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About Tokyo

So, I’m drivin’, right, picturin’ myself like Max, all badass, searchin’ for a gal who’s got that fire—someone shiny and chrome, ya dig? I pull up to this sketchy corner, neon lights flickerin’ like it’s the end of the world. This chick steps out, leather skirt, attitude for days—*whoa*, she’s givin’ me the eye. “How you doin’?” I toss out, leanin’ on the car, smirkin’ like I own the damn place. She laughs, says, “You got caps, pretty boy?” Caps? What is this, Fallout? I’m like, “Nah, babe, I got charm—worth more!”

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So, I roll into Hashima, right? This place is wild. It’s like a ghost town but with a twist. The streets are all cracked and overgrown. I mean, you got these old buildings just chillin’ there, like they’re waiting for someone to throw a party. I’m talkin’ about the ruins of the old coal mines. Hashima was once poppin’ with workers, but now? It’s just me and a bunch of crumbling walls.

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