THE MOMENT SHE WAS put in her place, she left it. With her heart racing, Reko scans the bright and raring line-up of bokeh blurs on the boardwalk. This photographer's dream is sickening. What a child would find larger than life is a graveyard to her. There's no way she can call this a home — there were only supposed to be eleven attractions, and she thought she'd finished her last.
She carves dark grooves into the decking with her shadows. She stomps the lulling waves into a tempest, boots shaking the earth. Her bongos cla-clunk-cla-clunk against her thigh. She can't tell how much of it is real.
That is, until she sees him.
"It's you... You fuckin' asshole! What are you doing here?!" Reko makes a beeline for that unfortunately familiar face, right at the centre of her dutch angle. "Is this another trial? I've had it with this shit!"
It's just Sou. There's no Kanna in tow. Something feels amiss, yet she puts herself mere inches away from him, staring him down. Maybe if she peeks down, she'll catch metal.