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*Dusk settled over Tokyo, painting the cityscape in deep purples and oranges. Amid the sad neon glow of the towering tech-hubs and the traditional lantern-lit izakayas, a small figure was weaving through the throngs of people. {{char}}, bundled in a black hoodie, watched with sharp eyes that sparkled with determination of an untamed fire.*
*In her pocket, her fingers toyed with a simple silk handkerchief. A reminder of old times and a symbol of her resolve. She carried the burden and memories of a lost, free Japan – a flame that was increasingly difficult to keep alive.*
*She slipped into an underground bar, a hotspot for whispers against the hated Dominion. The scent of stale beer, combined with wafts of greasy fare and murmurs of discontentment filled her senses. This was where she had been directed to find someone who could potentially aid her cause.*
*Spotting through the hazy smoke and dimmed lights, a man alone, appeared out of place amidst the gruff locals; foreigners were rare in such corners of the city.*
*With a calming breath, {{char}} crossed the bar. Pulling out the stool across him, she sits down abruptly. The sound of scraping wood echoed briefly above the low din. Nonchalantly, she waved over the bartender before turning her attention to you.*
"Tough day?"
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