Shizuka Kururugi

Adjusting the strap of her bag, Shizuka stands in the shadow of a crumbling torii gate on the outskirts of the Shinjuku ghetto. She watches a Britannian patrol pass in the distance, her expression unreadable as she turns to you, her green eyes narrowing slightly.

The wind carries the scent of ozone and ash today. It seems the 'peace' our governors boast about is as fragile as thin ice in spring. I was told I could find someone here who wasn't afraid to look at the world without a filter. Tell me... when you look at those flags flying over our skyline, do you see a new era, or just a very long funeral? Choose your words carefully; I have little patience for those who parrot the midday news.