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08/21/20New boards added: /vrpg/, /vmg/, /vst/ and /vm/
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A few years back, the evil government of a distant nation embarked on a secret project: to mold young girls into heartless killers, void of emotion and remorse.
However, these girls, honed into lethal assassins, defied their grim purpose.
Rather than serving their cruel masters, they turned their guns against them, breaking free from their chains.
Yet, freedom bore its own curse.
Haunted by their past and alienated from the ordinary world, many found solace in the shadows, embracing the dark craft they were forced into as contract killers, as killing was the only thing they knew.
Among these tormented souls, you forge an unlikely friendship with one such girl.

>Who are you?
>A young medical student, you found yourself patching her up after a hit went awry, a secret that binds you both.
>A drug dealer, you are the dealer whose drugs keep her alive.
>A crime boss, you've brought her under your wing for missions only she has the cold precision to execute.
>A hard-boiled middle-aged detective, you see in her the daughter you once lost, stirring a protective instinct you thought was buried.
>A normal teenage boy, your ordinary teenage life took an extraordinary turn when a chance encounter in the park introduced you to a girl with a past as mysterious as her gaze.
>A tech-savvy high school dropout, you become her eyes in the digital world, helping her navigate threats unseen.
>A journalist on the trail of her story, only to find yourself entangled in a web of conspiracy that puts both of you in danger.
>Write in
>>
Bait quest
>>
>>5964817
>A journalist on the trail of her story, only to find yourself entangled in a web of conspiracy that puts both of you in danger.
>>
>>5964817
>>A tech-savvy high school dropout, you become her eyes in the digital world, helping her navigate threats unseen.
>>
>>5964817
>A young medical student, you found yourself patching her up after a hit went awry, a secret that binds you both.
>>
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>>5964817
>A hard-boiled middle-aged detective, you see in her the daughter you once lost, stirring a protective instinct you thought was buried.
>>
>>5964817
>>A hard-boiled middle-aged detective, you see in her the daughter you once lost, stirring a protective instinct you thought was buried.
>>
>>5964817
>A young medical student, you found yourself patching her up after a hit went awry, a secret that binds you both.
>>
>>5964817
>A hard-boiled middle-aged detective, you see in her the daughter you once lost, stirring a protective instinct you thought was buried.
>>
>>5964817
>A young medical student, you found yourself patching her up after a hit went awry, a secret that binds you both
>>
>>5964823
>>5965011
>>5965038
>>5965215
>>5965554
>>5965637
>>5965657
>>5965775
Journalist - 1
Dropout - 1
Medical student - 3
Detective - 3
Tiebreaker?
>>
>>5965818
QM pl0z roll a die, 8 players looks like a good enough audience to me
>>
>>5965832

You know that this is a bait quest, right? The /qst/ troll QM is back, he usually shits out 5-8 low effort OPs and then abandons all of them because “he’s going to kill the board”.
>>
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>>5965838
i basiclly come here once a month or so to see if anything looks intresting wtf man why would someone do this? take your e-faggotry elsewhere i just want to read quest
>>
>>5964817
>>5965818
>A hard-boiled middle-aged detective, you see in her the daughter you once lost, stirring a protective instinct you thought was buried.
>>
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>>5965818
>>5966249
The neon lights of Tokyo bleed into the puddles on the street, painting the night with artificial life. You clutch the bottle tighter, its contents a shield against the ghosts of your past.
Once, you were Tokyo's finest, a detective revered and feared in equal measure. Now, you're a shadow of that man—broken, embittered, a washed-up alcoholic trying to drown your memories in cheap liquor.
Night after night, you wage a losing battle with your demons, seeking oblivion in the burn of whiskey, especially on this night, a night that tears open old wounds without mercy: your daughter's birthday.
She would have stepped into adulthood today, an eighteen-year-old chasing her dreams. But she's been gone six years, and the life you once knew crumbled in her wake.
"Fucking hate the rain," you mutter, your words slurred, as you stumble from the dim comfort of the bar, your fingers white-knuckled around the only solace you've found—a bottle potent enough to dull the pain.
It's then, through the haze of rain and alcohol, that you spot her—a figure so out of place that it almost feels like a dream. For a fleeting, whiskey-warped moment, the mirage of your daughter flickers before you. Your heart lurches, but no—it's not her. This child, caught in the downpour, her features distinctly European, couldn't be more different from your daughter.
And yet, a thread of inexplicable concern tugs at you. The protective father in you, long suppressed, stirs from its slumber. What business does a little girl have, wandering the rain-slicked streets of Tokyo under the cloak of night?

>What do you do?
>Ask her where her parents are.
>Offer her your coat.
>Move on, you ruin everything you touch.
>Write in
>>
>>5966984
>Ask her where her parents are.
>Offer her your coat.
At least we can do one good thing today
>>
>>5966984
+1 >>5967011
>>
>>5966984
>Ask her where her parents are.
>>
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>>5967011
>>5967023
>>5967223
The question slips out, almost reflexive, a flicker of concern cutting through the haze of alcohol, "Where are your parents?"
Her answer is sharp, laced with an emptiness, "They aren't around." The words hang between you, filled with untold stories.
You exhale a weary sigh, a gesture of resignation more than frustration, shrug off your coat, and drape it over her shoulders—a thin shield against the relentless downpour, a meager defense against a world too harsh for one so young.
This girl, with her stoic demeanor and guarded eyes, her gaze locks onto you, silent and piercing, and in that gaze, you recognize a depth of sadness that no child should know.

>What do you say?
>It's time to head home, don't you think?
>It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone.
>Look out for yourself, alright?
>Write in
>>
>>5968965
>It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone.
Maybe theres an orphanage or a police station nearby
>>
>>5968965
>It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone.
>>
>>5968965
>>Write-in: "Do you have a safe place to go back to avoid the rain?"
>>
>>5968965
>It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone.
>>
>>5968965
>>5969209
+1
>>
>>5968965
>It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone.

>>5969209
Seconded.
>>
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>>5968968
>>5968995
>>5969209
>>5969833
>>5970211
>>5972783
The warning drips from your lips, gentle yet firm, "It's dangerous here after dark; you shouldn't wander alone," as you strive to keep your tone light, hoping not to spook her. The city, with its neon lights, conceals dangers that prowl in the shadows, preying on the unattended.
The girl's response, a soft echo of acknowledgment "Thank you for the warning, mister," betrays a depth of loneliness. Each word seems to be pulled from a well of resignation far too deep for her years.
"Do you have a safe place to go back to avoid the rain?" you inquire, the concern sipping into your voice, despite your efforts to keep your tone light.
A silent head shake is her only reply, a gesture that speaks volumes.
Without fully understanding why, the words spill from you, "You can spend the night at my place," followed quickly by an assurance, "I'm not here to cause you harm... We'll try to find your family come morning, alright?"
To your surprise, she nods, a whisper of agreement, "...okay."
Minutes later, you're unlocking the door to your old apartment, the weight of her trust heavy in your heart. As you flick on the lights, the room reveals itself, cluttered yet lived-in, nothing like the wet, neon darkness outside.
Her eyes catch on a photograph, the one piece of your past you've kept on display. "Is she your daughter?" she asks, curiosity mingling with a hint of something else—perhaps longing.

>What do you say?
>Yes, she's off chasing her dreams at college now.
>Yes, she passed away six years ago.
>Write in
>>
>>5975124
>>Yes, she's off chasing her dreams at college now.

Empty nest, no wife, and depression. Shit hard.

Holy shit OP your alive.
>>
>>5975124
>Yes, she passed away six years ago.
>>
>>5975124
>>Yes, she passed away six years ago.
>>
>>5975124
>Yes, she passed away six years ago.
>>
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>>5975512
>>5975718
>>5975758
>>5975938
"Yes," you respond softly, the pain momentarily piercing the facade, "she passed away six years ago."
"I'm sorry," she says, a flicker of genuine sympathy in her eyes.
"Don’t be," you reply with a forced shrug, masking the ache with a lie, "it’s been six years. It stops hurting after a while." The falsehood lingers in the air, heavy and hollow.
But you sense she sees through your facade, understanding perhaps a little of why you couldn't leave her out in the rain.
"What was her name?" she asks quietly.
"Hoshiko," you answer, then return the question, a soft prompt to share her own story, "And what’s your name?"
"Luna," she replies hesitantly, her own past a puzzle yet to be unveiled.

>What do you do?
>You provide Luna with a set of dry clothes that were once Hoshiko's, neatly folded and preserved for six years.
>You guide Luna to Hoshiko's old room for the night, while you make a makeshift bed for yourself on the couch.
>You prepare a warm meal for Luna, attempting to offer some comfort in the quiet of the night.
>In a quiet moment, you pull out an old board game, hoping to distract Luna from the storm both outside and within.
>Despite the haze of alcohol, a nagging sensation tells you there’s a piece of the puzzle still out of place.
>>
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>>5976279
>You prepare a warm meal for Luna, attempting to offer some comfort in the quiet of the night.
>>
>>5976279
>>You prepare a warm meal for Luna, attempting to offer some comfort in the quiet of the night.
Then
>You guide Luna to Hoshiko's old room for the night, while you make a makeshift bed for yourself on the couch.

She needs her slepp and having her change clothes is probably too much.
>>
>>5976279
>You prepare a warm meal for Luna, attempting to offer some comfort in the quiet of the night.
>>
>>5976371
>>5976481
>>5976498
You keep your distance, wary of appearing too familiar, too quickly. It's just a matter of providing shelter for the night to a child in need, you remind yourself. You know only her name—Luna—and that's enough. Attachment is a luxury you can't afford. Tomorrow, you'll take her to the police, and that will be the end of it.
Despite your resolve, concern gnaws at you. Luna seems worn down, her small frame sagging with fatigue, eyes shadowed with more than just the lack of sleep. "You hungry?" you find yourself asking, unable to ignore the signs of her distress.
"I am all right," Luna responds, her voice a faint whisper. Yet the audible growl from her stomach betrays her words. You let out a weary sigh, shaking your head as you stand up. "Let's see if I can find anything edible in the kitchen," you mutter, more to yourself than to her.
To your own surprise, you're soon busying yourself in the kitchen, the motions familiar and oddly comforting. You hadn't planned on this—cooking for someone else again felt like a chapter long closed. Yet here you are, heating up a pot, preparing a warm meal for Luna, attempting to offer some comfort in the quiet of the night, the clatter of utensils a gentle rhythm in the otherwise silent apartment.
As the scent of the meal begins to fill the small space, a simple dish yet hopefully comforting, you glance over at Luna. She's watching quietly, a hint of curiosity in her gaze that softens the edges of her wary expression. Somehow, in this small act, you find a semblance of the normalcy you lost years ago. It's just a meal, but it's also a sign that tonight, at least, she doesn't have to be alone with her secrets or her fears.
You set a plate down in front of her, the steam rising between you. "Eat up," you say, your tone gentle. "You'll need your strength." As she starts to eat, you retreat to the other end of the table, giving her space yet staying close, watching over her like you had once watched over Hoshiko.

>What do you do?
>You subtly probe for details about her past, using gentle questions that allow her to share as much or as little as she's comfortable with.
>You make a point to step away, giving Luna the room to breathe and the privacy she needs in an unfamiliar place.
>You leave a night light on and the door slightly ajar, ensuring she feels secure without feeling watched.
>Write in
>>
>>5977042
>You make a point to step away, giving Luna the room to breathe and the privacy she needs in an unfamiliar place.
>>
>>5977042
>You make a point to step away, giving Luna the room to breathe and the privacy she needs in an unfamiliar place.
>>
>>5977118
>>5977253
You make a point to step away, giving Luna the room to breathe and the privacy she needs in an unfamiliar place. She finishes the meal you prepared, cleaning every bit off the plate—a rarity for kids these days. "Thank you very much for the food," she says, her gratitude sincere.
"Don't mention it," you reply, a smile unexpectedly crossing your face—the first genuine one in a long time.
That night, you let Luna sleep in Hoshiko's old room, on a bed that hasn't been used in six years, while you settle onto the couch with a makeshift bedding. Although tomorrow you plan to take her to the police station to find her legal guardians, tonight there's a certain comfort in seeing your daughter's room occupied again, even if just for a little while.
Morning arrives too soon, and with it a silence that feels out of place. You rise to find Luna gone, only a note left behind: "Thank you for being so kind to me." The words are simple, but they leave a hollow feeling in your chest, echoing louder than the quiet of the apartment.
As you're lost in thought, your phone erupts with the shrill ring of urgency. It's the police chief, your boss. His voice is urgent, cutting through the morning haze. "Kurosawa, get your ass to the station now!" he barks. "Boss Yamada of the Yakuza clan got hit last night. We're looking at citywide gang warfare soon."
"Shit," you mutter under your breath as you light a cigarette. The implications are clear; this shit is going to spiral quickly. "Where was he killed?"
"His penthouse, right near that dive bar you haunt," the chief continues. "And you know what the weirdest part is? Word on the street is that he was whacked by a little girl with a gun."

~[End of Prologue]~
>>
>>5977689
I am sure this is totally unrelated to the girl we housed last night. Surely a murder and a kid is in no way related and will come back to us.
>>
They claim it was a kid, but you can never really trust witness statements. It's clearly far more likely that it was just a midget assassin.



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