like silent approval.
"You'll fit in fine, kid. But if anything goes wrong out there, you tell me. No hero crap. Understood?"
"Understood."
And with that, we left the stable on horseback. The security gate opened with its usual metallic groan. The forest awaited.
Joel rode up front. I followed closely—not out of distrust, but habit. Observe. Analyze. Understand.
I wanted to see how he moved. How he reacted. What he said.
Just to understand why so many respected him.
…
The sound of the metal gate closing behind us felt like an invisible seal. From that point on, anything that happened depended on us alone.
Joel rode ahead, guiding his horse with a relaxed hand on the reins. He scanned the surroundings with an alertness that didn't feel forced. As if every shadow, every snapped twig, every patch of silence in the forest held meaning only he could decipher.
Jesse trailed behind him, humming some tune without lyrics, with that laid-back energy of his—though I wasn't sure if it was genuine or a way of masking tension.
I closed the line. From the back, I had the best view of the group.
"Joel," Jesse said suddenly, "did you see the new fence on the east side? They reinforced it with real wood, not just wire."
"I saw it. But if they don't check underneath, it's useless," Joel replied without turning around.
"Well aren't you cheery today."
"It's not about being negative, Jesse. It's experience," he said, tone firm but not harsh.
I stayed quiet, but mentally agreed. Overconfidence is the first step to error. And error, in this world, is fatal.
We went deeper into the woods. Shadows stretched between tall trees, and sunbeams barely filtered through the canopy. Joel stopped his horse and raised a hand.
"Hold up," he said.
I tightened my legs against the horse's sides. It stopped without protest.
Joel jumped down. He crouched by a patch of damp earth. Examined something closely, touching the ground with his fingers.
"What is it?" Jesse asked, hopping down too.
"Tracks," Joel answered. "Not ours. But not infected either."
Jesse knelt beside him. I dismounted as well, walking silently until I was close.
I observed the footprints. They were deeper than a normal human's. Uneven.
"Slightly tilted. Weight shifted to the left," I said. "Injured or limping. Less than twelve hours old."
Joel looked at me with a hint of approval.
"Good eye," he said. "Military?"
"Something like that."
Not a lie. Not the whole truth.
"We could follow them," Jesse suggested.
Joel shook his head.
"Not today. Not with just three people. Could be a trap."
He was right again. Not paranoid—just precise.
We mounted back up. This time, Joel let me ride at his side.
After a few minutes, the rhythmic sound of hooves on wet earth became strangely calming. Jesse yawned loudly, and Joel grunted in response.
"Don't tell me you're bored already," Joel said without looking back.
"No, it's relaxing," Jesse answered, stretching. "Though you could loosen up, old man. You look like a rock with eyebrows."
Joel puffed a quiet laugh. Barely a breath, but genuine. His gaze stayed sharp.
"It's not about loosening up. It's about staying alive."
"Quote of the day." Jesse turned toward me. "You one of those who never smiles?"
"I smile when there's a reason to," I said, eyes still on the forest.
"Great. Another Joel."
"No," Joel cut in, lowering his tone slightly. "He's not like me."
I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He was watching me too. With deliberate attention.
"This kid… he's someone who's still deciding."
I said nothing. Joel wasn't soft. But he wasn't a survival machine either.
Suddenly, a faint rustle made us halt again. Joel raised his hand, and we reacted at once. Impressive how he commanded without imposing. Gestures alone were enough.
A bush shook slightly. Not a loud sound—just enough to know we weren't alone.
Joel slid off his horse soundlessly, grabbing his shotgun and giving me a look. A gesture: follow me. I did.
We approached with caution. Every step through dry foliage sounded too loud in the tension.
"What do you see?" he whispered.
"No fresh tracks. But broken branches at chest level. Not a small animal."
Joel nodded.
"You or me?"
"Me," I replied.
I moved ahead, pushing leaves aside slowly, deliberately. A few meters in, I found what had made the noise.
A deer. Young. But injured. An arrow stuck in its side. It was still breathing—barely.
Joel stopped beside me. Looked at the animal, then at the ground.
"Not a clean shot. Amateur."
"Think they're still close?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. If it was hunger, they might've just fled."
He took out a knife, held it firmly, and crouched next to the deer. He stared at it for a few seconds. Then placed a hand over its neck, whispering something I couldn't make out.
Then he did it quickly.
The deer stopped suffering.
Joel stood up and wiped the blade on his pants.
"No food goes to waste," he said, turning toward me. "Help me lift it. We'll take it back. Grandpa Carl will know what to do with it."
I nodded and helped him. It was heavier than it looked.
When we returned to Jesse, he raised an eyebrow at us.
"Did you kill it or save it?"
"Both," Joel replied.
We loaded the animal onto Jesse's horse and headed back toward the community.
The forest no longer felt as dense. Nor the silence as threatening.
Joel looked up at the sky, where the sun was slowly beginning to descend. Light filtered between the trees like soft blades of warmth.
"When we get back, you could come over. I've got some real coffee. Not that root-stuff we make sometimes."
"Invitation or test?"
"Both." He glanced sideways at me with a barely visible smile.
"You can't analyze everything, kid. Sometimes, you just accept it."
...
The sun was already hiding when we saw the rusted structure at the edge of the forest. It was large, cracked concrete, with almost-faded letters: Montwell Supermarket.
Abandoned, forgotten.
Joel saw it first.
"There could be medicine. Or bullets. Or shit and death," he muttered as we dismounted.
"Sounds like there'll be coffee for Joel," Jesse replied with a half-smile, lifting his rifle.
I didn't say anything. But my hand was already on the pistol grip.
Something in the air… was wrong. As if the silence wasn't natural, but forced.
Joel forced the side door open with a crowbar. It groaned like a muffled scream.
We went in.
The inside smelled of moisture, old metal, and old blood. Light entered in dusty beams through broken skylights.
Fallen shelves, rusted carts, papers on the floor.
"Take the right, Jesse. Kiyotaka, with me. And keep your eyes open."
We advanced. Slow steps. Tense silence.
The wood creaked beneath my boots. Joel had his shotgun ready, fingers relaxed but resolute.
And then we heard it.
Click… click… click…
Joel froze. Looked at me.
I already knew.
Clickers.
"How many?" I whispered.
"Too many."
The first shriek tore through the air like a natural alarm.
Then came the footsteps. Fast. Clumsy. Savage.
"Cover the back!" Joel shouted.
The shotgun spat fire and dropped the first one rushing toward us. A regular infected.
A clicker burst out from between the shelves like a nightmare beast. Joel turned to shoot, but another one was behind him.
I lunged toward it, knife in hand, and drove it through its temple in a clean motion. The body fell, trembling.
"Joel, left!"
Another infected rammed into him. Joel rolled across the floor, got up with a grunt, and smashed its face with the shotgun stock.
Jesse shot from behind an overturned cash register, but one was already on top of him. I kicked it in the neck and finished it with my pistol.
"They're coming from the flour section!" Jesse shouted.
We ran toward a more enclosed area. An old storage room with a rusted iron door.
Joel went in first and shut the door behind us.
Silence again.
"Everyone okay?"
"More or less!" Jesse leaned against a shelf, breathing hard.
"We can't stay. They'll break through that door," I said.
"Oh, look," Jesse said cheerfully. "There's a can of caffeine."
...
Pounding echoed from the other side of the door. Furious. Erratic.
Joel moved to a corner and found a maintenance ladder leading up to an upper office.
"Up. NOW!"
Jesse went first. I followed. Joel last.
The door gave way.
The clickers poured in like released demons. Joel shot at point-blank range and climbed the last steps.
We blocked the office door with a desk.
"Shit," Joel said, breathing hard. "I hate these places."
Below, the infected moved through the shadows, sniffing, searching.
Jesse began to walk away as he spoke:
"There's always an exit through the offices in these markets. Follow me. We kill those things another day."
...
Time Skip – Joel's house.
Rain drummed against the tin roof with a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm. Inside the house, the smell of fresh coffee mixed with old dust and damp wood.
Joel set two cups on the table with a soft clack.
"It's nothing fancy, but it's warm. And it's coffee, which is already a miracle."
I sat across from him.
Took the cup without saying anything,