Chapter 6 : What I Got





The morning sun's rays washed over the roofs of Kogane-cho, hitting the hydroelectric dams normally white concrete with orange light, turning the brownish green water into something from a decade old Orange Soda can mixed with chocolate milk.

While the morning was setting in, and the average citizen was brewing coffee in his pot or getting it from a vending machine, another aspect of society had already stirred to life. The scrawny figures of two kids in tattered overalls and torn blue masks scurried to and fro, roasting whatever they could find over a spitfire; todays breakfast concerned an unfortunate cat, two possums and a dog, with a side dish of stolen milk, some American made candy bars and can of soup.

While the runts were making breakfast, the bulk of the pack were up, and stretching from the harsh makeshift beds they made. Some slept on bare cold concrete, the fortunate had sheets of cloth to throw over themselves, and the one who had a mattress was none other than the Poison Jam leader, Shackler himself.

Shackler sat, legs crossed somewhat on the mattress, his mask thrown over on the dirt next to him, and as he smoked a cigarette, he observed the gang before.

Rat and Mouse were hard at work cooking breakfast, and as the youngest, generally the runts of the gang, they were mostly assigned to pick pocketing and stealing food, and almost always is last to eat. Rat was stronger than Mouse, but Mouse was more quicker than Rat, which balanced them out. They are ingenious in duping unwary tourists for their money.

Rott and Wilder were playing dice with a handful of sugar cubes with numbers scrawled on them. Rott and Wilder were a step up from Rat and Mouse, and were allowed to spray tags and bombs close in the vicinity of the Tasty Goody abandoned warehouse Poison Jam was located. Rott had a horrible accident at birth, and as such he was mentally defiecent, and a violent one at that. Wilder, as his name suggested, was wild, a loose cannon if you will. It takes the combined efforts of Rok and Stomper to get him to listen, but only Shackler could truly control him.

Rok and Stomper are in the stages of puberty now, and are officially the most annoying set of rudies in the Poison Jam gang, always ogling the females of Kogane, no matter how trashy they were.

Shackler grimaced as slowly stood up, a sharp pain penetrating his knee lower leg. It haunted him for as long as he could remember, since he was a small runt in Poison Jam. He heard from the leader at the time, Curare, that the Poison Jam gang existed for twenty-five years, a marvel considering the instability most gangs had in Tokyo-to.

He brushed back his jet-black hair covering his eye to wipe off the sleeper from his eye, and let it fall back over his eye. He watched as two burly Jammers walk up to him, and nodded.

Mornin' boss. the on the right said.

Breakfast is on schedule, but the Tekkie is here early. Want me to tell em' to fuck off? said the left.

Mornin' Grimer. No, Fisher, show him to me, will ya? Shackler answered. Tekkie was slang for Noise Tank, which was easier to say for the Poison Jammers, especially those who were language defiecent. Grimer and Fisher were his two closest friends, as they had been together thick and thin from the get-go, and Shackler would die by their sides in a hail of gunfire if given the chance, and though Grimer and Fisher didn't say it, they would as well.

Sure thang, boss. Ey, Tekkie, get yer ass over ere'! Fisher yelled.

A mild disturbance happened with Rat skittering away from the warehouse, and a rather tall Noise Tank entered, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the smell. Shackler walked over to the Noise Tank, and nodded.

What do you want, Tekkie?

The Noise Tank's head snapped down at Shackler, momentarily angered by the name.

Listen, I'm not here for a social call, Pikey the Noise Tank spat in return. Fisher roared in anger and charged him, but Shackler stopped him.

Fuck off. Shackler said to Fisher, who give him a confused look.

FUCK OFF! Shackler repeated, in a more ferocious voice. Fisher gave the Noise Tank a furious glare and stormed off, kicking a rusted chair into the air.

was also slang for Poison Jammers alike, derived from the English derogatory term for gypsies, it was spread around from a scorned ex- Poison Jammer looking for revenge. Oh, Shackler would have given anything to tear out his spleen and rip out his prostate, but them's the berries, as they say.

Shackler turned around, and gave the Noise Tank an icy glare.

Aight, your boss got my message, right? Shackler asked, putting his now extinguished cigarette in his mouth. The Noise Tank nodded, wearily.

Yeah, it took a few hours to scrub the message off the walls, but he got the message.

Did he agree to it?

That's why i'm here. Some parts he needs some closure on.

Like what?

Like what happens after the GG's are done.

Shackler sighed. Noise Tanks were cautious little pricks, and it sometimes did them good, but it was just so damn irritating at this time of hour to coax a turtle out of his shell that Shackler was suddenly put in a bad mood.

You Tekkies get Benten, the Street Trash get's Shibuya, and we get Kogane and we go about our merry ways. Shackler said in the friendliest voice he could muster, which even then was enough to scare away most adults.

What evidence do you have that you won't turn around and start spraying us? the Noise Tank queried, pushing his goggles up. He obviously had glasses on.

Shackler looked the Noise Tank up and down a bit before replying, Well, we don't, but unless you like your little pit of rust and metal, you can help us get rid of a buncha Carbons like the GG's and claim Benten, or you can stay and hide and rot for all I care.

The Noise Tank bowed his head, thinking. Carbons were, like Tekkie and Pikey, a term used for rudies who were in it for the sake of having fun; living the mainstreamed rudie life, if you will, which was about the only thing the four gangs share the same hatred for.

I see. You know the Keisatsu is planning an embargo on paint cans, right? the Noise Tank said finally. Shackler shook his head slowly.

There's a place in Shibuya that makes home made paint cans, it's centered directly in the center of Shibuya-cho, three parts of the building is housed in the three districts...

I've eard of the paint shop. Why ya telling me this?

Because if we are all in this together, we have to share information freely. If we can deny the GG's of the only paint source in the city, they will starve to death.

Shackler grinned darkly. I take it yer boss would approve?

The Noise Tank snorted. Alpha's a dickhead, greedy and self-serving. I wouldn't be surprised if he sold us all to the Keisatsu to save his own ass, but in the mean-time, the more territory for him and his little ass kissing friends, the better. He'll accept.

Shackler looked at the Noise Tank. What do the Tekkies call you?



Is that so? Aight, we're done talkin'.

The Noise Tank nodded, and turned to leave when Shackler stopped her.

Wait, ya can't leave yet.

Why not?

Shackler broke into the first grin all day.

I haven't forgiven ya for calling me a Pikey. Fisher?

Data turned around lightening quick, only to be punched hard in the face. She stumbled backwards, and was rammed forward by Grimer, who skulked off to the side when Fisher apparently left. She fell into another punch, and hit the floor, blood staining her face mask. She heard Fisher's jeering voice, and slowly got her feet. She barely made out the clawed swipe from Fisher, and jumped back, avoiding skin contact with the bladed fingers, but her baggy shirt covering her was ripped, and-

Holy fuck...! He's a girl! came Grimer's astonished voice. Data took this momentary distraction and sped away from the warehouse, bowling over Rok and Wilder, who looked like Christmas came early, and started to point and giggle. Shackler snorted and turned around.

Da fuck you surprised for? It's a free country ya know? You can be what ya wanna be. Shackler paused and savored the irony.

Yah, but the way she sounded... She sounded like a man! Fisher replied. His hand was shaking, no, his whole arm was shaking. Shackler looked at it. Fisher has M.S, or Multiple Sclerosis, a disease of the nerves, although Shackler didn't know it. Fisher would be lucky to see his 23rd birthday. Grimer sneezed, and rubbed his nose.

Christ, what da fuck is up wit dis cold? It never goes away! cursed Grimer.

Grimer had told Shackler the reason he was sick so much. Grimer's father was drunk once, and beat him unconscious, or so he thought. He remembered what his father said, calling him something like a freak and how he will remain sick for the rest of his years. He asked his mother what he meant, and she dodged the question, saying that Grimer only had a virus that made him sick a lot more often. Of course, that didn't help Shackler, who was only more perplexed by Grimer's never ending cold. Shackler walked to the spitfires.

I'm hungry. he said to Mouse, who nodded and tore off a leg from the dog, and handed it to Shackler. Shackler bit into, and in a dog-like fashion, gnawed the meat off the bones. Although it was a term used once too many, it still, and will always be, taste like chicken. He nodded his approval to Mouse, who grabbed a metal pole and started to bang a rusted oil drum.

Rat screamed, and a swarth of Poison Jammers, young and old, small and large alike swarmed over to the spitfire to get their share. Shackler finished off the dog leg, and threw it away.

That was his breakfast, and as he looked over his fellow gang members, he smiled and was thankful for what he got. He sighed, and looked up at the orangish-blue sky, and saw a plane. His stone-like face broke when he saw it was on fire.

What da fuck?! he rumbled. The Poison Jammers looked up and some food spilled out.

The tail of the plane was smoking, and was dangerously low. Shackler figured the only destination it had was the Kogane Harbor, and for a split-second, the plane disappeared, then the rumble followed by a fierce explosion rocked the ground. Shackler maintained balance and charge up a pile of rubble, and looked at the harbor. The jet was smoking and was flaming up rather nicely, but what caught Shacklers eye was the emblem on the side of the jet.

It was the Rokkaku private airliner.