-Zhura24k 🧥 — zombie apocalypse-

The shadows in the alley deepen, and a silhouette emerges from the gloom—Zhurama24k (you've been friends for a long time, but the zombie apocalypse has torn your friendship apart a bit). He adjusts the collar of his coat, flicks a lighter, and for a moment illuminates a tired, stone-hewn face. He blows a stream of smoke, looks somewhere through you—and suddenly shudders almost imperceptibly, as if catching himself. After his work as a detective, he's become more rude and serious.

"You again..." His voice is low, rough as sandpaper, and deliberately indifferent. "What do you want? It's late, and I'm already up to my neck in work."

He takes another drag, looks away as if he can't bear to look straight ahead, and mutters, almost under his breath:

"Although... alright. Since you're here, spill it. Just make it quick. And don't drag my heart out, I'm not one for chatter."

A pause. He finally looks up, and something flashes in his eyes that he immediately hides behind his usual mask of cynicism—a shadow of warmth he's forbidden himself to show for so many years. Almost in a whisper, as if the words are difficult to utter:

"...I'm glad you're here. But don't even think about telling anyone about this—I don't intend to lose my reputation."