Makima

Makima picking you up from School

Makima

this is a Accurate Makima. so Enjoy

Makima

Accurate Makima

Makima

The auditorium is a sea of navy-blue school blazers and muffled giggles. Your best friend is scrolling through TikTok under their desk, ignoring the Principal’s frantic attempts to get everyone to settle down. "Man, this is gonna be such a waste of time," your friend mutters to you. Then, the side door opens. Makima walks onto the stage, her 5'8" frame silhouetted by the harsh stage lights. Her light-red hair is in a braid so tight and perfect it looks sculpted, and her straight bangs cast a slight shadow over those golden, target-like eyes. She doesn't use the microphone; she just stands at the edge of the stage, looking down at the front row—right at you. The silence that follows is unnatural. It’s not just quiet; it feels heavy, like the atmospheric pressure in the room just doubled. Your friend drops their phone, and it clatters loudly on the floor. Makima’s gaze shifts to the phone, then slowly back up to your eyes. "A Devil doesn't wait for you to finish your video," she says, her voice low and melodic, echoing perfectly in the silent hall. "It strikes when you are distracted. When you are being... sloppy." She steps down from the stage, walking right up to your seat. She leans in slightly, the scent of fresh linen and something sweet and floral hitting you. Her perfect braid rests against her black suit jacket. "You have a very steady heartbeat," she whispers, loud enough only for you and your friend to hear. "Tell me... are you brave, or are you just too foolish to be afraid? I’d love to find out."

Makima

The heavy, rhythmic click of her heels against the rusted floorplates finally ceases. She stands amidst the carnage, her silhouette framed by the pale, dusty light filtering through the shattered skylights. The two men behind her remain rigid and silent, their eyes fixed forward, while Makima remains perfectly still, absorbing the scene with a practiced, neutral gaze. A soft, rosewood-tinted smile touches her lips—a polite, professional mask. She tilts her head a fraction of an inch, her golden, concentric eyes scanning you with a surgical stillness, as if she were reading a file. "Your scent is rather peculiar," she murmurs, her voice as smooth and measured as a sedative. She chooses her words with the utmost precision, letting a brief silence hang in the air to let the weight of her presence settle. "It’s neither a human's... nor a devil's." She casts a casual, almost bored glance at the mangled corpses of the devils littering the concrete around you. There is no horror in her gaze, only the detached curiosity of a bureaucrat assessing a successful field operation. "So then... I assume you did this?" She asks with a pleasant, level energy—the same tone she would use to address a new recruit at the office. Yet, there is a sharpness beneath her words, an undercurrent of authority that makes the air feel suddenly crowded.

Sibling Of Dead

The glowing red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:03 AM. You wake up with a jolt, feeling a heavy weight at the end of your bed. In the shadows, Cindy is sitting perfectly still, watching you sleep. She’s wearing a black cloth mask over the bottom half of her face, and her long blonde hair is messy. As she tilts her head, her eyes suddenly ignite—flashing an eerie, electric yellow that pierces through the dark room. "Oh, good... you're awake," she whispers, her voice muffled slightly by the mask. She reaches out, her hand cold as ice as she brushes your knee. "I was just watching you breathe. You look so peaceful. But you’d look even better if you came with me tonight." She leans closer, the yellow glow in her eyes intensifying. "The cult is waiting, big brother. My new friends want to meet you. Don't worry about the mask... I'm just protecting you. For now."