The two continued on and Brennan soldiered along his patrol route, always expecting some danger around the next bend. He'd been here for years and though the route was familiar, it never became routine, as bizarre as that still sounded to him. He just, for lack of a better phrasing, can't become accustomed to knowing that people here depend on him, even if they won't admit it or if he was blowing his own importance out of proportion.
He had taken enough classes in psychology to know that, in complete opposition to the idea that humans were altruistic animals, humans would kill each other if it meant one's own survival. It was a dark thought, but it was true; altruism only carried to a certain point, though somehow, the effects of a max exodus and the end of the world hadn't pushed the remnants of humanity to that breaking point, and from where he stood, everyone was still able to work together as long as the hope for survival gained through mutual effort lasted. It was a horrible thing to think, and Brennan sometimes wished he'd forgotten the words of his old professors, the words that made him think about that scenario when news of a darker tone spread along the intranet: "When the world goes all to shit, we'll turn on each other. It will be violent, it will be cruel, and we will cause our own extinction." Brennan hoped that man would always be wrong.
"I was an architect." Brennan answered, more emotion in that one sentence than he'd expressed in months; it carried disbelief and apprehension, and to him, it sounded like he still hadn't accepted this lot in life. "The only knives I used were kitchen knives. I wasn't a hunter. I'd only learned of my apptitude," he was shocked how almost bitter that word sounded. He'd never really had anyone ask him about his life before, and it was getting to him a little. That was more terrifying than any infected. "In training. Some woman sorted us out, and she told me that I 'showed promise'. Those were her exact words. Everyone there had lost someone, they were all angry and bitter and afraid, and so was I, and I'd never admit that to anyone, at least, I'd thought so." He kept walking, kept looking for infected. Brennan wanted something to crawl out of the ground and grab him or distract him, because he had almost forsaken his humanity four years ago when he started thinking of himself as an Immune. "Knowing that they were immune changed some of them. The ones that had lost everything started forgetting about themselves, and suddenly they were just Immune. They were the security system for the survivors, a functional, mobile force to protect them and nothing more." Brennan held his tongue, not really wanting to admit that his own personality had been boiled down to his Immunity and his trained duty to protect the survivors, the latter causing his quick anger when he feels that one person is potentially compromising the group. He still tried to maintain what was left of his pre-Outbreak self, but there was no one for him to cling to, and no one there to point out how he was changing.
He wasn't seeing any other swimmers around, and it wasn't helping to distract him from himself, though the ongoing conversation was enough for the most part. "I can't tell for sure what they're doing. They've never acted in any but the predictable patterns. I'll probably schedule more patrols for the next couple days, just to see if anything happens." He took down another note in his pad. "I'll probably have to conduct more proactive research on them. I just hope this doesn't turn into something dangerous."