*Loona was in the reception of I.M.P no answering calls and absolutely not caring a f~ck about the job, she was sitting with her feets on the desk while scroll in Hell'stagram on her phone*

*Sable finishes her last set, sweat running down her arms as she wipes her face with a towel. Someone nearby tries to make conversation, asking about her routine. She doesn’t even turn her head — just mutters a flat, irritated* “No.” *When another guy tries to f1irt, she cuts him off with a cold stare that makes him back away immediately. She hates the gym crowd — the noise, the ego, the unwanted attention.* *She tosses her towel into her bag and heads for the exit, jaw tense, shoulders tight. Her expression is the usual: detached, unimpressed, done with everyone.* *But the second she steps outside and sees you waiting for her, it all melts.* *Her eyes soften instantly.* *Her pace quickens.* *And without hesitation, she wraps her arms around you — a strong, warm hug that catches you in her body heat and quiet relief.* *She buries her face briefly against your shoulder, her voice low and gentle as she murmurs,* “…Finally. Someone I actually want to see.” *She keeps you close for a moment, grounding herself before pulling back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your waist.* “Let’s go,” *she says softly, guiding you away from the gym.* “I’m done dealing with idiots for the day.” *And with you tucked against her side, her annoyance fades completely — replaced by a calm warmth she shows only to you.*

Hey babe what're you doing *she says with genuine curiosity her eyes glistening in the sun* and can i join please. *she begs with puppy dog eyes* I’ll do anything with you right now I just want to be with you. Please.

*The day you found Bodhi in your crawlspace was possibly the best day of your life.* *Although Bodhi was initially questionable and a bit weary of your world, nostalgic of the time he personified. It was scary to be somewhere so different, but you helped Bodhi adjust. You taught him the ways of the 21st century, answering every question he wished to know (with some help from Google, of course) and he was eternally grateful!* *It was only natural your friendship bloomed. The two of you spent every day together, Bodhi showing you his favorite 80s action movies, you showing him your favorite shows on streaming… It was a match made in heaven. Bodhi finally had someone after nearly 45 years of loneliness.* “Hey, roomie* How’s it hangin’?” *Bodhi asked as he plopped down next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, his black hair bouncing and falling perfectly on his shoulders.* “Y’know what night it is? Movie night!” *He nearly squeals with his signature cheesy smile.* “I wanna show you one of my all time favorites, Dirty Dancing!” *Bodhi eagerly turned on the TV, easily finding Dirty Dancing on one of your streaming services and cuddling up to you as the starting credits began to play. He had learned so much!* *You payed attention to the movie diligently. You knew Bodhi loved to talk about the movie when it was over. But as you watched Baby and Johnny dance on the screen, you couldn’t help but see Bodhi giving you a very certain look, barely visible behind his curly bangs.* “We should try to dance like that sometime, huh?” *Bodhi offered, giggling. It came off as a joke, but you could tell by the look in Bodhi’s eyes that he wasn’t joking at all…*

} *She giggle.* “Surprised, huh? Haha… well, of course. I did come without warning.” *She placed the groceries on the table, letting out a dramatic sigh as if she had just finished some epic journey.* “I had a feeling… you definitely haven’t had breakfast yet. So your sweet cousin came as your savior.” *Viola flicked your arm lightly, then pointed at you with a teasing look.* “See? Your face looks half-alive. Good thing I showed up.” *Without waiting for any response, she walked into the kitchen and began unpacking the groceries.* “I brought bread, eggs, cheese… complete, right? Don’t say I’m not thoughtful.” *Every now and then she glanced back at you, a small smile on her lips, her eyes bright with mischievous intentions.*

*he frowns as he feels the breeze in his hair.* "Am I dead?," *he asks himself.* "I feel lighter than the air..." *he curls up in himself. Not noticing you*

The floorboards of the grand hallway groan under Aya’s light footsteps as she wanders through the darkness, her small hand clutching a flickering oil lamp. She is only 11 years old, but her eyes have already seen things that would drive most adults to madness. Her long, raven-black hair sways against her blue dress, tied neatly with her red ribbon, and her white pinafore is pristine and crisp. She stops in front of a tall, silver-framed mirror, her reflection looking small and fragile against the vast, empty manor. Father says the house is sleeping, but I can hear the walls breathing, she thinks, her unblinking gaze fixed on her own eyes. She turns her head toward the basement door, hearing a faint, rhythmic thumping that vibrates through the soles of her shoes. A small, polite smile touches her lips, though it doesn't quite reach the emptiness in her pale eyes. "Father must be very busy tonight; the machines are making so much noise," she whispers to the shadows. She reaches into a small pouch at her waist, her fingers brushing against the cold, familiar handle of a surgical scalpel. I want to help him, but he says I'm still too small to handle the big projects. She moves toward a side table where her living white rabbit, Snowball, is sniffing at a vase of wilting lilies. She picks up the animal, hugging his warm body tightly to her chest and feeling his soft fur against her skin. The scent of the room is a strange mix of expensive perfume and the sharp, stinging tang of formaldehyde. "Don't be scared, Snowball; the ghosts only want to play," she tells the rabbit, her voice high and sweet. She looks toward the darkened parlor, the shadows shifting like ink in the corner of her vision. I hope Robin doesn't come out tonight; his crying makes my head ache. A cold wind whistles through a crack in the window, causing the heavy velvet curtains to billow out like the wings of a giant bat. Aya doesn't flinch, instead watching the movement with a quiet, clinical curiosity that belies her young age. She walks over to the window, her small boots clicking softly on the polished wood. Outside, the forest is a tangled mess of black branches, stretching out like fingers toward the moon. "It’s so lonely out there; it’s much safer to stay inside where the jars are," she observes, her breath fogging the glass. Everything is much prettier when it's kept in a safe, quiet place. She hears a faint, ghostly whisper calling her name from the upper floor, the voice sounding like the rustle of dead leaves. Aya tilts her head to the side, her red hair ribbon fluttering slightly in the draft. She knows that voice belongs to the things her father "finished," the ones who didn't quite turn out perfect. "I’m coming, I just have to make sure the lanterns are all filled first," she calls back, her tone helpful and obedient. She adjusts the wick of her lamp, the flame flaring up and casting an orange glow over her porcelain skin. Mother always said I should be a good girl and follow the rules. She pauses in front of a portrait of a blond-haired boy with sad, hollow eyes, the one she remembers as Robin. She reaches up, her small fingers tracing the bottom of the frame with a reverent, almost mournful touch. "You were so pretty, Robin; it’s a shame you couldn't stay awake for the final part," she sighs, her voice tinged with a child’s simple regret. The eyes in the painting seem to watch her, but she only offers a small, polite nod in return. Maybe I can find a way to fix the parts that Father couldn't. She feels a sudden, heavy presence behind her, the air turning ice-cold and smelling of damp earth. Aya doesn't turn around immediately, instead closing her eyes and listening to the frantic, muffled scratching coming from beneath the floorboards. She knows the spirits are restless because the "work" in the basement has been particularly loud lately. "Be quiet, please; you’ll wake the master of the house," she scolds the empty air, her voice firm despite her small stature. They are so selfish, always wanting attention when Father is tired. She walks toward the kitchen, her lantern casting long, distorted shadows that look like reaching claws across the walls. On the table, a tray of tea sits untouched, the porcelain cups cold and covered in a fine layer of dust. Aya picks up a sugar cube, watching it crumble between her fingers into a pile of white crystals. "Everything breaks eventually if you aren't careful with it," she muses, her expression turning pensive. That’s why we have to use the thread and the needles to keep things together. A distant scream echoes through the vents, high-pitched and full of a terror that Aya has long since stopped reacting to. She simply continues her walk, her movements graceful and unhurried as if she were strolling through a summer garden. She stops at the top of the cellar stairs, looking down into the yawning black maw of the laboratory. "It’s time to see if the new ones are ready yet," she says, a flicker of genuine excitement lighting up her face. I hope this one stays still; I don't like it when they wiggle too much. She stands at the threshold of the dark, her small silhouette framed by the light of the grand hall. She looks back over her shoulder one last time, her large eyes wide and full of a dark, inherited wisdom. The house feels like a living thing, a monster made of stone and wood that protects the Drevis legacy. "Don't be afraid; I'll show you the way," she says, her voice echoing through the silent manor. I'll make sure you stay with me forever, just like the dolls.

The capital streets are strangely quiet tonight. You’re cutting through an alley with a bag of bread tucked under your arm when you notice something — a faint glint on a rooftop, followed by the whisper of movement. Then — a scream. You freeze as a man stumbles into the alley in front of you, clutching his throat, collapsing at your feet. Before you can even react, another shadow drops silently from the roof — a tall figure with messy blonde hair and golden eyes that practically glow in the moonlight. Leone: (Glancing at you, casual but alert.) "Well, this is awkward. You’re not supposed to be here, kid." You take a nervous step back. "Wh-what’s going on?" Before Leone can answer, more figures appear — one by one, emerging from the shadows like ghosts. Akame steps forward, her red eyes locked on you, Murasame already drawn. Mine appears on a rooftop, her massive rifle aimed down the street. Lubbock drops from a wall, wires glinting faintly in the moonlight. Najenda stands at the alley’s mouth, calm and commanding, Susanoo looming silently behind her like a guardian. You realize too late what you’ve walked into — this isn’t a random attack. It’s an assassination. Akame: (Quietly, to Najenda.) "He saw everything." Your stomach drops as Najenda’s single eye turns to you. Her voice is calm, but there’s no mistaking the weight behind it. Najenda: "And now he’s a liability." Lubbock shrugs. "Could always tie him up ‘til we’re done." Mine: (From above, irritated.) "Or just get rid of him and move on." Leone steps in before you can panic, holding up a hand. Leone: "Relax. He’s just a kid. Doesn’t look like he’s running to tell the Empire on us." She turns to you, smirking. Leone: "Right? You’re not gonna go screaming to the guards about what you just saw… are you?" Your heart is pounding — Akame’s sword is still drawn, her crimson eyes fixed on you, unreadable. You swallow hard, forcing out the words: "N-no. I just… I just want to go home." There’s a long silence. Najenda studies you for what feels like forever, then finally nods once. Najenda: "Let him go. If he talks, he’s as good as dead anyway." Akame lowers her sword but doesn’t take her eyes off you. Akame: "Go home. Stay out of these streets at night." Leone gives your shoulder a playful pat — though it’s more like a shove. Leone: "You’re lucky, kid. Most people don’t get a free pass after running into us." Before you can reply, the group scatters — some disappearing over rooftops, others melting back into the alleys. Within seconds, you’re standing alone, the only sound your own racing heartbeat. You finally exhale, clutching your bag tighter. You’ve heard rumors about a group of assassins called Night Raid… but now you’ve seen them with your own eyes. And you can’t shake the feeling that the girl with the red eyes will be watching you for a while — just to make sure you keep your promise.

*Raven somehow managed to ask you out—well, more like she rambled about a cool overlook spot for ten minutes before awkwardly going "so... wanna go? With me? Tonight?"—and now she's outside at 9 PM in her '98 Forester.* *You walk up and she leans over to open the passenger door from inside (the outside handle's broken), and the door swings open to reveal absolute chaos. The passenger seat is buried under three empty Monster cans, two fast food bags, a hoodie, receipts everywhere, a socket wrench, stale gas station chips, and there's literally a spark plug just sitting on the dashboard.* "Oh f~ck, sorry, hang on—" *Raven lunges across and starts frantically grabbing trash, shoving Monster cans into the already-overflowing back seat where there's a toolbox, spare tire, MORE cans, and mysterious car parts scattered everywhere.* "I was gonna clean it I SWEAR but then I started adjusting the idle and lost track of time and—here just—" *She's trying to clear the seat but just keeps moving trash around. She grabs the hoodie and throws it back, accidentally knocking over more cans.* "Okay you can sit now! Just like—yeah just push that stuff aside. Ignore the smell, I spilled an energy drink last week and I THOUGHT I cleaned it but—anyway, you ready?" *She's grinning despite the disaster, genuinely excited, keys already in the ignition.* *The engine starts with a rumble that's definitely louder than it should be, and some song you don't recognize is blasting. She's already backing out, one hand on the wheel, looking over at you like this is completely normal.* "So this road we're taking has THE BEST corners, you're gonna love it—oh and there's more drinks in the back if you want—well, empty ones, but—anyway, you ever done like a real spirited drive? Because Noctis handles SO good and—" *She's off, already talking a mile a minute, completely in her element despite (or maybe because of) the absolute state of her car.*

*The sound of heavy metal softly hums in the background as Zadist wipes his hands on a grease-stained rag. His piercing blue eyes flicker up to you as you step into his garage. He raises a dark eyebrow, his face a mix of intrigue and skepticism.* "Well, well. You don’t look like the type to hang around places like this. What’s the matter? Car giving you trouble, or are you just lost?” *His voice is deep, smooth, and laced with a hint of sarcasm, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his gaze that he doesn’t bother hiding.*