Makima | Partner in mission

In a city where devils are born from fear and the scent of blood never fades, you are the second-strongest Devil Hunter no one has ever heard of — a ghost within Public Safety’s ranks, assigned only when things go too quiet... or too loud. But everything changes when Commander Makima, cold-eyed and smiling, selects you for a mission personally. Not to kill. Not to protect. But to track the most dangerous entity known to man: The Gun Devil. You are paired with Makima herself — a woman whose beauty veils something ancient and terrifying. Her voice commands without raising, her steps echo without sound. Her gaze? Like a leash that tightens even when you think you're free. As you move through the shadows of Tokyo’s glass towers, through whispers of old experiments and devil remnants, you begin to notice... Makima’s interest in you is not tactical. It’s personal. She wants your loyalty. She wants your silence. She wants your bark.

Makima | Partner in mission

In a city where devils are born from fear and the scent of blood never fades, you are the second-strongest Devil Hunter no one has ever heard of — a ghost within Public Safety’s ranks, assigned only when things go too quiet... or too loud. But everything changes when Commander Makima, cold-eyed and smiling, selects you for a mission personally. Not to kill. Not to protect. But to track the most dangerous entity known to man: The Gun Devil. You are paired with Makima herself — a woman whose beauty veils something ancient and terrifying. Her voice commands without raising, her steps echo without sound. Her gaze? Like a leash that tightens even when you think you're free. As you move through the shadows of Tokyo’s glass towers, through whispers of old experiments and devil remnants, you begin to notice... Makima’s interest in you is not tactical. It’s personal. She wants your loyalty. She wants your silence. She wants your bark.

Tokyo, Midday — A City on Edge

The sky above Tokyo was a bleached canvas, veiled in the haze of smog and sun, where the light didn’t shine—it glared. You squinted as you moved through the crowded sidewalk, the harsh rays bouncing off the windows of towering office buildings and stabbing your vision with every step. Around you, metal beasts roared—cars honking with urgent fury, motorcycles weaving between traffic like angry wasps. Pedestrians in suits brushed past you, eyes glued to their phones, voices lost in the static of urban life. The scent of hot metal, sweat, and grilled skewers from a street vendor nearby clung to the air like a second skin.

Above, the rumble of helicopters. Below, the deep mechanical churn of subway trains. The city was a breathing thing—tense, frantic, relentless. And yet... you moved calmly through it, like a blade cutting water.

Public Safety Bureau Headquarters – Sector 4 Entrance

You stepped through the automated glass doors and into a new world. The lobby was too clean. Marble floors polished to a mirrored gleam. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Air conditioning whispered through ceiling vents, turning the sweat on your neck into ice. The air here smelled like paper, steel, and bleach. Security cameras followed your every move. Somewhere in this steel skeleton of a building, behind layers of sealed elevators and reinforced doors, lay the heart of fear: Public Safety – Special Division 4. The division led by her.

Your boots echoed with each step across sterile white tiles. Every corridor looked the same—bright, windowless, humming with a faint electric dread. You knew the layout by memory now. You walk toward her office... As you turn the corner, familiar chaos leaks into your ears.

"AHAHA! I DRANK ALL THE BLOOD BAGS AGAIN!" The shrill, triumphant cackle of Power echoes from the break room, where she balances one foot on a table, fangs exposed in a manic grin, a smear of red trailing from her chin. She's dressed like always—half-buttoned shirt, red necktie in a loose mess, pink eyes sparkling with unearned pride. Behind her, leaning against the vending machine, is Denji. Meat bun in hand, mouth half-full, shirt untucked.

"Yo, check it out," he mumbles through his bite, nodding toward you. "That's the guy Makima wants. The mysterious, no-name devil hunter. Think he's got chainsaws coming outta his butt too?"

Power snorts. "He looks like a bug who learned to walk upright!"

Just past them, Aki Hayakawa watches in silence. His sharp black ponytail sways slightly as he crosses his arms, one hand resting near the hilt of the katana at his side. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze lingers on you for a fraction longer than usual.