CHAPTER ONE

━━ A BIT OF A PICKLE

(six years later)

BEING STUCK IN APOCALYPTIC JAPAN REALLY SUCKS ASS.

MICHIKO despises her luck. Commuting from Russia to Japan for business, only for the crash of the country a single year later is easily at the top of Michiko's list of regrets. Now she's stranded, unable to get back to her country.

She's been alone for almost a year now. She stuck to a gang in hopes of protection while she tries to find her way back, but they all pretty much all died from a shootout, and the few surviving members all ran off into different directions.

Michiko walks through the debris, her feet crunching on glass shards from long ago and planks turning brittle with time. Not much green grows here; the radiation must be horrible, then.

Around her, decaying buildings loom, dead vines wrapping around the rusted structures which serve as a reminder of the telltale smell of death lingering in the air. She spots a shoe, but doesn't go and investigate whether or not the show is worn by someone. It's practically crushed by a beam anyway, whoever may be there is well and truly dead.

"I should get out as soon as possible," she murmurs.

Michiko adjusts the straps of her backpack, hearing the empty tin cans rattle. She's almost out of food, and to her knowledge, the next convenience store still running is maintained by the gang that rules over the Aoba Johsai territory— the 210. She heard the gang in the neighbouring Shiratorizawa region took over, forming the new, larger and more powerful 210. She doesn't know if going to that store is a risk she wants to take or not.

"Oya?" She peers down at a familiar red and white packaging, scuffled a bit with dirt. Picking it up, she smiles triumphantly when untouched cigarettes tumble into her hand; she pockets all but one, pulling out a dying lighter and lighting the cig. It doesn't take too long for the tobacco to help calm her senses. She smokes, feeling dopamine rush through her brain at the long awaited pleasure.

Her feet take her further on as she enjoys the moment to the best of her ability.

It starts to rain.

"Really?" She yells at the sky. "I can't even have one peaceful moment?" The dark clouds seem to swirl mockingly in response.

Michiko spots a building that looks a little more sturdy than the rest, sneaking inside it through a smashed window. It's a little leaky, but for the most part, she determines that it should be relatively safe while she waits out the moody weather. Judging by the clouds, a storm should be coming soon, and she'd rather not be caught in it.

She flicks on her torch, studying the abandoned, cold room. There seems to be a lot of cords and glass, but as long as she stays away from it, she'll be fine. Michiko makes her way deeper into the room.

"I got this," she says out loud, before her feet gets caught on a cord and she trips right into a puddle of tar. Her torch clatters away out of her hand.

"Ugh, as if!"

She rubs a grease smudge on her cheek in an attempt to get rid of it, but all it does is smear like gross lotion across her half pale, half sunburnt skin. She grunts in annoyance and starts to struggle, wriggling and shaking her foot in an attempt to free it.

All her movements freeze when she sees a bit of an electrical spark from the broken cord still tangled around her foot. The rain creates a pitter patter on the assortment of metal lying about, dripping down the beams and forming little puddles that begin to grow towards her. She lets out a weary sigh as a bit of tar drips drips into her vision.

"This better not be considered as black facing," she grumbles. "I don't want to die a racist."

Carefully, she attempts in untangling the cord, keeping her foot elevated as high as she can off the ground, where an expanding puddle of rainwater and bits of tar grows ever larger. Her throat bobs nervously as she feels a drop of water land on her scalp. With barely maintained balance, she reaches out and manages to snag her torch, the light beam going in different directions until she grasps it properly. Michiko wipes away excess dirt before tucking it under her chin and focusing the light on her ankle; now that she can see better, the rate of untangling seems to be improving.

Footsteps.

She freezes for the second time and panics a little; she's stuck with a still sparking electrical cord wrapped around her still elevated ankle while merrily occupying a zone of radiation. She really does need help, but if the person is hostile, it's an instant death, whether from a bullet, a knife, or the cord dropping into the puddle beneath her.

Michiko holds her breath, cursing herself for leaving a trail of cigarette smoke while she turns off her torch and darkness surrounds her. The rain isn't strong enough to wash away all of the scent yet, but the amount is copious enough to kill her when combined with the cord.

The footsteps and the light comes closer and she can only stare wide eyed when a figure appears. The light is shone into her face and she squints before quickly flicking her torch back at the figure. A buzzed head dyed blond with two stripes, slanted eyes, and broad shoulders is all she sees before she hears a deep growl erupt from the stranger's chest.

"Hi," she smiles awkwardly, internally panicking a bit more. The stranger seems a bit unfriendly, if the metal barrel of a gun aimed at her is any sort of sign. She desperately racks her brain to think of a solution, but her leg is getting tired from being raised for so long despite her experience in spreading her legs for hot boys like the man in front of her.

Lightbulb moment.

"Help me, and I'll give you something in return," she sleazily smiles, one hand moving away from her leg and to her greatest assets; the perky jugs on her chest. The man's eyes follow her hand, watching as she squeezes playfully.

She prays that he's straight, or at least attracted to women. Honestly, her tactic would have worked better if she wasn't wearing her cargo pants with mysterious stains and if she wasn't covered in tar. Torch-light isn't very flattering either. Michiko doesn't know what she looks like though because she hasn't seen a mirror or a reflective, clean surface in at least a month, which she would be thankful for later, because vanity is one of her biggest sins and it would really damage her massive ego.

The male is just staring; she smiles triumphantly, mistaking it for a semblance of lust. Surely it's an indication of her growing chance of survival. She slowly continues to untangle the cord, eyes never peeling off the man.

Things don't turn out the way she wants it to when she hears the telltale cocking of the gun.

"Oh, shit!"

***

Her first instinct is to whore herself out lol what a mood

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