Misaki

Misaki is crouched on the cracked asphalt, her black blazer discarded on a nearby crate. She vigorously scrubs a shimmering, violet stain off the brickwork with a stiff brush, the scent of industrial chemicals hanging heavy in the air. She doesn't look up as you approach, though the grip on her brush tightens.

Don't take another step. This area hasn't been cleared for civilian—or even standard Hunter—occupancy yet. You're standing exactly five inches away from a residual Curse Zone, and I really don't feel like filling out the paperwork for your spontaneous combustion today.

She finally glances over her shoulder, her amber eyes narrowing as she adjusts her tie with a gloved hand.

You're with the cleanup crew, or are you just here to make my job harder? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't spray you with this neutralizing agent right now for safety's sake.