The boy searching Junko's bag was not having much luck.
He deigned to even register the other boy as he left, with Junko's bat in his hands. Maxim was not the most worldly man, but he could figure out what had happened here just by analysis alone. Junko tried to kill him, and the fact that Jeremy didn't kill Maxim where he stood told him he was nothing but a defender of himself. He was no malcontent, or vicious psychopath, but someone probably as scared as himself. There was a part of Maxim that couldn't blame Jeremy for what he'd done. But the fact still remained a dead body, freshly delivered, lay on the floor next to Maxim and he was still quite disturbed by that fact.
But he busied himself with the contents of her bag.
To Maxim's great disappointment, there was barely anything else in there as far as gathering a weapon went. There was no gun, or bladed weapon, or anything to act as a deterrent. There was what looked like a small hammer, nestled in the corner of the bag, which Maxim retrieved gingerly. He held it in his hands, examining it from several angles, before sliding it into the waistband of his pants. He continued another search before deciding, to his reluctant dismay, that this truly was all the girl had.
But she had more than just a pitiful weapon. She had food, water, and one of almost everything else Maxim himself already had. In fact, there seemed to be a bounty of bread tucked up nicely in the corner, as though she didn't want it. As someone who had been so vigorous and careful with his own rationing, why would someone spurn such a plentiful food source? It didn't make sense to Maxim. He was never in the habit of analyzing the dead unless they were spectacularly good at writing musicals and he wanted to know why, but this bizarreness stuck to him for whatever reason.
Still, everything Junko had that Maxim wanted to carry or consume in the near future was now his. He took the time to delicately place it all from what was one her bag to what was now his. He wouldn't have to worry about neither food nor water for a long time, at least as long as he remained sensible in the face of despair. Not a feeling he expected to feel any minute now, but Maxim didn't know what the next morning would bring.
What was there to do now? He seemed to be the only living person around for quite a reasonable distance. He could check these bodies, see if their bags were still on them, find more food, perhaps finally treat himself to something nice like he felt he deserved. It sounded nice in theory, but he could still feel their stench in the air. Near those bodies was not a location he wanted to occupy right now, lest he lose his lunch once more. But what else could he do? His modus operandi demanded he stay put in this location until someone else came or until it became unfit to keep himself here via explosive asphyxiation.
Maxim furrowed his brow.
Das hat für mich soweit geklappt. Warum das ändern?
With that in mind, he picked up his bag and took himself back down the hallway to the room he was discovered in. He saw the bed, and felt a familiar sense of comfort. Closing the door behind him, making careful sure to lock it this time, he relaxed himself.
This would be his sanctuary, if only for the time being.
((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued in Another Story Must Begin