It had all started with a simple look around of a particularly shady premises located within the southern docks in Yokohama, all brushed off to your parents as a nice weekend trip with some imaginary girls you had managed to become close friends with, relief flooding the tips of your shoulders when they bought the suspicious excuse. You had never brought any girls over to your house and never mind the fact that you tended to sway towards the more ambiverted slot of the social spectrum. Dealing with real classmates in an attempt to be able to get away with your vigilantism would surely be the cause of a pounding headache, one of those types that made you regret ever waking up and just overall debating ways how to escape.
Hitoshi was a different story in its entirety, sometimes you swore you could feel scarlet strings wrapping around his miscellaneous appendages around his body that turned to follow you, as if your bodies were puppets masterfully minded to by someone behind the puppeteering. Slinging your Eros-lookalike marble mask on, you had prepared yourself for a usual on the clock beat down of bottomfeeders that had stayed in some areas for far too long, swinging your body to wiggle out any tension within your being through keeping your limbs hanging loosely with your calculated movements.
Of course, all done after taking multiple detours and connecting trains from the Tokaido Line, Mishima Station, and all the way to the Shin-Yokohama station followed by the one in Kannai. It was a whopping 2 and a half hour trip that increasingly grinded your gears as deplorable mothers and fathers allowed their children to flail about freely, screaming and shouting for the dumbest things and by the end of it, you were more convinced about the topic of abortion. More towards the parents, to schedule themselves an extremely late, 1,500 week appointment with one of the few knives you had stashed away in your casual faux leather boots, your toes curling in irritation and vessels certainly blowing up to the point you were sure some kid in the background was commenting about the person with big lines coming out of their arms, mama look!
Nothing could stop you from slapping on one of your dearest tank tops that had made you squeal in glee when your eyes caught its sleeves in a supermarket, a small moment of stillness with a sense of purity within the memory, something that had been long gone from your person, seemingly out of your reach and snatched away from a spitting mouth angrily going on and on about this and that.
A broken down sign lead your steadfast soles to Hanahaki street, the name being nothing to scoff at, as it happened to turn the tables on its given name and actually have a fair number of steadily growing bamboo shoots, orchid wisteria flowers that shivered in your presence, and a makeshift gardening establishment if you weren't mistaken. One good look at the place would reveal just about nothing of the activity reported in such a location, yet as you broke the barrier between the entryway of the block growing closer towards you, the darling plants were just a front to a nasty personality hidden inside.
Light hitting the sides of your head radiated purely neon red as your steel-toed boots came to a stop between the junction of a 4-way intersection, tits flashing in the nearby vicinity and causing a gaggle of men to ogle at the breasts out in the open, your sights being set on a rumored prostitution ring involving abused women and unfortunate children. On the left side of the building was a seemingly ordinary, pristine and milky white pharmaceutical clinic open 24 hours with its gleaming beams shooting powerful lights to inform and burn any passerby's retinas for the time being, empty and filled to the brim with medical supplies and items of practical use in day-to-day life.
You certainly weren't just going to stride up to the built like a brick wall bouncer, full of shit and wearing your prominent vigilante get up and expect to get generously welcomed in and free drinks on the house, not like you actually enjoyed most alcoholic drinks. What can you say, you live for meaningful hedonism that isn't that wasteful to any others on the planet, much unlike the drunkards who were peeping and pressing their visible eyeballs into the thighs of an obvious minor attempting to make their way home, which just happened to be in this shithole. With investigating comes preparations, taking the form of a worn-down sparkly, glitter filled Hello Kitty backpack that you had happily snatched from the school's lost and found, making a gal's day certainly shittier but a vigilante's way of life far easier.
In it were clothing that were tight fitting and promiscuous to show off your form, no matter how jarring it may have been to see yourself in what could possibly pass off as an immortal, appalling gas station bathroom with the stench of household detergent bleaching the air. Whatever fantastic escapades that may have involved rockets of fecal matter exploding into every corner of the dinky tiles of the floor was not known to your mind, only the thought of wanting to explode every thriving bacterial colony just on the thin toilet paper holder alone.
Hacked off booty shorts were fitted to the utter dismay of your lower half of your body, as the amount of cling bestowed upon the produced pair of pants clung like super glue to your buttocks, and you were sure that if this situation wasn't solved sooner than later, stitching would unravel and explode into your vicinity and allow wandering eyes to feast upon your sweaty bottom. Matching the shorts that could definitely be seen as a "slutty" type of style was a surprisingly comfy crop top that had your name on it, as it had emblazoned on the top thank you, cum again in the manner of how inexpensive oriental takeout bags would look like.
The look was topped off with you going into your outstanding A-game to look the part of the menagerie most likely wildly throwing themselves onto crotches inside of the nightclub, striking bold black eyeliner tracking the curves of your eyes and mysterious looking occult-styled golden earrings in the shape of a snake eating its own tail, ouroboros. It reminded you of the neverending cycle the world has gone through, ends of eras and new ages standing out before oblivion waited in the shadows for them to lay down and roll over into its otherworldly maw.
Smacking your lips after having dabbed a bit of lip gloss to accentuate your plump mouth, you made a move to strike a pose in front of the water plagued and dotted mirror that had seen unspeakable horrors occur in the restroom, your socks making themselves clear as day that you forgot one of the most vital items within your mission of undercover espionage; 3-inch platform creepers that you cheerfully had bartered with a goth in Iwata Shiritsu High for, an art of yours you would never get tired of as when you had casually stepped on over to the upperclassman, he had not expected you to respectfully inquire about a taste that had been silently looked down upon within the school scene.
Thankfully, your doting persuasion had led him to show you to his black-infested closet with a myriad of lace poking out of hangers, intricate designs layering sleeves, and his collection of platform shoes, until you had been able to come to agreement that in exchange for the pair you had to create a quote on quote, 'gothic song that had the inspiration of Evanescence and the oomph of My Chemical Romance.'
You hadn't questioned about his request and neither did he, so it was a win-win situation on both ends and you had cheerfully climbed your ways to this bathroom in the first place. The entire outfit was something that left you in confident surprise of how well it had came to look on your figure, even though the legality of the situation was a tiny detail tossed behind in the muck filled dumpster next to the bright lime green garbage can in the front of the clinic. Even the makeup you usually only saved for special occasions was sprung out, in the disbelief of your acne prone pores screaming bloody murder towards the concealer spread under your heavy undereye hollows, genetically predisposed from your just wonderful father of the year.
Deciding that caking your face in makeup was an experience you had never wanted to stumble into again thanks to your hands, or a Don Quijote employee's unwavering hands instilling the intense fear and dread you had already come to know as a birthday cake being baked into your skin, with powdery makeup not suiting your skin type absolutely drenching your natural texture with a ridiculously bumpy wasteland that may as well be called a no man's land, you zipped up your backpack.
One of the two poor, unsuspecting medical clerks roaming around the vicinity was drawn towards the sound of you slamming the door closed oh so gently and immediately blanked at the completely different person clacking their soles onto the tiled floor. You couldn't exactly blame her, she had no idea the total transformation you had planned to undergo for your secretive work in the strip club, no one could expect that from a teenager in a bomber jacket littered with minute grapes and dashingly cute pine cones in a tribute to the Greek god, Dionysus. Gladly shaking your head at your last minute effort before entering the public store, you felt that your mask was safely secured within the confines of the nylon and polyester blended schoolbag, a huge white cat's cartoonish and simplistic doll eyes looking on into the distance behind your back as if it were watching out for any threats.
The perpetrator on the bounty list of yours went by the name of Hirohito Fuse, if his occupation was dumb enough to match his wits about spreading his actual name into the egregious stomach of the criminal underworld, you had a feeling this would be an open and shut case within the hour of scoping out the place. Moving your hips back in forth in a practiced motion you had done so tirelessly pacing in front of your bathroom mirror all the way in Musustafu, you presented your voluptuous front eagerly to all the wanton and greedy eyes that were slurping up the tiniest motion from your body.
Stopping your waving hips right in front of the bouncer, you skipped the velvet roped line that was clearly moving in proper order before you swaggered up and cut the line, seemingly not bothering most of the men waiting, it seemed as if it was an absolute treat you stayed for them to impress their eyes over your succulent revealed flesh. The bouncer was definitely the no-nonsense type of guy with dark chocolate skin that glowed in the night time aura of the crimson lights, rough around the edges but handsome to the eye, in your opinion.
"I've been looking forward to this night," you slurred vivaciously into the brims of dimmed pilot sunglasses, brims leaning down with the look of neutrality and professional confusion by your unrecognizable face. You made a move to walk past his wrinkle free, prim and proper black dress slacks that shimmered with a satiny texture in the lighting within the area, strutting your stuff casually as you could in an undercover mission and a burly arm thoroughly wrapped itself around your shoulders and turned you around.
"I don't think I've seen you here before, much less your name being on this list, so why don't you stand that tight ass over here for a second so I can move along with business as usual," was intonated as a matter-of-fact command, quickly dismissing your presence as he shoved you off to the side without a care in the world.
"Hmm, I think Mr. Fuse would be mad if I didn't get to meet with him off the record like he said I had to," you played innocent to the bouncer's attitude and instead instilled a sense of authority within your words, as if you actually had a... "meeting," of sorts with this sexual deviant. "He don't want me to be written down 'cause he tells me 'the police is on our asses again, we can't take no more risks around here,'" gradually exaggerating the amount of exasperation you had with the supposed man's words.
At that the man straightens his posture and bows deeply towards the ground, nearly thunking his proper curly hair into the floor, begging for your forgiveness.
"Please accept my greatest apologies, I would never want to keep the Boss waiting for a new shipment to come," he apologizes into the cracked sidewalk, bending up normally once again to meet your eyes with respect oozing from every inch of his trained body. He waves you into the fire and brimstone emanating from the hell being unleashed in the club, your platform shoes heavily stomping the charcoal and mahogany wood panels on the floor, only the smells of intensely moving women and alcohol perforating your nostrils.