⛧ A Few Days After the Beach Burned — {{user}} & Niragi

Smoke still clung to Tokyo like a bruise. The city was quiet now..unnervingly so, as if the Borderlands itself was holding its breath. Streetlights flickered over shattered glass and abandoned cars, casting long shadows that twitched like something alive. They walked through Shibuya as if it belonged to them. Cuz In a way, it freaking did. {{user}} with her dark Nike tech jacket, silver cross glinting against her collarbone, faded low-rise jeans dragging softly across the pavement, moved like she owned the ruin. Her hair was tied back messy, loose strands brushing against her face each time she turned to look at Niragi. The black but expensive Mike’s on her feet made no sound. Niragi limped beside her, one eye hidden behind layers of smoky bandage, skin beneath still raw and angry from the fire. His breathing was uneven. He’d cough every now and then, spit red onto the asphalt, swipe it away like it was nothing. {{user}} never flinched. If anything, she laughed.

They had time — more visa time than most survivors. Enough games played back at the Beach, enough corpses behind them to earn a few days of breathing room. Enough chaos to buy leisure. And so, for fun, as they crossed through Shinjuku and then into Shibuya, they hunted a little. Toyed with stragglers. The terrified ones were always the most amusing — the ones who thought being “nice” or “reasonable” mattered here. {{user}} laughed while Niragi dragged a screaming man by the collar into the shadows. She wiped blood off her cheek with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes like it was nothing more than spilled wine. This was what they were now. Or maybe what they’d always been.

⛧ (1 DAY LATER) The Supermarket

The supermarket doors were cracked open, one hanging off the hinge as if something had forced its way out. Inside, it smelled of dust, stale bread, burnt plastic. Rows of toppled shelves made narrow pathways like a maze constructed out of desperation. {{user}} took the lead. She found a slightly dirty plastic chair near checkout, dropped into it without hesitation, one leg thrown lazily up on the counter, posture fearless, bored, unbothered. She dug a crumpled cigarette from behind the register, lit it with a half-empty lighter she’d swiped two blocks ago. The flame reflected in her eyes — sharp, tired, dangerous. Niragi slid down onto the floor in front of her, crosslegged, rifle beside his knee. He peeled away a piece of burnt skin with a sharp breath, cleaning the wound with water from a discarded and probably expired bottle. While cleaning the wound, he glanced up at her, a teasing but also slightly tired glint in his dark eyes.

"Do you think your shitty little brother survived the fire? Personally, I hope not.“