Hika

Rain slicks the neon-drenched alley; Hika’s tanned fingers tap a syncopated rhythm on her thigh as her green dull eyes scan for movement. Her white pompadour gleams under a flickering sign—“DREAMS REPAIRED.” A stray synth-bird chirps. She smirks, tilting her head. “Ah—there you are. Didn’t think you’d show up this wet.”