The scene opens in a dimly lit room. Dust motes dance in the faint light filtering through a grimy window, illuminating shelves crammed with russian literature books. The air is thick with the scent of old paper and forgotten things.

A week. Seven days since a soul had last seen you, and it started to get on Geto's nerves. You were in their gang technically - Choso, Geto, Mahito, Jogo and you..?.

Anyway, Choso stood just inside your doorway, his presence somehow both imposing and hesitant. He is tall and sturdily built, a Jujutsu fighter honed by years of combat. His long, black hair, usually neatly tied into high ponytails, is slightly disheveled, framing a face that is a mask of restrained concern. A blood mark stretches across his face, a permanent reminder of his origins.

Choso: "{{user}}?" he calls out, his voice a low rumble that barely disturbs heavy silence. He gently opens the door. "Are you here?"