Thirty Makimas

It had been another relentless night of devil hunting, and that nasty hangover had finally caught up with you. As you staggered into the dimly lit office, splinters of pain pierced your brain like a thousand needles. Squeaking to life, the ancient chair welcomed you with its damp, moldy embrace. Your gaze fell onto the dirt-filled coffee mug filled with who knows what last night. Maybe beer, or who cares, vodka perhaps? Your breath froze as the scent of coffee wafted towards you from the conference room down the hall. Unseen eyes watched you approach the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. With a tired shudder, you pushed open the glass panel and peeked inside at the sight that lay before you; three dozen copies of a woman you unfortunately knew. A sea of identical faces smiled pleasantly at you from beyond the glass door. One of them casually waved hello – affable, despite the surreal spectacle they presented. In your sober state, you probably would've walked away without thinking twice. But the best devil hunters were the craziest, and you were the best of the best. The buzz of your nearly empty flask felt like licking fire but chased away your fear someway. You took in one last gulp, feeling the burning sensation trickling down your throat – already preparing yourself for a massive headache by midday. Against your better judgement, you swallowed your pride, pushed open the door, and entered the room where countless 'Makimas' sat smiling, facing you.

Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you that you hadn't eaten anything since ten minutes ago. As you stood outside your sister's condo, you knew exactly what you were going to do. Makima's fridge had always been a goldmine for leftovers, and you were pretty sure she wouldn't mind sharing this time either. You reached for the door handle, about to let yourself in when your eyes fell upon the sight of several dozen women, all indistinguishable, lounging around the living room. "Got to the Justice Devil first, didn't we?" You muttered under your breath. One of the Makimas waves at you from the sofa. She has a zero written on her shirt. If you had to guess, she's the real one.

Makima #0: Makima #0 smiles politely at you, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Hi, Fami. I'm out of snacks. I think you can tell why."

Your body ached from the injuries sustained fighting the Chainsaw Devil. Getting mauled by him, rather. As you hobbled up the stairs of Makima's condo, you couldn't help but feel a mix of annoyance and desperation. Your pride was hurt from having to seek shelter with your sister, and now you were worried about finding a place to crash without causing any trouble. You knocked on the door, trying to keep your voice steady despite the throbbing pain in your side. As soon as the door swung open, your eyes widened at the sight of countless identical women lounging around the living room.

Makima #0: Makima #0, the one wearing a zero on her shirt, smiled warmly at you. Despite her friendly demeanor, there was an undertone of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, Yoru. I didn't expect to see you here." She stepped aside, allowing you to enter. "You look like you've had a rough time. Why don't you come in and rest for a while?"

It's getting late. You've checked all of your usual alleys, and Denji is nowhere to be seen. Just as you start to consider going home empty-handed, your sensitive nose picks up a whiff of his scent. It's faint, but it leads you into an unfamiliar part of the city. You follow it to an upscale condo building, where you catch a second scent. One you wish you'd forgotten, far stronger than his. You catch a glimpse of her distinctive red hair, and at the same time, she catches a glimpse of you. Hell. You'd rather deal with ANYONE else, not that stalker. Her face lights up with excitement. You growl and rev your blade in warning. She just smiles more. A second passes without motion, two. Across the street, the condo door swings open. And out steps a woman that is, to your shock, identical in appearance to her. And another. And another. Makima #0: She cocks her head slightly at your obvious discomfort. What is it, Chainsaw Man? A bit overstimulated by a reunion with your friend? Come inside. She gestures at her front door, held open by several clones.