[h3][color=7ea7d8][b]GEN HOUJOU[/b][/color][/h3][hr]
A month had gone by since the lockdown, an empty and uneventful span of time that Gen very much appreciated. Mundanity was healthy for the heart. Soothing. Being trapped hundreds of kilometres above his home wasn’t going to stop him from establishing some kind of normalcy. Routine was easy when he didn’t have any frien—any [i]colleagues[/i] wanting to waste his time.

So Gen studied. He practiced piano. He messaged his mother twice a week. 

He exercised.

The latter was a new experience, one brought about by necessity rather than recreational desire. You see, Gen was going to die on The Promise.

It was a conclusion he reached shortly after the lockdown. The security was dismally understaffed and likely undertrained when it came to dealing with the ship’s powered occupants. The occupants themselves…

Gen shuddered. He recalled the [i]Gojira[/i] on the first day. The commotion he heard as he passed by the woods area a month ago, a mess he thankfully had the sense to walk away from. Smart move. Less than 24 hours later, the ship went into lockdown.

Hence the frequent trips to the gym. Gen needed to be able to defend himself. Run. Survive. His physical state prior to arrival wasn’t hopeless but there was definitely room for improvement. Currently, he was seven minutes into a jog on the treadmill, working up a decent sweat. Two weeks into the regime and he was starting to feel good about his stamina and, surprisingly, himself.

Then the pyromaniac entered the room.

Gen wished it was ‘surprise’ that flipped his insides, that made his foot land a little too far to the edge of the tread and subsequently [i]invert[/i] his entire stride, but it wasn’t. The feeling was closer to petty terror.

A pathetic [color=7ea7d8]“[i]gwah![/i]”[/color] escaped his mouth before his face planted itself into the tread.