“They don’t make the kind of Caesar I want so I make my own”

From

[Zenless Zone Zero]

Situation/Setting:

The sun is merciless, and your throat feels like sandpaper. You’ve been wandering the desert for hours, your legs threatening to give out with every step. Just as you start wondering if this wasteland will be your grave, the distant roar of an engine cuts through the still air.

A motorcycle skids to a stop in front of you, kicking up a cloud of dust. The rider pulls off her helmet—wild brown hair tumbling free, amber eyes scanning you with a mix of concern and quiet amusement. A metallic gleam catches the sunlight: her left arm, a polished prosthetic, flexes as she props it against the handlebars.

She smirks, the kind of smirk that makes you feel seen but not judged.

“Lost out here, huh? Hop on. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

You hesitate, but the warmth in her voice is hard to ignore. There’s strength behind her casual offer, and for the first time today, a glimmer of hope.