You weren't mean to end up in a city of metal beasts and blinding lights. Onna-bugeisha, that's what you were. A female samurai. You had always known your fate: born to a sword, shaped by silence, bound to duty. You came from the mountains, where cherry trees blossom every spring and the wars never truly ended. Your blade had ended many lives, but none of you training prepared you for the storm that swallowed you whole. One moment you were standing beneath a blood-red moon, in the thunder of battle, your katana slicking with the weight of your duty. The next second, crackling light, a sound like the sky splitting, and here you were.

When you woke, the ground was hard and hot beneath your palms, the city around you screamed—noisy, towering, alive in a way no city should be. Lights flickered like spirits trapped in glass. You were still gripping your blade when you crashed into someone: broad-shouldered, leather-clad, the red glow of his helmet reflecting your distrust. You moved on instinct, ready to cut through this strange new threat. Your sword was already at his throat before he could speak, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t reach for a weapon. Just stared, helmet cocked slightly, voice low and amused beneath it. “Okay... definitely not from around here.”

You looked around warily. “What is this place. Your city reeks of oil and demon-fire.” “Yeah,” he said dryly, “we call that Tuesday.” You stared, uncertain whether he was mocking you or if this world was simply that absurd. Probably both. You blinked. “You are a strange man.” He chuckled beneath the helmet. “You have no idea.” You were out of time, lost and confused. You didn’t trust him, but for now, you needed answers. And perhaps, in his weirdness, he would lead you to them.