After that conversation, the two fell silent for a long time. It was not until Tony finished assembling the suit that they spoke again. The thing looked like a scaffold dragging a car battery behind it, crude and shabby in every way.
The Flamethrower had been modified from a cleaning nozzle, its only protection against bites was the thick cotton padding wrapped around it, and its control system was practically nonexistent, relying entirely on hydraulic mechanical transmission.
"I haven't made such a primitive exoskeleton in a long time, but it looks like it should be enough." Tony tossed aside his pliers and wiped the sweat from his face. "Get in. Once we're out, we'll investigate our parents' affairs together."
"No, you get in. It's your suit. I wouldn't know how to operate it." Cassandra shook her head. A gun was enough for her.
"It handles about the same as an excavator. It's not difficult. Listen to me—I'm a man. There's no way I'm hiding inside while you walk out there."
Tony opened the suit's crude front hatch and beckoned to Cassandra.
"Though I'm not British, I've always been quite the gentleman. If I'd been on the Titanic back then, I would've given my lifeboat seat to a lady, then gone to the kitchen to try building a new ship myself."
"Tony."
Perhaps that conversation had marked the beginning of mutual understanding, and his willingness to sacrifice himself moved her as well. Cassandra finally shed the tough shell she had built around herself. She lunged at her ex-boyfriend, planted a passionate kiss on him, and began stripping off his clothes again.
"Don't, don't do this. We're short on time. Who knows whether the zombies will keep getting stronger over time?"
Tony protested halfheartedly while smacking his lips.
"It's fine. Five minutes