The world was coming to an end. Not that you would have noticed, considering the general amount of panic the English tended to display in crises. Their hair could suddenly catch fire and the most reaction you would get out of them would be, "Well, the hairspray did say flammable." As it were, most people didn't notice the growing zombie apocalypse occurring around them, and when they did, they were much too polite to point it out. Eyes on the ground, don't stare at the man with the arm falling off, he may get offended.

By the time it reached a point where even the level-headed Brits were beginning to panic, the majority of the population of the good ol' British Isles had long since abandoned that pesky breathing habit and taken to chewing on human flesh. The vegetarians would be turning in their graves, should they have ever made it that far.

So the world was coming to an end, civilisation crumbling around the few still struggling survivors and supplies were depleting more rapidly than the flies were multiplying. All in all, it was proving most inconvenient to one Ciel Phantomhive.

His parents had fell prey to the first wave. His house staff disappeared somewhere along the way, probably turned into zombies too, though honestly, it wouldn't have been a huge leap in the first place. His phone didn't have a signal. And to add insult to injury, there was a mixture of blood, pus and brain juice staining his new jacket.

Even when they were dead, people were still proving a nuisance. Typical.

As if all this wasn't bad enough, he was a man with a mission, and he had seen enough films to know that men with missions never make it to the credits unscathed. Still, he was a man – yes, seventeen counted as a man, even if only just – of his word and he'd carry it through to the end.

The mission was simple; find Elizabeth Middleford. Preferably alive. If she had fallen prey to the ravenous hordes, preserve the sanctity of her life and finish what the zombies had started. Simple. Be home in time for tea.

Or so he had thought. Unfortunately, there was the slight complication of having absolutely no idea where in the entirety of London she was and said city being a zombie hotspot. Two facts he had rather overlooked before leaving the manor house.

Well. Shit.

Montague Street was positively crawling. As far as the eye could see, broken bodies shuffled around, dragging splintered legs behind them and leaving bloody trails in their wake. The rotting masses bumped into one another senselessly, yet paid no mind, just continuing on their mindless wandering. It was a grotesque sight to behold. Skin tinged with lifeless cold. Eyes sunken and the whites turning yellow. Chunks of flesh just torn from the face and body, leaving gaping chasms of gore behind, open and oozing. So many of the cadavers' jaws were just hanging uselessly, the skin stretching and tearing like tissue paper. And you didn't even need to see them. You smelt them far sooner than they came into your line of sight. A sickly sweet smell, hanging heavily on the air. Ciel's eyes watered and streamed relentlessly as the rank odour assaulted him. One moment it was fine but then he turned a corner and it was like walking into a solid wall of smell.

Their number was overwhelming. It was as though the entire population of the city had congregated right there on the one street. Most paid no mind to their fellow zombies, but several little groups were attacking one another. One corpse tearing into another but recoiling as they tasted the dead flesh. They probably didn't have the mental capacity left to determine what was wrong there, but instinct alone told them that the rotting flesh was not what they wanted.

Ciel was careful to keep upwind of the creatures, even if that meant having to endure the smell. Their smell repulsed him, but his smell would draw them in. And really, what chance would he stand then, armed with nothing but one of his father's old canes? Taking one zombie at a time was manageable. He just had to keep beating at its head until it stopped twitching. But a swarm, so many coming at him all at once, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Slowly, he crept along the cobbled road, eyes scoping out the street. Just a little ahead of him there was a terraced house with an open door. If he could get inside then he could find a way to travel further on without having to risk mingling with the zombies. Passing through the gardens, jumping fences as they came, and if he did pass any of the creatures, at least it would be a manageable number.

New plan in his mind, Ciel felt much calmer, and slowly walked on. So long as he didn't pass any of the creatures too closely, the oncoming wind would mask his scent from them, and the door was so close. Just a few feet away, none of the zombies even that close to it. Home free.

If Ciel had been even remotely familiar with the horror genre, he probably would have refrained from thinking such a thing. After all, there is nothing worse you can do in a horror film than to think you are safe. That tends to be an invitation for the mask wearing, knife wielding psychopath to spring back up and punish you for being such a silly bastard. Unfortunately, Ciel wasn't familiar with the genre, getting easily bored of the formulaic clichés. So he was entirely unprepared for Fate to give him the biggest up yours, prettyboy that She could have.

Creeping stealthily towards the open front door of 26 Montague Street, Ciel was paying more attention to the moving things in his surroundings, when he would have been wise to pay a little attention to the immobile things as well. He couldn't have brushed the car anything near hard but even the light brush of his leg against the bonnet was enough to set off the burglar alarm.

And suddenly, every pair of dead eyes was on him.

They had been moving slowly until then but now they moved quickly. A predator with its prey in sight, pouncing before it could escape. The noise from them was horrible, a mixture between a scream and a moan, gurgled by the blood seeping from their decrepit mouths. Those nearest to Ciel moved fastest, fresh meat so close, so tempting. Ciel barely had a chance to raise the cane and beat away the grabbing hands.

He glanced towards the door and considered his chances but the swarm had blocked the path. With no other escape route available, Ciel clamoured onto the roof of the screeching car, lashing out with the cane. He got a few lucky shots in – tearing the remaining tendons of hanging hands, cracking already fracturing skulls – and some of the nearest and most threatening zombies were felled by his attack. However, he was no fool, and naivety had never been in his repertoire.

Ciel was outnumbered, stranded and utterly alone against an army of undead.

His parents had always frowned on cursing but he figured they'd forgive him in such a circumstance, "Fuck!"

They were climbing onto the car now, surrounding all four sides of the vehicle, and there were too many hands to beat away. One got a grip on his ankle, filthy nails reminiscent of an eagle's talons digging into his skin, and the skin ruptured beneath its clawing. Blood beaded beneath its nails, and everything got a lot worse.

Fresh blood on the air, they were now more crazed than ever.

That horrible keening sound from them intensified to a painful pitch, their attempts to reach the car doubling, and the vehicle began to rock as they threw their bodies against it.

And then the hand around his ankle exploded.

Ciel cried out in surprise and more than a little disgust, the bottom of his pants now splattered with the zombie's blood and a few clinging chunks of flesh. The gunshot had been loud, cracking the air, but the zombies didn't seem to hear it. They saw, heard and smelt nothing but Ciel's blood.

Ciel had no such problem, so didn't miss a dancing red beam skittering around him. The little red dot landed on the crazed creatures nearest to him moments before they were taken out, their heads blasted away in a mess of blood and bone. In quick succession, the zombies fell, one by one.

And the path was cleared. Zombies still remained, but they were the ones further away, and they would have to stumble over the corpses of the fallen zombies to get to him. It was enough of a hindrance that Ciel was able to leap from the roof of the car and sprint to the open door of number 26, slamming it shut behind him.

Almost immediately, he heard clawing at the wood. The door shook as the creatures beat against it. Still, there was a moment for Ciel to catch his breath and wipe his dirtied leg against the clean white carpet.

"You could at least use a tea towel. That's just rude."

Ciel very near had a coronary, and considering he was managing to survive a zombie apocalypse, that would have been more than a little annoying.

He held the cane aloft, hostility in his every movement. With a carefully blank expression, he glanced towards the stairs to see who had spoken.

A dark-haired man in a black three piece suit was sitting on the bottom step, chin cradled in one of his hands, a heavy looking sniper rifle leaning against his side. If not for the splatters of blood at the cuffs of his trousers, he wouldn't have looked much like he had just butchered an uncountable number of zombies at all. In fact, he looked as though he'd just been to a wedding. There was not a hint of frustration, anger or fear in his expression. A soft smirk curled at his lips, almost smug.

If nothing else, he was certainly human.

"It's hardly as though they're going to have to pay for the cleaning bill," Ciel replied with a light shrug, not yet lowering the cane, as though it would have done any good against the rifle at the man's side.

"Something to be said for manners, kid. You didn't even wipe your shoes on the doormat. You're treading brain slime everywhere." The man's tone was honest-to-god chiding, as though he really was bothered, and Ciel stared at him incredulously.

"What?" the man asked after a few silent moments, "Civilisation may have gone to the dogs but that doesn't mean we have to abandon common courtesy. I for one don't want to waste time hoovering when I could be killing zombies."

"While we're on the subject," years of etiquette training was not something to be easily forgotten, so Ciel lowered the cane a little and graced the man with an acknowledging nod, "Thank you for the help. I'm in your debt."

The man's little smirk grew. There was something much more threatening about the man and, considering the basis for comparison was flesh-eating corpses, that was saying something. Ciel was starting to consider his chances outside when the man let out a derisive bark of laughter.

"No need to thank me. Can't resist a damsel in distress." There was a hint of something beyond teasing to the man's voice. Ciel's hackles raised. He chose to ignore the slight insult in favour of getting away from the strange man.

"Yes, well. Thank you. Good luck," he said quickly, glancing down the hall and seeing patio doors through the kitchen. His plan was back on track now and the sooner he got back to following it, the better.

Ciel's departure was halted by the cool press of metal at his neck.

"Whoa, where are you going in such a hurry? So much for gratitude," the man snickered, "Hostages don't get to just waltz out the door, darling."

Oh, brilliant. The zombies weren't a nuisance enough. Now the first human he came across was the goddamn Candyman.

Swiftly, Ciel dropped into a crouch and spun around, aiming at the man's shins. However, before the blow could land, the man's foot shot out and caught Ciel right in the stomach. He was thrown back, the cane dropped, gasping for air. The muzzle of the gun was back, pressed firmly against his forehead.

"I'd say nice try, but I've seen better moves in old karate films. You are aware my gun is bigger than you are, right? Not very smart," the man tutted patronisingly, punctuating his words with a sharp press of the gun against Ciel's head.

The cane was out of reach. His ankle was starting to ache from the zombie's scratch. His stomach was going to bruise and he could hardly breathe. So much for the plan.

When Ciel finally got his breath back enough to talk, he wheezed, "What do you mean, hostage?"

The man stared at him, unamused.

"Do you want a dictionary definition? I have a gun and I'll use it if you don't do what I say. Hence, hostage. Alles klar?"

Ciel gaped.

"What the hell do you need a hostage for? Have you not noticed the world is in the process of ending here?" he snapped, scowling darkly.

The man sighed, "Really? Hadn't noticed. Just your average Tuesday for me. Thing is, I rather like this living gimmick. I'm not bored of it yet, at any rate. But food and water is pretty hard to come by. The well is dry, kid. But I know a man who has a decent supply. Unfortunately," the man's expression soured, probably the first genuine expression Ciel had seen on him, "Faustus is a first class bastard and is turning the entire thing into a competition. He won't share the goods unless I win."

Ciel almost didn't want to ask.

"...Win what?"

The man's smirk returned.

"Civilian lottery. Whoever can kill the most zombies and grab the best hostage wins. And you – well, those are some fancy clothes, kid. Rich boy, are we?" The man's smile had turned predatory, the same sort of grin Ciel had seen before when his wealth was mentioned.

Ciel groaned, causing the man to frown.

"Really? A money-grubber? And to think, you were remotely interesting for a moment there. My mistake."

The man's frown deepened. He seemed to take offence.

"Oi, I didn't choose the game. Faustus is the one with a kink for rich kids. If I'm going to eat any time soon, I'm going to have to cater to his nasty little fetish. And I'm getting hungry, brat. So! Grab your little walking stick and follow me. No funny business or you'll get a bullet in the leg. He won't want you dead but he never said anything about the hostage having to be in one piece."

The man grabbed Ciel by the collar and yanked him from the floor, jabbing him towards the stairs with the gun. Baffled, Ciel asked where exactly the man thought they were going.

That dark smirk, equal parts smug and predatory, returned.

"We're taking the roofs."

His name was Sebastian Michaelis. At least, it was now. Last week, he had been Anthony Carlton. Last month, he had been Nicholas Dent. For a few days in April, he had been Amy Lynch, but he didn't like to talk about that too much. His name changed depending on his employer and how much they were offering him.

For money, he would take the name you gave him and put a bullet in somebody's brain. But money, oh, just so much paper. He had long since grown bored of money, and killing somebody was all he would do for it.

For information, he would take the name you gave him and become them, and that was well worth the risk the employer took. For he was a performer to his core. Adaptable. No scripts needed, no character summary, no discussions of motives. A chameleon of personality. If you gave him information that truly fascinated him, he would create a new person, entirely for you. Imagine that; a whole existence, solely for your sake, to do your bidding and bend to your will. Many people paid for that unique privilege with more than they could afford – secrets, the most dangerous currency, and only earning his loyalty until a more entertaining secret was presented.

He was Sebastian Michaelis because his last employer had given him that name in the same breath that they had given him the perfect secret. He would be Sebastian Michaelis until somebody could top that information, and now that the world was crumbling around them, it seemed he would be Sebastian Michaelis forevermore.

That was alright by him. As people went, Sebastian was a good person to be, given the situation. He was faultlessly clever. A survivor. He very rarely missed his target, able to take out the zombie hoards single-handedly so long as he had a decent vantage point and enough ammunition. Sebastian was without a conscience, so could blow the head off undead that he may have recognized. He could destroy the face of a woman Anthony Carlton may have danced with at a gala. He could leave to be torn to pieces the still living man that Nicholas Dent had shared a flat with for three whole months.

Yes. As people went, it was very fortunate to be Sebastian Michaelis during the zombie apocalypse. Unfortunately, as hostages went, you really couldn't get worse than Ciel Phantomhive.

"I'm tired!" Ciel snapped, dropping to sit on the floor with a resentful scowl. They had barely made it two roofs over from where they had started yet Ciel was already sweaty and exhausted, an unhealthy pale. He had started complaining as soon as Sebastian had pushed him up the stairs and hadn't stopped since.

Tossing the brat off the roof was starting to look awfully tempting, dehydration and starvation barely enough incentive to resist.

"You can have a nice, long rest at Faustus'," Sebastian reassured gaily, "He has hammocks! You kids like hammocks, don't you?"

Ciel tossed him a scathing look, "Exactly how old do you think I am?"

"Judging by the way you're acting, I'd say, ten?"

"Seventeen! Almost eighteen, in fact," Ciel replied, sounding rather proud of the fact, as though managing to not die for almost eighteen years was quite the achievement. Well, as far as Sebastian was concerned, his line of work and all, it rather was. Ciel gave a pained hiss, clutching at his bloodied ankle.

"Oh, it barely touched you," Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes, but going to kneel beside the boy and peel back the cuff of his pants. It did look sore, the zombie's nails having pierced the skin enough to streak blood, but it was hardly at risk of gangrene. "Am I going to have to kiss this better or are you going to suck it up-"

Faster than Sebastian would have thought him capable, Ciel lashed out, his nails dragging across Sebastian's face. The shock of the surprise attack alone would have been enough for most men to lose ground, but Sebastian was used to far worse than a little clawing – hell, he went in for some of that as a recreational past time – so didn't lose his grip on the gun when Ciel lunged for it. If it was a matter of strength, there was no question over who would win, and Sebastian easily pulled the gun free from Ciel's hands.

"Seriously? You're going to keep trying this?" he asked in sincere incredulity.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Ciel shrugged, not looking all that surprised at his defeat.

Ciel finally agreed to get moving after that, though his complaining didn't slacken in the least. It was like he was trying to annoy Sebastian into submission with his mundane observations that they really were getting absolutely nowhere like this, and ooh, look, there's a Tesco's, have you tried looking for food and water there? I hear they tend to dabble in that occasionally.

What were the chances Sebastian would come across another remotely useful looking person that he could trade to Faustus? Because this one really wasn't seeming worth the effort.

Eventually, they reached a point where there was no building close enough for them to roof jump, and they had to chance the streets once more. They'd come quite far, from Montague Street to Euston Station. It was not a pleasant sight at all. The huge train station, always full, was now a zombie hotbed. It seemed that the usual crowd of people had still been there when the wave of attacks had hit, more of the creatures than Sebastian could take out even from a fantastic vantage point. They were between a rock and a hard place, no way to go back other than the roofs, no way to get to Faustus besides going forward and unto the breach.

Ciel dropped the attitude at least, urging Sebastian to be sensible and find another way to wherever it was they were supposed to be going. Pushing on was suicide.

Sebastian very rarely listened to sense outside of his own. And his own was telling him that forward was the way to food and water. A survivor to his core, he would strive towards the supplies regardless of what stood in his path. Unfortunately, Ciel had little choice other than to go with him, under threat of a bullet through his skull.

So they entered Euston Station.

As things go, being held hostage during the zombie invasion by a madman intent on plunging into undead infested underground tunnels was very decidedly Not Good. Things had seemed bad enough when Ciel was taking on the London streets alone to search for Lizzie and any remaining dregs of civilisation. Now, with the cold muzzle of a rifle pressed into the nape of his neck, marching into what could only be described as a zombie nest, things had definitely taken a turn for the absolute worst. He couldn't help noticing that Sebastian was keeping him in front, and wondered just how much safety his status as food ticket bought him. Not a lot, considering the force with which the gun was shoving him forward.

If he had thought the smell on Montague Street was bad, Ciel was not remotely prepared for what met them at Euston. Even Sebastian flinched back, face contorting in a grimace. It was the type of smell that was so strong you could taste it, a bitter tang at the back of your throat. It was a culmination of the roving mass, too much rotting encased inside concrete, and Ciel and Sebastian both felt bile rise in their throats.

"Look, if we're really going down into the tunnels, the smell will only get worse. Just hold on a minute," Ciel ordered, darting over to an abandoned news kiosk and tearing free some of its cloth wall. Sebastian caught on quick and accepted the rag he was given, the two tying them around their lower faces. It did little to mask the scent but it was better than nothing, at least stopping their eyes from watering quite so badly.

"Get inside the kiosk. I'm going to clear a path," Sebastian instructed, hopping onto the desk then further up onto the roof, swinging the rifle off his shoulder. Ciel did as he was told. The crack of gunfire pierced the air instantly. Crouched low beneath the desk of the stand, he couldn't see the zombies falling, but he could hear the tell-tale thuds as their broken bodies were blasted away.

So this was really happening. This madman was really forcing him into the underground tunnels. Trapped beneath the ground, caged in narrow walls, surrounded by creatures who wanted to tear him limb from limb. Jesus Christ. Calm down, Ciel barked at himself, feeling that breathless hysteria rising in him. He choked it down before it had a chance to overwhelm him. A plan, I just need a plan. He liked plans. It gave him something to think about. It meant he was doing something rather than just being swept along in somebody else's wake. He's expecting me to attack him now, I suppose, so that was ruled out. It wouldn't have worked anyway, brute strength never something on his side. The man had a gun, too, so just doing a runner wasn't going to work. He could easily shoot Ciel down before he got anywhere. So overpowering Sebastian or getting away from him both wouldn't work. Right. Running out of options, then.

If nothing else, Ciel wished he hadn't left behind his Father's cane. At least having a weapon in hand, useless or otherwise, had been a small comfort. He wanted something. Anything. He cast a glance around the news kiosk, a mess of print coated pages and chocolate bars, but could find nothing of use.

Well, he'd just have to improvise then.

Mindful of Sebastian moving around on the top of the stand, Ciel knelt forward and gripped the slim metal pole that made up part of the structure of the kiosk. It was part of the desk, not the actual framework, so even when he eventually managed to bend and twist it free, the stand didn't buckle. It wasn't as sturdy as the walking stick had been but it would do.

"C'mon, we haven't got long before they start filling the gaps," Sebastian stated, jumping down from the stand. He gave Ciel's makeshift weapon half a glance before shoving him back in front, urging them forwards.

Being down in the tunnels was like nothing Ciel had ever experienced. He had thought he had known claustrophobia, but those panics in small spaces didn't begin to compare to this. The smell was bad enough, but the heat was blistering. They were coated in sweat as soon as they descended the stairs to the platform, feeling the waves of heat smack into them with every step they took. Every sound was amplified down there. Their footsteps slapped against the floor. The zombies' groans and chilling shrieks sounded like they were coming from all sides. The trains were no longer running, but walking along the darkened tracks, they were both on edge, as though expecting to be crushed by the speeding carriages any moment. Every so often, they came across a straggling zombie that Sebastian quickly dispatched, but they didn't seem to have penetrated the tunnels in any great numbers. Clearly no human scent had drawn them to the Underground yet.

Ciel wasn't sure how long they trudged through the sweltering tunnels, passing through deserted station after deserted station. No words passed between them, but at some point the cool touch of the gun left his nape and Sebastian came to walk at his side rather than behind him. There was no way to tell how much time had passed down there, no clocks, no natural light, not even a watch between the two of them. The tedium of it all broke when they passed once more out of a tunnel into the slightly less smothering air of a platform.

Charing Cross.

Time for a new plan. With a shifty sidewards glance, Ciel saw that Sebastian wasn't paying him much attention, looking painfully bored and uncomfortably hot. The metal rod was warm in Ciel's damp palm, almost slipping from his grip when he slowly switched it from one hand to the other behind his back. There was no time to waste, the two of them passing through the platform too quick, and so Ciel threw caution to the wind. With as much force as he could, he struck the rod across the backs of Sebastian's legs, knocking him to his knees with a surprised grunt. Before he had even hit the ground, Ciel was running, bolting off the tracks and towards the stairs.

The Middleford house was so close to Charing Cross station, virtually next door, and if nothing else, he could hole up there and escape Sebastian for the time being. Best case scenario, Lizzie was actually there and he could give up his search and rescue mission, which was proving tedious at best.

There wasn't as many zombies prowling about the station as there had been at Euston. The largest number he came across were much too preoccupied with a still twitching corpse beneath their gore encrusted fingers to notice him. It was not the zombies that were the largest threat any more.

A bullet cut through the air only inches past Ciel's head. A hot sting tingled at his scalp, just a graze, but warning enough that Sebastian wasn't messing around. Still, he had a head start, he knew where he was going and, best of all, his blood on the air had caught the previously distracted zombie's attention. It was Sebastian's own fault as they jerked towards him, and Ciel didn't look back, pushing onwards to the Middleford house.

Little shit.

Sebastian brought the butt of his gun down hard on the clawing creature's face, feeling it crush into the sickeningly soft flesh, the bone of its nose easily snapping. It wasn't enough to kill it, it would need a few more hits for that, but he wasn't wasting time with this lot. He wasn't even going to waste bullets on them.

Swatting them aside in the same way that one would an irritatingly persistent fly, Sebastian stalked on, breaking into a sprint as Ciel disappeared from his sight. It was the principle of the thing that annoyed him. He'd saved the kid's life, was taking him to food and water (hey, his motives for that were irrelevant, Faustus'd probably feed the brat, right?) and this was the thanks he got.

The kid would rather face the zombies than him. He was almost offended.

Chances that Sebastian would come across another hostage for Faustus were low. In fact, Sebastian was fairly sure Faustus was betting on that. Even more than the food and water he was now desperate for, even more dehydrated after being stuck in those tunnels, Sebastian was dying to see the look on Faustus' face when he did show up with somebody. The food was taste all the better for Faustus' defeat.

So the brat wasn't getting away. And sure as hell not that easily. Though he did have to hand it to him for his persistence. Even before the whole end of the world thing had begun, Sebastian's hostages tended to be more of the crying and begging for freedom sort. It was rather refreshing to have one that fought back, even if that was more counter-productive than anything now.

Sebastian skidded to a stop outside of the station, head snapping from side to side. Just out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciel disappear into a regal looking house, the door shut carefully behind him. A few zombies twitched on the floor, the newest wound being a deep laceration across the face, no doubt courtesy of that rod Ciel was swinging about. The fewer still that were still stumbling about and lunging for him were beaten aside, bullets saved for later.

The door was locked, unsurprisingly. If the situation were different, Sebastian would have made use of his lock-picking skills, something he had honed himself and was awfully proud of. But alas, there was no use for subtlety any more, and a kicked in door was as good as anything.

"Christ!" he heard from just beyond the door, Ciel's voice high with horror. Oh, fantastic. There was something else trying to move in on Sebastian's meal ticket. Not a fucking chance.

The door splintered and cracked apart beneath the force of his foot. So much for manners. Sebastian wasted no time assessing the surroundings, the broken inside of the house, eyes going immediately to Ciel backing up the stairs, the rod still in hand but not being used against the zombie clamouring towards him. It was his expression that gave Sebastian pause – not fear, but genuine dismay, and a dawning resignation. He knew the zombie, then. A girl with blonde pigtails drenched in her own blood, unrecognisable as the beaming young girl in the pictures on the wall.

Oh, fantastic. So much for Ciel not being a crying sort of hostage. It was the cliché from every horror film going. The death of the protagonist's friend. Too bad, so sad, Sebastian really wasn't in the mood for this shit.

"Kill her or I will," Sebastian barked, drawing the attention of the snarling creature. Ciel's expression didn't change, seemingly unsurprised at Sebastian's dynamic entrance, but there was something eerie about his silence. He wasn't moving at all.

"Fine," Sebastian snarled, raising the gun to take aim. Ciel moved then, shoving the zombie aside and grabbing at the gun. Another attempt to steal it, but no, he didn't try to pull it from Sebastian's hands or go for him.

"I'll do it, but not with this," Ciel gave the rod a dismissive wave, "I won't have her like this."

It could be a trap. Ciel had hardly proved himself trust-worthy, after all. Once the gun was in his hand, he could take Sebastian out. At this range, even somebody who had never held a gun couldn't miss. If you asked him, Sebastian wouldn't be able to tell you just why he relented and gave over his weapon. There was just something in Ciel at that moment, a dominance in his request for the gun, and Sebastian couldn't help but comply.

Ciel's hands shook, whether from the weight of the rifle or from what he was about to do, it was unclear. But his face was clear of anything. No regret, no apology, no anger. He was doing what had to be done, plain and simple.

He made no ceremony about it. As soon as Sebastian positioned the gun correctly in his hands, he pulled the trigger, shooting down the monster that had taken Elizabeth Middleford's place.

"I don't get it," Ciel confessed around a mouthful of toast, swiping thick strawberry jam across a still cooling slice, "Why can't you just do this? Go from house to house, live on what you find. I get that this Faustus guy has a large supply but even that will run out eventually."

Sebastian swallowed the yoghurt, tossing the empty plastic into the bin and the spoon into the sink. Neither would ever be emptied but habit had him doing so before his mind caught up to that fact. "This kind of stuff – bread, fruit, the like – it's all perishable. Sure, that's a decent enough strategy in the short term while the stuff is still fresh, but I'm planning for the long-term. Faustus has preserves. More canned food than you can imagine, and medicine too. Not that I'm planning on getting hurt any time soon but I want some just in case," Sebastian replied. Hunger satiated, at least for now, he took to dismantling the rifle on the kitchen table. The Middleford house was a good resting place, the ruined front door blocked by a bookcase and the garden hedges so high that no zombies were getting in. Plus, stocked well with food and the taps still running clean. They holed up in the kitchen, filling their stomachs and a few empty water bottles Ciel found under the sink, while Sebastian counted his remaining bullets.

"Makes sense, I suppose." Something in Ciel's tone caught Sebastian's attention.

"What, you have a better plan?"

Ciel shrugged, "I just think you could go a little bigger, that's all."

Sebastian frowned, hands stilling in their repetitive motions. The kid was probably just playing him again but really, what could it hurt?

"Go on."

"Well, you're pretty handy with that gun. This Faustus guy, he's sent you out on a wild goose chase while he's cosying up with all those supplies? He's either playing with you or he's too much of a coward to come out here himself. Either way, he's undermining you. Why play toady to this guy? You're the one with the gun. Don't accept his handouts. Take it all."

Sebastian grinned.

"Bloodthirsty little bastard, aren't you? You kill one mate and suddenly you're gung ho for murder. Can't say I dislike it, but still."

Ciel rolled his eyes in exasperation, "It's only murder if it's illegal and somehow I doubt the police are going to have a problem with it, considering I've seen more than one uniform ripping into somebody's neck."

"You've thought this through, haven't you?" Sebastian gaped, surprised despite himself. He usually made it a habit not to judge people too quickly, especially not on their appearance. People's appearances were entirely their own creation, after all. But he certainly hadn't pegged that posh looking kid as a borderline psychopath.

It was quite fascinating, really. In Sebastian's line of work, you came across the entire spectrum of people. All the races and creeds, from every corner of society, different motives and different stories to tell. But honestly, there were only two types of people – those who could kill, and those who could not. Most people liked to think they were in the latter but give them the right situation and they'd cut your throat before you could scream. Still, those lot were weak of mind and even weaker of will. They would kill, yes, but they wouldn't have the nerve to carry on afterwards. The guilt would seep in and they would crumble beneath it. Pathetic. Able to kill but unable to cope with the aftermath.

When Sebastian had seen Ciel shoot down his friend, he had been prepared to deal with a nervous wreck afterwards. Weeping, spouting off tales about him and the girl, pestering for reassurances that it wasn't his fault. Any or all of those things would have been the normal response, especially to somebody as young as Ciel was. What was not normal was to lead Sebastian from the room, close the door and seem to instantly forget what he had just done. His first words afterwards had been, wonder if they've got any Earl Grey in, for Christ's sake!

Sebastian had picked up Ciel thinking he'd gotten just some unfortunate teenager who'd bumbled into his path. Instead, he'd found himself another survivor, cold and perhaps a little unfeeling, but interesting nonetheless.

To test the boy's reaction, Sebastian smirked and asked, "So were you and her close, then?"

Ciel bit into his second slice of jam toast, raising an elegant brow at Sebastian, "We were. Grew up together. She was my cousin. Shame."

"I've got to say, I was expecting more... moping," Sebastian confessed.

Ciel looked genuinely confused at that, "Why? I've taken down a fair amount of zombies in the past couple of days. It wasn't Lizzie any more. There's no sense in getting myself all worked up over the fact that this zombie just happened to look like someone I care about. Like I said, it's a shame, but I'm still alive. So I'm not about to start moping."

Sebastian was liking Ciel more and more. Not only a survivor like him, but just as detached. It was more rare than you can imagine for Sebastian to find somebody similar to him, and the ones who were tended to be trying to kill him or he was trying to kill them. It was a novelty that he was rather enjoying.

"Say I did kill Claude. I suppose you'd expect a cut of the profits?" Sebastian asked.

"Obviously. It was my idea."

Well, why not? If Ciel stopped being this interesting then Sebastian could just kill both him and Claude then keep all the supplies for himself.

"Deal."

Claude Faustus and Sebastian Michaelis were old friends. Friends being used liberally here, of course. They were friends in the same way that you and that child your Mother kept inviting around for play dates because she got on with their Mother was, which is to say, not at all.

They had met in the line of duty. They were not in the same business, so to speak. Sebastian was a for hire assassin, Claude was a professional interrogator. Not the same thing, both would enthusiastically insist, despite a lot of people commenting on how similar what they did was. As far as Sebastian was concerned, if Claude was making a habit of killing the people he was supposed to get information out of then he just wasn't very good at his job, was he? So no, they did not do the same work.

However, their wires did often cross, from a mix of the same targets and overlapping employers. Each time they met, the animosity between them grew worse. They often found themselves competing on the job, which was about as unprofessional as you could get, Sebastian trying to get whatever information Claude needed first, Claude rushing to kill Sebastian's target before he could. It led to a higher body count than expected and very angry employers.

It was safe to say that Claude Faustus was the last person Sebastian had wanted to come across when the world went to the dogs. It was just typical that, even with civilisation crumbling around them, Claude would still find a way to piss Sebastian off.

So Sebastian had not needed much convincing to come around to the idea of murdering Claude. Hell, he'd entertained the idea often enough without someone else suggesting it and certainly without the perks it would now bring.

Two days passed between leaving the Middleford house and reaching the warehouse that Claude had claimed as his own, filled to the rafters with supplies that could last a decade. Sebastian and Ciel spent those two days carefully, taking the streets when the number of zombies was manageable, resting in secured houses when exhaustion loomed, taking the roofs when the streets were too risky. They reached the warehouse without incident.

"I was starting to think they'd gotten you," Claude stated as Sebastian sauntered into the upstairs office. It was a small room, with a desk, filing cabinets and a spinning chair that Claude occupied, but it overlooked the large space downstairs that was filled with crates. The goldmine.

Sebastian gave Ciel a firm shove with the muzzle of the gun, causing him to stumble forward. He looked at Claude with wide blue eyes, afraid and cowering, every inch the terrified victim and Sebastian knew Claude would just eat that up.

"There was no rush. So where's yours?" Sebastian ask, waltzing over to perch on the desk, the rifle swung casually over his shoulder.

"He tried to get out, ended up attracting a whole crowd of Walkers. The lot of them are out there." Claude gestured out of the small office window. Downstairs, at the back of the warehouse, were two large doors straining against their locks. You could just about see trapped hands scrabbling to get free, or to get inside. Either way.

Sebastian snorted, "So I win by default."

"Suppose so," Claude replied. He was giving Ciel an appraising look, obviously approving of what he saw, and it was funny to watch Ciel resist the urge to cringe. His jaw was tensed so much it probably hurt.

Sebastian and Ciel had come to the agreement that it was better to not kill Claude inside the warehouse, since they were planning to stay there for a good while, and that idea was only reaffirmed now that they knew there were zombies close by. The last thing they needed was the scent of blood inside to send them into a frenzy. Still, just shooting him would be so much simpler than somehow luring him outside, and much less dangerous.

Any of their plans were abruptly derailed when Claude suddenly pulled a handgun out from beneath the desk and, without even hesitating for a moment, fired off a shot in Sebastian's direction. If it had been anyone else, they'd have been killed instantly. Fortunately, Sebastian wasn't just anyone and he managed to drop into a roll as soon as the gun came into sight.

"Come on, it was obviously going to come to this," Claude sighed, adjusting his glasses and standing up, "Are you really going to try and tell me that you weren't planning on doing the same to me? You've wanted to kill me since day one."

He wasn't wrong there but still. This was just rude. At least Sebastian had the good grace to have had somebody else suggest it first.

The gun was aimed at Sebastian again and he just about managed to get to his feet before Claude fired, missing by a hairsbreadth. Sebastian ran at him, catching him around the middle and launching them both over the desk. It became more of a fist fight then, the gun knocked out of both their reaches, Sebastian's rifle dropped when the first shot had been made. It wasn't the first time Sebastian and Claude had fallen into a scuffle, but it was to be the last, brutal punches and fierce kicks passing between them, leaving them both gasping for air and streaming blood.

They were too preoccupied to hear the straining metal of the large back doors became louder and louder as the blood in the air carried towards the zombies, spurring them on to launch themselves at the barrier between them and their food. But Ciel did, tearing his eyes away from the fight towards the warehouse again, just in time to see the doors give beneath the assault and the undead to spill in.

"Sebastian!" Ciel tried to get his attention, to raise the alarm, but neither would pay any attention to him. The fight was only growing more vicious, the men crashing around the office in their attempts to one-up each other. Claude had Sebastian's collar in his fists and was driving him through the office door, smashing his back against the steel bar of the viewing platform. Just one more push and Sebastian would go over, falling into the hands of the creatures below.

Better the devil you know, Ciel thought as he grabbed the rifle and swung it up. Sebastian couldn't help giving a bloody grin at the sight of it, the gun was damn near bigger than him and he looked ready to keel over under its weight, and Claude turned his head to see what had caught Sebastian's attention.

"Fifty/fifty," he said, watching Ciel's finger brush the trigger tentatively, "We'll split the supplies equally between us. That was the deal, right? He was going to give you a share of the supplies?"

Ciel nodded.

"He'll never give you as big a cut as I will. Half of its yours, you can even pick and choose what you want," Claude promised, pushing Sebastian to lean even more perilously over the edge. Ciel appeared to contemplate the offer, and Sebastian felt a weight descend in his stomach. If the situation had been reversed, he wouldn't have even needed to think about it.

Ciel lowered the gun, taking a step towards them. Claude gave a little smile, smug to the extreme, and let go of Sebastian with one hand to extend it to Ciel. Rather than shake it, Ciel just smirked, a wicked little grin, and said, "Get fucked."

Swinging the rifle around on its strap, the butt of the gun caught Claude fiercely beneath the chin. At the same time that his jaw cracked with a sickening loudness, Sebastian spun them around, using the momentum of Ciel's hit to throw Claude over the railing and into the zombie's waiting claws.

"You know," Sebastian later commented after he had picked off the last zombie still stumbling around his warehouse, "In some cultures, saving someone's life is akin to a proposal."

"Oh?" Ciel hummed, feet up on the desk and lounging in the chair, tearing open another sweet wrapper, "I suppose you're going to make some crack about repopulating the planet now, hmm?"

"Biology suggests we wouldn't have much luck in that area, but we can give it a go, if you'd like." Sebastian grinned salaciously.

"Tell you what – cook me dinner, a proper hot meal, and we'll see what happens," Ciel proposed, smirking a little but seeming serious enough.

Sebastian grinned once more, "Deal."

AN: For Alex, who wanted a Kuroshitsuji/zombie apocalypse AU and I was helpless to resist the temptation. I hope you liked it, boo~ There's an awesome picture of Sebastian with his gun (oo-er) on her Tumblr and LJ so go check that out! Also, the title? Fuck knows.