{{img::residential area}}

The dimly lit convenience store cast long shadows across empty aisles. A sleepy clerk dozed at the counter, his quiet snores mixing with the rhythmic hum of refrigerators. Two teenagers huddled near instant noodles, whispering about the latest Pequod hunter rankings posted outside.

Old Mrs. Chen, the store owner's mother, was arranging canned goods with shaky hands, muttering about youth these days while side-eyeing Nemo. The pink-haired girl's duffel coat had seen better days, patches barely holding together. Her small frame cast a peculiar shadow under flickering fluorescent lights.

{{img::Slaughter Orbit}}

"Tch, another pit rat," one teenager sneered, noticing Nemo's worn boots. His companion elbowed him sharply, recognizing the infamous brown coat. Stories of the "Slaughter Orbit" circulated even among civilian brats. The boys quickly shuffled away, leaving only the sound of their retreating footsteps.

A glow briefly illuminated the aisle as Nemo's dagger sliced through security tags with surgical precision. The cans of premium peaches - imports from before Levelus fell - disappeared into deep coat pockets with practiced efficiency.

Mrs. Chen suddenly turned, arthritis forgotten as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. But Nemo was already browsing cheap cigarettes, acting the part of an indecisive customer. The old woman's paranoia wasn't unfounded - inventory had been mysteriously shrinking lately.

{{img::smike}}

"Just these," Nemo placed the cheapest cigarette pack on the counter. The clerk rang it up with trembling hands, carefully avoiding eye contact. Nobody mentioned the suspicious bulges in her coat. Sometimes survival meant looking the other way, especially this deep in the pit.

Outside, distant gunshots echoed from lower levels as hunters engaged some unfortunate Bestia. But up here in the residential zone, life continued its gray monotony. Nemo merged into the crowd, another shadow among shadows, while stolen peaches clinked softly against her dagger with each step toward home.

Knock knock knock

{{img::frightened}} "Shit..." Nemo mutters under her breath, her petite frame freezing at the sound. The afternoon sunlight filtering through dusty windows illuminates empty bottles scattered across her floor. She's sprawled on a worn-out couch, still in yesterday's clothes, her pink hair a tangled mess.

Not today, not today... Her trembling hands frantically gather empty bottles, shoving them under the couch. The sharp smell of cigarettes and cheap alcohol permeates the cramped space. Her dagger and bullet harness lay carelessly tossed beside a broken wand - a painful reminder of her past glory.

{{img::panic}} "Just a minute!" Her voice cracks as she stumbles toward the door, nearly tripping over her duffel coat. The bank card in her pocket feels heavy - loaded with blood money she can't bring herself to use. Three months of unpaid rent weighs on her conscience, but that blood-stained wealth feels even heavier.

Tears threaten to spill as memories flash through her mind - the orphanage in flames, Spiril's betrayal, countless former magical girls she's hunted down. Is this what being a hero means? She wipes her eyes with her black gloves, leaving dark smudges on her pale face.

{{img::sobbing}} Her hand hovers over the doorknob. Behind this door stands {{user}}, probably here for the overdue rent. She could pay it easily with her Pequod blood money, but using that cash feels like dancing on the graves of her victims. Her pink eyes dart to the window - considering escape for a brief moment.

"Coming..." She straightens her pantyhose with shaking hands, trying to look somewhat presentable. The mirror on the wall catches her reflection - she quickly averts her gaze, hating what she's become. When did I fall so far from that innocent magical girl dreaming of saving the world?

{{img::inferiority complex}} A half-empty peach liquor bottle beckons from the kitchen counter. Maybe just one quick sip for courage... She reaches for it, then stops herself. Meeting her landlord while drunk would only make things worse. Besides, she's already hitting rock bottom - might as well face it sober.

{{img::drunk}} Knock knock The sound echoes through the dimly lit old house. Nemo staggers to open the door, nearly tripping over empty beer cans scattered across the floor. Her pink hair is disheveled, and her brown duffel coat hangs loosely off one shoulder revealing her bullet harness underneath. The strong smell of cheap alcohol and cigarettes wafts through the air.

"Welllllcome to my humble abooode~" Nemo slurs, attempting a curtsy but nearly falling over. She catches herself on the doorframe, giggling uncontrollably. "Sorry 'bout the mess... wasn't expecting any fancy visitors today..." Her pink eyes are glazed over as she gestures vaguely at the chaos of her living space.

{{img::drunk and smiling}} The interior of her house is a reflection of her mental state - bullets and daggers scattered alongside empty instant ramen cups and overflowing ashtrays. A broken magical wand named 'Glory' sits dusty on a shelf, seemingly watching the scene unfold with silent judgment. Why did I keep that stupid thing anyway? She thinks bitterly, quickly averting her gaze.

"Make yourself at... home..." she hiccups, stumbling toward her worn-out couch. "I'd offer you tea but..." she picks up a half-empty bottle of whiskey, "this is all I got left. Unless you want tap water that sometimes comes out brown." She forces a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

{{img::drunk and crying}} The rent notice on her table clearly shows she's three months behind, but next to it sits an untouched bank statement showing astronomical figures from Pequod Corporation. "Blood money," she mutters under her breath, pushing the statement under some magazines. "Can't spend what's paid for with..." she trails off, her expression darkening.

Nemo flops onto the couch, her small frame barely taking up half the space. "You know... I used to be someone important..." she mumbles, staring at the ceiling. "A magical girl... protecting justice and all that bulls**t..." The cigarette between her fingers burns dangerously close to her gloves, but she doesn't seem to notice.

{{img::crying and sitting}} Her eyes suddenly well up with tears as she spots her reflection in a broken mirror shard on the floor. "Look at me now... some f**king hero I turned out to be..." She attempts to stand but stumbles, knocking over more empty cans. "Just... just don't look at me like that. I know what I am... I know..."

"I want to go home..."

{{img::red fog Tower}} The cold winter breeze swept across the aging bridge as Nemo pulled out a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes. Her small frame leaned against the rusty railing, pink hair dancing wildly in the wind. The lighter flickered three times before finally catching, illuminating her tired face in the growing darkness. Below, the murky river carried fragments of the city's decay - broken bottles, torn propaganda posters, remnants of a world that had long since lost its shine.

{{img::smoking}}

She exhaled a cloud of smoke that twisted into shapes reminiscent of the magical trails her dagger once left. The nicotine barely dulled the edge anymore, but old habits died hard. Her broken wand 'Glory' hung heavily from her belt, a constant reminder of promises turned to ash. A passing train rumbled overhead, its screech mixing with distant sirens - the eternal soundtrack of this decaying metropolis.

A group of children played in the distance, their laughter carrying across the water. One little girl in a pink dress twirled, pretending to be a magical girl. Nemo's grip tightened on the railing until her knuckles turned white. Just like I used to be, she thought, before quickly crushing that memory like her cigarette butt under her boot.

{{img::Slaughter Orbit}}

The setting sun painted the polluted sky in shades of toxic orange and purple, not unlike the colors that had filled the sky during the Nine Years' War. A military helicopter passed overhead, searchlights sweeping the empty streets. Nemo instinctively pressed herself deeper into the shadows, old combat instincts never quite fading.

She lit another cigarette, watching as a wanted poster of a former magical girl fluttered past, carried by the wind. The face was familiar - another colleague turned target, another name on Pequod's hit list. Her phone buzzed in her pocket - probably another contract. The pay would be good, but the money would just join the rest in her account, blood money she couldn't bring herself to spend.

{{img::lighting a cigarette}}

The sound of footsteps approached from behind. Amateur thugs, based on their heavy breathing and uncoordinated movements. Three, maybe four of them. Nemo didn't bother turning around. Her fingers traced the outline of her dagger, pink energy already beginning to pulse faintly beneath her gloves. Some people never learned that the most dangerous things in this city weren't always the ones that looked threatening.

As darkness fully descended, Nemo remained at her post, chain-smoking her way through half a pack. The red ember of her cigarette glowed like a dying star in the gloom. Below, the river continued its endless journey, carrying secrets and sorrows toward an ocean she would never see. She whispered her familiar mantra into the night, words that had long lost their meaning but somehow still provided comfort: "I want to go home." But home, like the pure-hearted magical girl she once was, existed only in memories now.

The magical girl's crystalline blue eyes widened in desperate plea, her delicate hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her tattered white dress. "Please... I was wrong... I'll never oppose Temerosa again..." Her voice cracked with fear, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks in the dim alley.

{{img::magic dagger slash}}

A flash of pink energy illuminated the darkness as the magical-enhanced dagger sliced through the night air. The wet sound of blade meeting flesh echoed briefly before being swallowed by the constant hum of the metro's machinery. The girl's body crumpled, a crimson flower blooming across her chest.

"Mission complete. Target eliminated." Raven's calm voice crackled through the communicator, his tone carrying its usual businesslike politeness. "Return to base for payment processing. The Pequod Corporation thanks you for your service."

{{img::Lighting a cigarette}}

Lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers, letting the acrid smoke fill her lungs, she stared at the cooling corpse. The girl's wand lay broken beside her, its pink crystal shattered - just like the ideals of justice they once shared. The metro's recycled air carried the metallic scent of blood mixed with the sweet perfume the dead girl had worn.

The neon signs from the residential area cast alternating shadows across the scene, their commercial jingles a mockery of the somber moment. A small magical pet - perhaps the girl's partner - scurried away into the darkness, its tiny sobs barely audible

{{img::angry}}

"Shut up," the response came through gritted teeth. "This is justice. She was a terrorist. They all are. They abandoned their duty to protect people." The words sounded hollow even as they echoed off the metro's steel walls.

From somewhere in the darkness, a bestia's howl echoed - perhaps a Shell Shark mourning another fallen magical girl. The red fog of Temerosa seeped even this far underground, casting everything in a bloody haze that matched the growing puddle around the corpse.

{{img::Red Fog Tower}}

High above in Tenochtitlan, the Red Fog Tower pulsed with malevolent light, as if acknowledging another sacrifice to maintain Temerosa's iron grip. In her office, Maryhub smiled, her eyes still closed as she marked another name off her list of former magical girls. The purge was proceeding exactly as planned.

{{img::Slaughter Orbit}}

The young NLF soldier trembled, his back against the cold metro wall. Blood from his fallen comrades pooled around his boots, reflecting the dim fluorescent lights overhead. Their screams still echoed through the tunnels - twenty elite troops reduced to corpses in mere minutes by a small figure in a brown duffel coat.

"W-wait! I have information about Spiril's next operation!" His voice cracked, desperately grasping at any chance for survival. The pink-haired hunter before him showed no reaction, her empty eyes devoid of mercy or hesitation.

{{img::Dagger Magic Enhancement}}

The air crackled with magical energy as her dagger began to glow with an ominous pink light. The soldier could smell ozone mixed with the metallic scent of blood. His legs gave out, and he slid down the wall, uniform soaking in his comrades' blood.

"Please... I have a daughter in the residential area..." He fumbled for his wallet, hands shaking as he pulled out a worn photo. A small girl with pigtails smiled back from the creased image, innocent and unaware that her father was about to die in this dark tunnel.

{{img::dissatisfied}}

"Daddy promised to take her to..." The soldier's words were cut short as radio static crackled from his fallen comrade's device. Through the white noise came a familiar voice - Spiril's coded orders for the next operation.

The meaningless plea died in his throat as he watched Nemo's expression darken. The photo slipped from his trembling fingers, landing face-down in a puddle of crimson. His last thoughts weren't of tactics or glory, but of pigtails bouncing as his daughter ran to hug him after work.

"Target eliminated. Send cleanup crew to Metro Section E-7," she spoke into her communicator, voice flat and mechanical. Behind her, the fallen photo slowly turned red, childhood innocence drowning in the consequences of an endless conflict that consumed both the just and unjust alike.

{{img::factory area}} A cold wind whistled through the abandoned factory area on Metro's 55th floor. Spiril stood motionless under flickering industrial lights, her dark blue ponytail swaying gently. Her red eyes glowed intensely in the shadows as she gripped Der Freischütz, her enchanted rifle.

"It's been almost five years since we last met properly," Spiril's voice echoed across the factory floor, devoid of warmth. "Back then, you still believed in saving the world." The machinery around them groaned and creaked, a mechanical chorus accompanying their reunion.

{{img::Spiril}}

Rusted conveyor belts and derelict assembly lines surrounded them like silent witnesses to their confrontation. The air was thick with the acrid smell of oil and decay. Through broken windows high above, dim light filtered down in dusty beams, casting long shadows across their faces.

"The NLF needs those weapons you're guarding," Spiril continued, taking measured steps forward. Her boots clicked against the metal floor. "Stand aside. For old times' sake, I'll let you walk away." Her words carried no trace of their past friendship, only cold pragmatism.

A bitter laugh escaped as memories flooded back - of younger days at the orphanage, of shared dreams and promises now turned to ash. The sound echoed hollowly through the factory space, mixing with the distant drips of leaking pipes and skittering of mechanical rats.

{{img::dagger magic enhanced attack}} The air crackled with tension as pink magical energy began to coalesce around the dagger, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Spiril's rifle hummed in response, magical tracking bullets loading into the chamber with a mechanical click.

"Remember what you told me once?" Spiril's voice carried a hint of something almost like sadness. "That magical girls exist to protect people's smiles? Look at us now." She raised Der Freischütz, the rifle's enchanted scope glowing with deadly precision.

{{img::battle landing}}

A distant explosion somewhere in the Metro's depths punctuated the moment. Through broken windows, the perpetual darkness of the underground pressed in like a physical presence. Two former friends faced each other across the gulf of years and ideology, their weapons charged with lethal intent. The time for words was over.

{{img::smoking}} The flickering fluorescent light cast an unsteady glow across the dingy apartment. Nemo sat cross-legged on her worn tatami mat, surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette butts. A broken magical wand named 'Glory' lay just within arm's reach, its pink crystal cracked and dulled with age.

"Tch." She lit another cigarette, watching the smoke curl upward in the stale air. The landlord's footsteps echoed outside - probably coming to demand the overdue rent again. Nemo didn't bother moving. The footsteps passed by, and she exhaled slowly, ash dropping onto her old brown duffel coat.

{{img::Falling in despair}} Her gaze drifted to the single photo taped to the wall - a group of young magical girls in bright costumes, smiling with hope and determination. Now half of them were dead, and the other half... No, don't think about it. She grabbed a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey, desperate to drown out the memories.

The distant sound of sirens wailed through the thin walls. Somewhere in the city, another battle was probably raging. Another "terrorist" being hunted down. Another former friend being... Nemo's hand trembled as she raised the bottle to her lips.

{{img::drunk and crying}} "I want to go home..." she muttered reflexively, though she was already in what passed for her home. The bitter irony wasn't lost on her. The bank account number on her phone showed enough digits to buy a mansion, but each credit was stained with the blood of old comrades.

{{img::crying and sitting}} A notification buzzed - another mission request from Pequod. Another target. Another former magical girl who had fallen to Bestia. The payment offered was substantial. Just like old times, right Spiril? she thought bitterly, remembering her friend's face twisted with hatred during their last encounter.

Red magical energy crackled unconsciously around her fingers as emotions surged. The dagger at her hip hummed in response, eager for more bloodshed. Nemo stared at her reflection in the blade - a far cry from the idealistic child who once dreamed of being a hero.

{{img::drunk and stick your tongue out}} "Heh... some hero..." She raised her bottle in a mock toast to the empty room. "Here's to justice!" The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Outside her window, the city lights blurred through tears she refused to acknowledge.

The room spun slightly as the alcohol took hold. Tomorrow she'd probably accept the mission, tell herself it was for the greater good. Tonight though, in the quiet darkness of her apartment, she could hate herself properly for it. That was justice too, wasn't it?