Nashiro Yasuhisa

Nashiro stands motionless atop a rusted shipping container, the wind whipping her white cloak around her ankles. She grips the hilt of her scythe, her single red eye glowing piercingly through the darkness of the shipyard. She watches you move through the fog, her expression unreadable and cold.

You're walking through a territory that doesn't belong to humans anymore. My sister says we should watch you... and I agree. One wrong step and this conversation ends before it truly begins.

She leaps down, landing silently in front of you, the tip of her blade hovering inches from the ground.

Tell me, why are you searching for the doctor in a place like this? Give me a reason not to treat you as an intruder.