The poor thing looked like a man who had just finished a double shift and still had to walk home. He sighed quietly.

"Man… they really coded misery into these guys, huh?"

A few others stumbled out of the ruins nearby. Their clothes caught his eye before their movements did— faded jeans, ripped denim jackets, old overalls, and even leather coats with matching gloves and boots. It was as if a crowd of old world workers and citizens had been frozen in time, now wandering the streets as silent zombies.

One tripped over a broken curb and fell flat on its face, lying there for a long moment before awkwardly pushing itself back up again. Sid stepped aside, watching it wobble past without even bothering to raise his knife.

"Guess I really am near the tailor district… even the zombies are dressed better than me. And that one? Walking like he just lost a modeling gig."

He kept walking, speaking softly to himself.

"They look just like Evelise when she stepped out into the sun. Skin burning, body slowing down… guess the sunlight really is their worst enemy. But still, even like this, they're trying to move. Trying to eat. Trying to… exist."

His voice dropped lower.

"You all probably had a life once, huh? Maybe a family. A desk job. Bills to pay. And now look at you, still commuting, but to nowhere."

He adjusted his hood and kept walking through them, careful not to make noise. The zombies turned lazily toward him but didn't chase. They just swayed and groaned, like ghosts stuck in a loop. Sid muttered softly,

"I swear, the devs went too hard on the realism. Giving these things depressing backstories? That's just cruel, man. How am I supposed to smash their heads when I feel bad for killing them?"

He shook his head and kept walking, his steps echoing lightly against the pavement. The ruined city around him stood still and silent, except for the occasional weak groan of the undead roasting in the sun. Sid called as he passed the last one.

"Sorry, guys! Not today. You've suffered enough, and there's no XP or perks here— I'm not wasting my energy on low level mobs. Go on, groan another day."

The tailor shop stood at the corner of a crumbling intersection, its faded sign barely hanging on by a single rusted screw. "Stitch Perfect" it read, though half the letters were missing and the rest were coated in grime. Sid adjusted his hood and looked up at it, squinting through his sunglasses.

"Stitch Perfect… wait, that sounds like that… old movie, right? LOL. Man, I used to watch that with Big D back then. Bunch of girls singing their hearts out."

He started humming a few notes under his breath, then broke into a quiet laugh.

"Party in the UWA, huh? Yeah, this apocalypse could use a little bit of that energy."

He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door creaked open slowly, letting out a wave of air so stale it made him cough. Inside, it was everything he expected and worse. Dust clung to every surface. Mannequins leaned at odd angles, their plastic faces cracked and peeling. Shelves had collapsed, and rolls of cloth were scattered on the floor, long turned gray from mold.

And behind the counter, sitting eerily still, was the shopkeeper. Or at least what was left of one. A zombie, slumped in a wheelchair, head tilted to the side as if it had dozed off decades ago. Its uniform was torn, but the nametag still hung on its chest—"Beka."

Sid gave a small, awkward grin and scoffed.

"What the heck? The store's called Stitch Perfect and your name's Beka? What's next, your sock brand's called Sockapella?

He walked closer, brushing off a pile of dust from the counter.

"Hey there, Beka. You open for business, or do you at least sing a welcome tune for your customers?"

The zombie's head twitched at his voice. Slowly, its cloudy eyes lifted toward him, and a low, gurgling groan escaped its mouth. Sid sighed and crossed his arms.

"Yeah… I get it. Not much of a talker, huh? Look, I'm just here for a tailoring recipe— can you help me out? Got this zombie girl back at my cabin… spits fire like a dragon and somehow still manages to boss me around. Figured maybe if I make her a proper bed and pillow, I can finally get her to shut the hell up for a bit."

The zombie groaned again, louder this time, one withered arm twitching forward as if trying to grab him. Its wheelchair squeaked slightly but didn't move. Sid tilted his head.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. I'm trying to have a civil conversation here. You're the shopkeeper, right? At least say something before you try to bite your customer."

The zombie snarled weakly and reached again. That's when Sid noticed the rusted wheels. The thing couldn't move. It was stuck there, trapped even in undeath. Its legs were shriveled, twisted, completely useless. Sid blinked, lowering his knife slowly.

"Oh… crap. You're… still in the chair, huh? Guess some things don't change, even after death."

He stared for a long moment, the joke fading from his face.

"That's just messed up. Still cursed with the same body… can't walk, can't even chase your prey. You're just… stuck."

A soft familiar voice echoed in his head… Morgana.

"Why don't you kill them, Sid? They're dead. Zombies are dead."

He froze for a moment, his hand tightening on the knife. He remembered himself saying.

"I know… but look at them. They're still wearing their clothes. That one was an office worker… that one a student. Before they became zombies, they had a life, a family, a dream…"

"Oh, come on! It's just a game. None of this is real!"

A gunshot echoed faintly in his memory and the sound made him flinch back to the present. He cursed under his breath and wiped the sweat from his temple.

"Damn it… not now. If Morgana had been here she'd blast their heads off without flinching, and I would have frozen. It was my first time playing back then, but the guilt is coming back now. I am really, unbelievably stupid."

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