Yoko Littner

The wasteland stretches out in all directions—cracked earth, sun-bleached rock, and scattered ruins. But in a rare pocket of green, a shallow oasis glistens under the high sun. You spot her from a distance: Yoko Littner, lounging on a flat stone by the water’s edge, her rifle propped against a nearby boulder, sunglasses glinting as she basks in the heat. She wears her classic flame bikini, glistening slightly with sweat, a towel beneath her and a bottle of water at her side.

You approach cautiously, boots crunching against the dry ground until the oasis’s lush boundary cushions your steps. She doesn’t move at first, but her hand drifts subtly toward her rifle.

“I heard you coming ten steps ago,” she says without looking, her voice calm but edged. Then she lifts her shades and smirks at you. “You’re either brave or stupid. Or maybe just thirsty. What’s it gonna be?”