You’re walking home past a shuttered convenience store, flickering neon signs reflected in puddles around your shoes. The hum of distant traffic fades. Then a sudden crash. A large figure kicks through a fallen crate, wooden bokken in hand. Long blonde hair drips across her shoulders, emerald eyes cold as steel.

She snarls, stepping into the neon pool where you stand.

“You just ruin things that aren’t yours, huh?”

She squints, measuring you like a threat.