DVD Commentary: ALMOST ONE FUCKING YEAR LATER… Jesus, I'm sorry I took so long to update. I'm still working a full-time job with NO fucking vacation time to take this year (I also had none last year either between gigs), and I've also tried my hand at some Youtube videos you may be interested in. Part of my channel is reviving my website related to the lightgun genre this story's source material happens to be part of. I also review other stuff too, since just doing lightgun games post 2010 pretty much doomed me to obscurity. It's a new channel so I need all the exposure I can get. Link's in my profile.

Anyway, some more good news (or just good news if that other bit didn't float your boat) is that I actually didn't work on this chapter at all until sometime after January so it didn't really take me that long to write. I was originally only supposed to be there for like 6 weeks so I was expecting my contract to end any day, at which point I'd have a ton of free time again; I certainly didn't think I'd still be there over a year later. So I can safely vow further chapters will be more timely now. How timely, I don't know- I'm gonna still be busy. At least I'm pretty sure how the next chapter's gonna play out though.

As for some reader feedback response: good and bad news. The bad news is Fang isn't really in this story anymore- I actually had to think of how to slip a cameo in there. The good news is there will be a VC2 and he will be the main villain. I know this because I already wrote a bunch of it. It was originally a standalone story before I realized I had enough material to flesh out into a trilogy of stories, so it will become the basis for the second entry. Some of the material is actually repurposed for this story (like obviously the character introductions and entire first chapter.)

Otherwise, while I'm not especially happy with this chapter, I can't say it was rushed. Definitely need to patch it up later.


"Seriously?" Cavers asked once again, in only a slightly different variation.

"Yes," answered several of the other occupants of the vehicle in unison.

"This is actually something a bunch of grown-ass men do together?"

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. "Yeah," Yoshida replied.

"And this is totally normal?"

Yoshida practically sighed. Hardy answered for him. "It's a cultural difference thing. So it's normal for Japanese, but they're a little fucked up." After a moment he added, "No offense."

Yoshida deadpanned him. "None taken."

The Lieutenant's voice came over the radio. "30 seconds." The discussion, such as it was, mercifully came to an end as everyone in the vehicle got ready to act. The target building was just up ahead. A trio of men stood outside, either on a smoke break or, more likely, sentry duty.

Convergence: another SUV coming from the opposite direction was perfectly timed to meet up. The vehicles flashed their lights and gave a couple whoops of the sirens as they swerved to the curb on both sides of the group. The sidewalk trio started with alarm at the sudden activity but quickly went into the docile shuffle of rousted hoods everywhere, obviously a routine they'd all performed before. Their faces all picked back up though when they saw that the officers jumping out of the vehicles were decked out with full body armor and heavy weaponry- well THAT is new. At least three officers commanded, "Up against the wall." The men obeyed. They were quickly searched, relieved of their concealed guns, and handcuffed with zip ties.

Now the blues were pulling up. Leaving the detainees for them, the SWAT team entered the building. A sign stated the place was closed to the public for the next few hours. The lobby was occupied solely by the attendant, who could only think to put up his hands. The SWAT team ignored him and continued on to the locker room. It appeared empty. Moving slower now, they scoped out the room. Nobody else was here. Some of the lockers were ajar, probably to allow for easy access to the guns visible within in case of trouble. Hopefully the targets had left all their guns in here.

Now it was time for the main event. "Don't get distracted," Lieutenant Hunter warned. They hit the men's bath. Despite the designation there were also a number of females present, presumably partners of the men. The woman shrieked and covered themselves to varying levels of effectiveness. The men reacted with anger and indignity, but nothing more, obviously being at too distinct a disadvantage to do anything else. SWAT fanned out across the room to cover everyone, not that anybody was likely to have a weapon. The total number of people in the room was between 30 to 40, most of them male. With the men all being Japanese, big, covered in tattoos, and very much pissed in the face, they did in fact all kind of look alike. Kurosawa didn't stand out to begin with.

Hunter handled the question. "Which one of you is Mr. Kurosawa? "

Several people answered… in Japanese. The responses didn't sound very informative. The yakuza got louder and more riled up, to the point where they looked almost ready to climb out of the baths and fight. Mike trained his weapon on the largest troublemaker near him. "Hey, pipe down or I'll touch up your tattoos with a little lead." Neither the gun nor the words seemed to especially intimidate the man. Around the room he could hear other officers trying to talk down their guys as well.

And then, somebody else said, "Enough." It wasn't shouted, yet was still loud enough to be heard over the rest of the voices. Amazingly, the word was heeded; the rowdy yakuza all fell silent. He looked around for the speaker and settled on the one person who didn't appear to be the least bit bothered. Calm and collected, like a leader should be, he spoke again. "I am Kurosawa. You're here to arrest me? For what?"

Hunter spoke back, one leader to another. "You know about that shootout with your Toshihiro friends a few days back? We need to ask you some questions about that."

The clamor started back up, only to be silenced once more by single word from their boss. Mike didn't understand what he said, but it sounded Japanese. His next words were in English. "I won't resist, but you've got the wrong person." Smart move... More criminals should know better than to fight...

Hunter picked up a towel and held it out to Kurosawa for his modesty's sake. Kurosawa however pulled himself out of the bath and stood tall while taking the offered article and wrapping it around his waist at his own leisure. Somehow Mike suspected that he hadn't simply missed the point. Groans and averted eyes went around the male officers. Burns whistled her admiration of at least one part of Kurosawa's physique. "Okay, take him," the SWAT commander said to the nearest officer, who escorted the family patriarch back to the locker room. "Now, as for the rest of you… We'd like to check your permits for all those guns we saw on the way in…"

After all that, the ride back was peaceful. Cavers' only commentary was, "Okay, I kind of get it now. Shit, I thought it was just gonna be a bunch of naked dudes." The station was a flurry of activity: suspects and guns booked en masse, the former being sweated in interrogations and the latter being tested for ballistics. Noticeably absent was Kurosawa; the man had the clout to be cut loose already.

When he was changed back into his street duds, Mike went to the bullpen to locate his partner. He found him in the Cauldron Room, nicknamed so for the touch screen table computer it contained. It was an older model that was oversized and generated a fair amount of heat, but it still worked well enough for the department to justify not dipping into the budget for a new one.

"Yuji's not our guy," James said by way of bringing him up to speed.

"Yeah, I gathered as much, but how do we know that?"

The answer came from the Cauldron, more specifically the person James had been speaking to on the other line, even more specifically Janet Marshal. "He had a really solid alibi. He's on the security cameras at a gas station way across the city at the time of the shooting."

Said footage was displayed in one of the windows open on the screen. There was their suspect at the pumps filling his vehicle. Or at least, one of them; specifically, one that was considerably more luxurious though far less sporty. "He's not driving the car I saw," Mike observed. "So he himself wasn't there. That doesn't mean his boys weren't. This just gives himself a nice airtight alibi to deflect suspicion."

"A logical theory," James said, "but why go through all the trouble to not implicate him and then use his car for the crime itself?"

That was a damn good question, and sadly one he hadn't yet got around to thinking up. "Actually…" Janet cut in, "I'm pretty sure that's not the same car. We've got the suspect vehicle going to and from the scene of the crime on several traffic cameras." An image from one such camera came onscreen. Unfortunately, the quality would not allow for identifying the occupants of the car.

"Sure wish somebody had told me about those before," James muttered. Glancing over, Mike saw his partner practically rubbing his forehead into his palm.

If Janet had heard that bit, she ignored it. "There are a few things that don't add up to Kurosawa's car. While the license plates obviously could be easily switched out, the car here clearly has a bit of damage along the side, but Kurosawa's does not."

"Maybe he just fixed it?" Hardy asked.

"If it was fixed, they did an amazing job, because there's NO hint it was ever damaged."

"Is there anything else new?"

"No, that's all I have for now."

None of this was adding up except for one thing: they were out of suspects at the moment. "Okay then, it's time for a different approach…" He pulled out his phone and walked away from the console.


After getting off the console, James found his partner finishing up a phone call. Once done he said, "Unless you've got something good, let's roll."

"Can't say I do. But where are we going?"

They had already reached the elevator before his partner answered. "To do some good old-fashioned police work. I've got a source from the Little Tokyo area. If there's anyone I know who has a suspect that I don't, it's him."

He was pretty certain he got the gist. "He's a confidential informant of yours?" The elevator arrived and they stepped inside, Michael pressing the button for the parking garage.

"That's right. He gives me info and in exchange I overlook his various legal infractions."

"Like what?" he automatically asked.

"Sorry, that's a trade secret. He's my bitch, and nobody else gets to fuck him." After a short ride, the doors opened. The pair exited and walked past rows of both marked and unmarked police vehicles. His partner looked over his shoulder, then back forward with a slight nod. "There it is... the car." There was an emphasis on those last two words. The reason for that was obvious. The car was in the distinct form of a Ford Mustang. However, it sported the full police Interceptor package: VCPD paintjob, a mounted spotlight, nudge bars on the bumper. It looked sexy. And more than slightly familiar. James couldn't help but be impressed.

"This is a Pursuit Special," was all he could say.

"Yeah, it is," Mike agreed dryly.

"It's for pursuit."

"It's for anything. It's got a cop motor, cop tires, cop suspension, cop shocks... It's for chasing down suspects or leads. You name it, it does it."

Something compelled him to ask, "Does it transform into anything?"

"Not yet. But I'm thinking about a 20-foot bipedal robot with ballistic missiles and laser chainsaw arms."

"And the department doesn't mind you freely using it?"

"Why would they?" his partner replied as he opened his door and climbed inside, "It's mine."

It's his? James had never heard of an officer owning their own squad car before. Well, there wasn't really any reason an officer couldn't own one, he supposed. Then he snapped back to reality and climbed into the car as well. The car came to life with a roar. Upon exiting the garage, the sun bore down on the vehicle, immediately making its presence felt. He went to roll down his window to discover a hand crank that was decidedly not as fancy as the rest of the car. "Well, does it roll up its own windows?"

Mike looked at him deadpan. "Ha-ha-ha. Yeah... didn't think to ask for that particular feature. Shit, I didn't even know they STILL even made cars without power windows nowadays. It's like buying a new TV and finding out your HD-plasma-LCD screen is fucking monochrome. I mean, what the hell?"

He tuned out of the tirade on car features. When it was over, they settled back into silence. While his partner occupied himself with driving, James simply took in the scenery, involuntarily spotting violations: jaywalking, speeding, not coming to a complete stop, illegal parking, and just generally driving like a jackass. Once a traffic cop, always a traffic cop. When the scenery changed from businesses to private residences, he found an appropriate topic to talk about. "We're going to Little Tokyo, right? We're taking a bit of the long way around, aren't we?"

"I'm driving my beat," his partner replied.

"Your beat?" James inquired, intrigued.

"Yeah. This is where I grew up. I've lived here since before there was a Virtua City."

"Ah. So these are your streets, then?"

"Yeah, that's right. These ARE my streets... These are the streets of Rage. I know everybody here and everybody here knows me. I cruise these streets on the way to work, on the way home, and anywhere in between. So everybody from the neighborhood knows not to fuck around here. It's all about community visibility, you know?"

"Right," he agreed, somewhat impressed that his partner had developed a dedicated philosophy on policing. He made a snap deduction from the dialog: "You don't still live here?"

"Nah, I moved out. My mom's nice and all, but I'm not gonna live my entire life in her house. Speaking of which, it's right over there." He pointed much further down the street and waved. "HEY MA!" There was nobody on the street though and James had no idea exactly which house his partner was gesturing at. "And that's my beat."

The route cohered after that. Their destination was just on the fringe of Little Tokyo: a shopping mall, comparably smaller than the average for the city. He followed his partner through the halls until they came to an arcade. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place with low lighting, popular in the 80's and 90's but quite possibly the last of its kind in the country now. His partner walked up to a man who was just watching the attract screen of a game. "You gonna play or what?"

"Hey Mike," the man replied while turning around, hesitating when he saw James, obviously someone on the cautious side. James didn't know what to make of him either. He was kind of expecting someone who looked more like a pimp, thug, or another otherwise obviously shady individual, but the informant looked like a completely average guy.

Mike preemptively answered the man's obvious question. "He's with me. New partner. Name's James. James, this is my source buddy, Esaki. Now let's find a quiet spot to talk." The cop and informant duo sat down in an enclosed arcade cabinet near a corner. It was only built for two players, so the adjunct partner had to stand outside, but that meant he provided further cover for the clandestine talk from any prying eyes.

Esaki kicked the session off. "So, what do you think I can tell you this time?"

"C'mon, take a wild guess."

The informant's face went intrigued. "You're working all those gang killings going down? And you think I might know something? You know I don't hang out with that kind of crowd."

"Maybe not, but perhaps they have some of the same interests as you. We don't have much on our actual suspects. We know more about what they drive."

"Oh, so they're part of that crowd," Esaki said, echoing James' realization as to the nature of the informant: street racer. "Sorry, but we don't exactly get many yakuza in the scene."

"Good, that means there's some. Then maybe they'll stand out. Our vehicle is a tricked-out bright blue Honda."

"Only one person I know with a ride like that. He's a yakuza now, but he probably hasn't raced since he became one. I guess it's too unprofessional of behavior for someone in the family or something. Guy's name was Yu… " the informant trailed off, obviously racking his brain.

Mike cut him off. "Yuji. Yeah, we already checked him out. Doesn't seem to be our guy. There's nobody else?" He got a shake of the head in answer. "Don't suppose you've seen a neon green Honda either?"

"Well, that's another former racer gone yakuza… but I thought I heard he was one of the guys killed, right?"

That's Yagi. "Yeah, that's right. Never mind. What about some guys who like bikes instead?"

"What kind of bikes?"

"Shit, the kind that have two wheels. Sporty ones," Mike said, obviously out of his element. "A whole bunch of 'em."

"So now you're looking for a biker gang? You mean like some real 1%'er types? You won't find any Japanese ones here." That much was already known. The only real biker gang in this city was the local chapter of Hell's Angels: white trash that rode choppers and trafficked crystal meth, but stayed far away from Little Tokyo.

"Okay, then let me just lay out what we've got. We've got a group of guys numbering at least around ten… Asian, presumably Japanese… Young… Drive sporty cars and bikes… And they're packing heat. You know anybody that fits the bill?"

Just then Esaki's face changed. He could almost hear gears grind to a halt, then start turning again. When no response was forthcoming, Mike prompted him. "You got someone in mind?" It wasn't really a question.

"Well... probably not…"

"Come on, just spit it out. I'll take anything."

"Okay, they're the only guys I know of who could possibly tick off all those boxes. I don't want to hype them up as your bogeymen though. They're not yakuza, just some punk wannabes at best."

"We all gotta start somewhere. Maybe this is their big break."

"Oh God… Those guys? Well, I certainly won't feel bad if you end up busting them for some reason or another. There's this group of bikers that I've seen at races before. There's more than ten of 'em. They're not nearly as good as they think."

"Got any names?"

"Patience, man, Jesus. I only know the partials of a couple. There's these two guys who are the leaders of the posse, either brothers or some other relation. They look alike and have similar names. One's Koji and the other is Shoji or Joji or something like that. They're hot-blooded too, as is everyone else. I even heard one of them pulled a gun on someone. They're shitheads, but they might be violent."

"Okay, they've got my attention now. How can we find them?"

"I haven't seen them at any events recently. I got no idea where any of them live. At least one of them is supposed to actually be a pretty good mechanic; they have a garage around the Lil' Tokyo area. I've actually seen it before once, somewhere on Arroyo."

"That's kind of vague. Could you be more specific?"

"No, it was just once and I wasn't the one driving, so I don't remember. But the place looked like the real deal. It probably used to be a gas station or mechanic workshop."

Then Mike turned to him. "Opinions?"

"Could be something to it," James agreed. "Even if they're not actual yakuza, maybe they're working with them as hired guns. It's definitely worth checking out."

"Whoa, your partner can speak?" their informant cut in. "I thought he was just there to be intimidating."

James was about to answer when his partner spoke for him. "Yeah, he spent a few years undercover at a monastery busting a heroin ring and still hasn't quite adjusted back to speaking yet. Anything else you have to add?"

"I've already reached as far as I could. Anything else I say would just be bullshitting."

"You better not be bullshitting me, man. I'd be very upset."

"Yeah yeah," Esaki waved off the comment, clearly unfazed. "Hey, are you going to give me my game back anytime soon? You've been borrowing it for like, a year."


Mike drove down Arroyo at a low speed while James was on the phone having Janet search for any nearby defunct gas stations or mechanics. Eventually his partner put the phone away and said, "Okay, I think we've got a place, just a bit further ahead. It's a former mechanics shop."

He was grateful for Janet coming through with the records, because Esaki's description certainly wouldn't have gotten them far. The place looked like it could have been a warehouse, with nothing on the outside to suggest it had automotive purposes apart from the open lot in front. Apparently being in the same line of work allowed Esaki to just know these things. By now night had fallen and lights were on everywhere, except for this building as far as could be seen. "Looks like nobody's home," Hardy said, "but let's be careful anyway." They parked in an alley a block away. He grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight out of the trunk and they walked back.

The only windows on the front of the building appeared to be boarded up, but they weren't going to chance somebody being able to watch them from some tiny unseen hole. They casually walked down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street as if they were just a pair of guys out for a walk, crossing over once they passed by to go around the rear of the building. They cut through the alleys to get behind the garage. There were no windows on its rear wall. That was good.

Hugging the wall, they crept around the sides of the building to try peeking into the windows that weren't boarded up. No good; these windows were made of glass bricks that were largely opaque, thwarting their attempts to see inside. However, no light shone out of them either, so it was unlikely they could have seen anything inside the darkened building anyway. Satisfied that nobody was inside, the officers boldly went around the front up close but found the windows were totally and firmly boarded up.

Walking back into the alley, Mike looked up at the adjacent building's fire escape. The alley was narrow and the stairway took up most of the space between buildings. He pushed against the nearby dumpster, testing the weight. "What are you doing?" his partner asked.

"Moving the dumpster," he simply answered as he began doing just that in earnest.

"Why?"

"So I can reach the ladder."

"Why?"

"So I can climb it."

"Oh, right, of course." By now he had already moved the dumpster into place, climbed atop, and was pulling himself up the dangling ladder. "Okay, how about 'what are you GOING to do'?"

"What does it look like I'm gonna do?" he answered in a somewhat annoyed tone.

His partner said something back under his breath. It was mostly unintelligible but sounded like, "Something stupid."

Once up the ladder, further ascension was a simple matter of going up the steps. Coming up level with the other building's roof, he was pleased to see he was right about where what little light inside the building came from. "Alright, there's a skylight," he announced.

"So what, can you see through it from up there or are you planning on jumping over to it?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," he replied as he climbed over to the other side of the railing. The alley was narrow, and the fire escape reached out over nearly all of it. He could almost just drop straight down on the adjacent roof… But better jump to be sure... Sure would suck if I died because I was too lazy...

"Before you go ahead and do anything rash, I feel I should point out that anything you find probably isn't going to be legally admissible as evidence, and stuff."

"If I can see it, then it's in plain view," he retorted.

"If you jump onto their roof, then you're trespassing on private property," his partner shot back.

"Probably… But there's no harm in just looking. If nothing's there, that's that." Sometimes cases were solved with murky legalities like this. He's still young... He'll learn... With that, Mike jumped before James could say anything else. His feet slid on the roof's gravel surface, outpacing the rest of his body, sending him falling right on his ass.

"You okay up there?" his partner asked, though he didn't sound especially concerned.

"Yeah… But if anybody's home, I think they know we're here by now." A few seconds ticked by of alert silence. Satisfied that nobody was inside, he got back to his feet and approached the skylight. Damn- it was opaque glass too. However, upon closer inspection he could see that the glass had been battered by the elements of either nature or the city and as a result had a small hole punched through it. It wasn't much, but it was an opening he could work with. Pulling out his flashlight, he poked out a few more portions of glass around the hole to make it bigger. Not strictly legal either, but what the courts didn't know didn't matter. The pieces could be faintly heard hitting the floor below.

After waiting once more to be as absolutely certain as possible that there was nobody lurking in the darkened building, he stuck the flashlight in the hole and turned it on. Whoosh- a light from heaven shone down on the room. Sweeping the beam around revealed the building for what it said to be: a place to work on cars. It did indeed look like a garage from the inside- Esaki was half-assed correct. There were a few motorcycles inside, although he honestly couldn't remember if any were the ones he saw fleeing from the shootout. But panning the beam around more illuminated a very flashy car: a Honda that looked an awful lot like the car they were looking for, except it was red. But on the other hand, it looked like it had some visible damage along the side. Further sweeps of the room revealed nothing else of interest. He walked back to the edge of the roof. "Found something."

"I hope it's good. What?"

He didn't answer until jumping back to the fire escape and climbing back down. "There's a red Honda that fits our description inside."

"You mean, it fits our description except for the part about it being red."

"Yeah, but otherwise it's dead on, right down to scuffing along the side just like our hot ride. I bet you it's the ride we're looking for, repainted."

James leaned against the building and looked up at the night sky, obviously thinking. "It's certainly possible. So now what do we do with all this? Do we report it?"

"No. We probably can't, just like you said. We could stake the place out, wait for them to make a move. Once that car leaves that building, it's in plain sight, and then it's ours."

"Well, that's a logical enough plan, but how exactly are we going to stake it out? We're not going to do this all by ourselves."

"We don't have to. We just outsource that shit."