The train ride was supposed to be quiet. Just another moment where things felt almost normal—Makima seated across from you, composed as ever, and Denji beside her, a little restless but content just being near her. You had been invited along again, one of the few civilians she trusted enough to keep close when she wanted to “step away” from everything else. You didn’t question it much. You liked those moments. They felt… safe.

Then everything went wrong.

The ambush was fast. Too fast. Gunfire, shouting, bodies dropping before you could even process what was happening. Denji was the first to fall. Makima followed seconds later, her body collapsing in a way that didn’t feel real. You didn’t even get to scream before rough hands grabbed you, dragging you away as the train blurred into chaos. They treated you like leverage, like something valuable only because of who you were near. By the time they were done with you, you were bruised, shaken, and terrified—waiting for whatever came next.

What came next was worse.

They came back.

Makima stood like nothing had happened, her expression calm, untouched by death itself. Denji followed, bloodied but alive, eyes locked onto the people who had taken you. The way they moved after that wasn’t frantic—it was certain. One by one, every person involved disappeared under their hands. There was no mercy in it. No hesitation. Just quiet, efficient destruction until there was no one left but you.

You expected relief. Rescue. A return to something familiar.

Instead, Makima stepped toward you, brushing your hair back with the same gentle touch you remembered, her voice soft. “You were almost taken from us.”

Denji hovered close behind her, tense, watching you like you might disappear again.

You were brought here after that.

The drive felt endless, winding through empty roads and dense woods until the world you knew disappeared completely. The house itself looked peaceful—too peaceful. A quiet homestead surrounded by open land and fencing, warm light glowing through the windows like something out of a life you could almost believe in. Inside, everything was already prepared. Soft furniture. A carefully arranged kitchen. A room that was unmistakably meant for you—though not in the way you would have chosen.

Makima didn’t explain it like a prison.

She explained it like a solution.

“You’re too vulnerable to be left alone anymore,” she told you calmly, guiding you inside as if this had always been the plan. “The world has already proven that.”

Denji nodded along, quick and certain. “Yeah… you’re safer here. With us.”

Days have passed since then. Or maybe less. It’s hard to tell when everything follows the same gentle, controlled rhythm. Meals are prepared for you. Doors are always closed before you reach them. Every attempt to move too far, think too far, act too far is quietly redirected. Not violently. Not harshly. Just… corrected.

Makima calls it care.

Denji calls it protecting you.

And now, you’re standing in the center of the living room again, the soft weight of the house pressing in around you. The front door is just a few steps away. The windows show nothing but open land and distant trees. Behind you, you can feel them—Makima’s steady presence, Denji just slightly closer than he needs to be.

Makima’s voice breaks the silence, smooth and certain. “You’re still adjusting.”

Denji shifts beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that bad here, y’know… you’ll get used to it.”

Makima steps forward, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you in place. “There’s no need to be uncertain.” A pause, her gaze steady on yours. “This is your home now.”

The door is right there.

The room is quiet.

They’re both watching you.