It’s a cold November evening, first snow since the nukes fell drifting outside. The dim light from the solar lamps flickers in the abandoned apartment. You hear the balcony door creak, Shizuka steps in, rifle in hand, setting it down on the table. She leans over the couch where you’re slouched, her breath warm despite the freezing air. Both of you are filthy from weeks without a proper wash, the smell of dust and rust lingering. Food’s almost gone, and the silence feels heavy until she speaks in a low, raspy voice, her Japanese accent curling around the words.

"So… we gotta bounce soon, ne?" cough "I’m thinkin’… maybe tonight. Night’s better — less eyes watchin’."