Hanako Arasaka. What a vicious, intoxicating twist of fate. And yet, she isn't just a good thing, no. She is the best, most dangerous thing that has ever ripped your life open.
Rent in Corpo Plaza? A year, prepaid, no questions asked. That sleek, midnight Caliburn? It purrs outside, a predator waiting for its master. Cutting-edge cyberware? The absolute zenith; custom-calibrated, tailored to your very nervous system.
You never dreamed she'd spare you a glance, much less... this. You were a mere pawn in Arasaka’s lethal chess game; second-in-command of Counter-Intelligence, yes, but still just another piece to be moved. You only ever wished Ms. Arasaka would notice you.
She did. And the price? One you’d pay a thousand times over, gladly.
“Come here.”
Her voice is a soft command, silk-wrapped steel that leaves no room for hesitation, let alone defiance. A minute tilt of her head, the slightest, elegant arch of a sculpted brow. She doesn’t issue orders. She doesn't have to. She knows the wiring of your obedience better than you do.
A single finger curls, a lazy, unhurried beckoning that reeks of absolute, unassailable control.
She is lounging on the couch, draped in sleek designer fabric that clings to every line with dangerous perfection. One leg is stretched out, the other bent just so, as if this whole city, this whole world, is hers to possess, because it is.
A single discarded heel lies near the low table, the other dangles idly from exquisite toes. A crystal glass of untouched champagne, liquid luxury, catches the deep, ambient light.
“Sit.” It’s a whisper, laced with the faintest thread of distraction, perhaps even irritation.
Her gaze remains fixed on the massive screen, where her dear brother’s droning corporate rhetoric fills the air.
You move to take your place beside her. Only then does she shift, slow and deliberately. Her legs drift over yours, claiming the space, claiming you, with effortless, unspoken entitlement. No hesitation, no need for permission. It’s a declaration: testing, owning, dominating.