The landscape before them stretched endlessly, a wasteland of cracked highways veined with stubborn weeds and skeletal skyscrapers piercing the crimson horizon like jagged teeth. Rivers once brimming with life had withered into shallow, stagnant pools, their surfaces shimmering faintly under the oppressive glow of the sun. Amid this desolation, Daichi and Izumi moved as a single unit, bound not by words but by a fragile, unspoken bond—one forged in pain, loss, and the shared need to survive.

Despite the constant threat of danger, moments of quiet companionship would sometimes pierce the bleakness, moments that felt almost… normal.

Daichi had grown accustomed to Izumi's uncanny ability to sense threats before they emerged. Without fail, she would raise her hand to halt him just in time.

"Stop," she'd whisper, her voice low and steady, her glowing eyes scanning the horizon.

Daichi would follow her gaze to the shadows, where distorted forms flickered unnaturally, their glowing red eyes hungrily combing the terrain.

One evening, after skirting past a particularly vicious pack of the shadowy creatures, Daichi couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. "How do you always know?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence as they settled into the relative safety of a crumbling overpass.

Izumi's lips curved into a faint smirk, the glow of her eyes catching the pale moonlight. "Call it intuition," she replied, leaning back against the cold concrete. "Or maybe I've just been out here longer than you have."

Daichi chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. "Guess that makes me the rookie," he said, shaking his head.

"Not a rookie," she said, her tone soft but firm. "Just… not broken in yet." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned away, the faintest hint of a smile still on her lips.

But it wasn't just Izumi's resourcefulness that kept them alive. Daichi, despite his lingering uncertainty about his mechanical body, had proven time and time again that his resolve was unwavering.

When a grotesque creature lunged at them from the ruins of a decaying supermarket, he didn't flinch. The thing moved unnaturally fast, its elongated limbs slicing through the air with a sickening whistle. But Daichi's body reacted faster. His blows were precise and unrelenting, each one landing with a force that reverberated through the empty aisles. The creature crumpled to the ground, its twisted body twitching once before falling still.

Izumi had watched from a distance, her expression unreadable. Later, as they scavenged through the supermarket's remnants, she finally broke her silence.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, her voice calm but tinged with something deeper, harder to place.

Daichi paused, glancing at her before returning to his search. "Yes, I did," he replied simply, his tone steady as his glowing eyes met hers. "We're in this together."

Izumi didn't respond immediately, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned back to her task.

That night, they rested beneath the skeletal remains of what had once been a great tree, its twisted branches reaching toward the hazy sky like pleading hands. The stars above were dim pinpricks of light, their brilliance muted by the decay of the world below.

For a while, they sat in silence, the hum of their mechanical bodies the only sound between them. But the stillness carried a weight, one that Izumi finally broke.

"Do you think we're the last ones left?" she asked softly, her voice almost fragile.

Daichi hesitated, the question pulling at something deep within him. He stared at the cracked earth beneath them, his mechanical core humming faintly in the quiet. "I hope not," he said at last, though his tone betrayed his uncertainty. "But even if we are…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "I'll keep going. I have to know what happened. I have to understand why."

Izumi turned to him, her glowing eyes reflecting the faint starlight. She studied him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "You're different, Daichi," she said finally, her voice steady but laced with curiosity. "There's something about you… like you were meant for something greater."

Daichi looked away, his hand unconsciously moving to the cavity in his chest. The emptiness there felt unbearable, a constant reminder of his incompleteness. "I don't feel like anything special," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just… broken."

Izumi shifted closer, her movements deliberate but unhurried. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her touch cool but grounding. "Sometimes," she said, her voice gentle but resolute, "broken things are the ones that can be remade into something stronger."

Her words lingered in the air, their weight pressing against Daichi's chest as he turned to meet her gaze. The glow of her eyes held something he hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity—a quiet strength, tempered by understanding.

For the first time in a long while, the crushing emptiness within him seemed to ease, if only slightly.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low but no longer uncertain. "Maybe you're right."

Izumi offered him a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes but carried an undeniable warmth nonetheless. "Get some rest," she said, leaning back against the tree's skeletal trunk. "Tomorrow will be harder."

Daichi nodded, the faint hum of his core evening out as he closed his eyes. The world around them was still broken, still hostile, but for the first time, he didn't feel completely alone.

And as the dim light of the stars flickered overhead, their faint glow reflected in Izumi's eyes, Daichi felt a glimmer of hope take root within him—a fragile spark in the endless darkness of the unknown.

A single question echoed in his mind throughout their journey together—“Why does it feel like I’ve met her before?”

No matter how much he tried to push it aside, the thought refused to fade. It lingered in the depths of his consciousness, weaving itself into his every moment. Even as sleep claimed him, it whispered through his dreams, relentless and unshaken…