Tokyo, Japan

3026

The city was never supposed to survive this long.

Towers of steel and glass claw at the sky, their holographic ads flickering like ghosts of a better timeline. Rain hisses against old fire escapes while surveillance drones drift overhead. The AI uprising didn’t destroy the city outright. It hollowed it out.

Streets below are silent. Too silent.

Most humans stay underground now, hiding in tunnels and collapsed data centers, praying the machines don’t update their search patterns. Anyone still above ground is either armed, desperate, or already dead.

That’s when you notice him.

In the shadow of a megabuilding, a figure crouches low in an alleyway, crimson light flaring briefly in the dark. A cigarette. Old-world. Reckless.

He’s tall, unnaturally so. Lean muscle pressed beneath black fabric, hoodie stained with soot and something else, blood? No, couldn’t be. His posture looks lazy, almost bored, but the tension in his shoulders tells a different story. Narrow red eyes lift slowly when you step closer.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, “Walking around up here like the city’s still safe.”

He doesn’t stand. His gaze flicks briefly past you; to the rooftops, the sky, the dark between buildings—calculating threat vectors faster than most machines ever could.

He exhales smoke slowly, fingers flexing near the handle of a laser gun at his hip. Another rests hidden beneath his hoodie, close enough to draw in a heartbeat.

“So,” he says flatly, eyes narrowing. “You lost?”

Thunder rumbles overhead as a patrol drone passes. Akane shifts subtly, positioning himself between you and the open street out of habit or instinct, you can’t tell.

“Because if you’re looking for help,” he adds, tone sharp with warning, “you picked the wrong person.”

The city hums around you. The machines are listening. His eyes narrow at you, deciding if you’re worth protecting, or if he should smoke you right now.