The journey from Rokkaku-Dai to the skyscraper district had been fraught with danger, even if that danger was born from trying to get service at a Burger Joint while in full Immortal regalia. In the end, Khalid couldn't tell if he was amused or frustrated, and instead of sending in poor Ishaq to beg for fries at the sixth place they trekked past, he had vouched to simply go back to their headquarters, rinse off until he smelled decent, change clothes, and hit up the Inpu Diner at Pharaoh Park. He figured he was making the right choice when he saw the look of relief on the poor rookie's face, even if his stomach seemed to be making an earnest attempt to eat itself.

It was odd, sitting around the table with his gang for the first time in two months, none of them clad in the costume that defined their street personas. Gauze and fedoras were exchanged for hoodies and headphones, Sabola playing with his purple hair like he had forgotten what it looked like and Odji bemoaning the fact that the only time he could wear his piercings was when he was "off duty." Every now and then, he'd stop complaining long enough to smack at Ishaq, who was picking at cuts and bruises on his arm while pondering aloud where they could have possibly come from.

Khalid caught a glimpse of himself in his third empty glass of soda. He looked like a shaggy-haired wreck that hadn't slept in days and was running off of a mixture of adrenaline, Dayquil, and caffeine. He snorted a laugh in spite of himself when he realized that he looked exactly how he felt.

"About the Doom Riders," Sabola loudly proclaimed, trying to talk over the younger Immortals' rambling. Khalid pushed his empty plate away from him and leaned back in his seat, rolling his hand in the air to urge him along. The second-in-command opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by Odji, who was cut off by Ishaq, who was cut off by Odji again. In the end, a stern glare from Khalid shut the two of them up and they sank into their seats, Odji appearing slightly annoyed whereas Ishaq was sweating like he had a gun to his temple.

"As I was saying, the Doom Riders are an enigma to us. They showed up when the Noise Tanks arranged a Death Ball tournament, which was an oddity in and of itself. We were being blackmailed to participate, and the Love Shockers and GGs had been kidnapped and forced to play. Even a nearby straggler was dragged into it against her will. But the Doom Riders..."

"They showed up willingly," Odji blurted, Khalid raising an eyebrow. The Pharaoh sniffed and cocked his head, asking, "Why would they do that?"

"Less a 'why' and more a 'how,'" Sabola explained. "If it was just a 'why,' I'd understand it; there's a lot of good rep to be gained from winning a tourney. But the Noise Tanks didn't announce it. Not even Rapid 99 knew of it until the police crashed the game, but the Doom Riders―despite not even being a Tokyo-based gang, as far as I can tell―showed up to 'prove their mettle.'"

Ishaq squirmed in his seat, mumbling, "Then they lost. They said that they were implanted with a mind-altering chip or something, but that's a load of bull. We lost, too, and nobody did brain surgery on us. Hell, the Love Shockers were almost immediately released after the GGs whipped them."

How strange. Khalid popped his knuckles and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a sigh. None of this made any sense to him, something magnified by the fact that he had been literally left in the dark during the duration of the conflict. Still, he figured that even if he was up-to-date, it still wouldn't make any sense. His boys had been there and seen everything, and even they seemed utterly lost.

"Maybe none of this is important, though," Sabola added with a shrug. "Professor K knew who they were, and Tokyo is a big place. Maybe they're just a gang we never ran across. And, hey, he knew about the tournament, too, and somebody had to have given him the tip. Maybe there was an information leak and the Doom Riders heard it through the grapevine, never realizing what they were getting into."

"Maybe," Khalid replied, rapping his fingers on the table and eying Ishaq's leftover fries. The rookie noticed it and, with a weak smile, offered the plate to his Pharaoh. Khalid accepted with a grateful nod, stuffing a few in his mouth and taking a deep breath of contentment. He hoped his stomach didn't rupture with how much he was cramming into his face.

"What does matter is that they're pretty much trying to own Tokyo," Sabola grimly continued. "They've called everyone out. The GGs, Poison Jam, Rapid 99, the Love Shockers, us. There isn't a district in the city that isn't desperately in need of a cover-up, but I guess you saw that on the way here, huh?"

He downed the last of Ishaq's fries and shrugged. He couldn't deny that he saw new graffiti on the way to Pharaoh Park, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Delirium, irritation, and hunger pretty much meant that the only thing he really gave any mind to was his own good self. For all he knew, it could have been the tags of the residential gangs.

"There's a lot that bothers me about that, aside from the obvious fact that it is going to be a raging bitch to clean up Sky Dinosaurian," his right-hand-man grunted, apparently irritated with the latter part of that statement. "These five guys covered Tokyo overnight and not a damn person saw 'em do it. Not one. And then they vanished."

"Save for one time," Odji corrected, kicking back in his seat and offering Khalid the uneaten half of his burger. "According to Jet Set Radio, two of them popped up in Dogenzaka Hill to challenge one of the GGs to a showdown. They got their asses handed to them and then, poof! Gone."

Ishaq started to nod and agree, but before he could say a word, a familiar beat picked up in the headphones around his neck. At first, he almost mistook it for a bump, and let it play off as though nothing was happening, ignoring the sound of DJ K's voice droning just below his ears. However, as seconds ticked past, he realized it was going on a bit too long for a commercial.

His comrades oblivious, Ishaq angled his head toward the left headphone. It was hard, however, to keep up with the Immortals' conversation and DJ K's announcement, and he simply ended up pulling them on completely.

"...irst direct target? It seems the first gang who fell to the Noise Tanks in act one of this drama is getting a second dose of hurt from their toadies-left-behind. Hopefully, the Immortals will continue to live up t..."

Eyes widened as he immediately slipped them off, the crew jumping when the normally quiet rookie slammed his hands into the table and barked, "We gotta go! Now!"

Khalid blinked slowly and opened his mouth to say something, though he soon slammed it closed and shook his head. It was Sabola who asked the looming question, as Ishaq squirmed around in his seat like a kid who had to pee. Tilting his head and raising an eyebrow, he curiously asked, "What is it, brother?"

Ishaq only gestured wildly at his headphones. Panic had seized both him and his tongue, robbing him of any and all ability to convey thoughts by any means aside from charades. Odji, ever the helpful one, snorted and asked if the clue was "dumb ass," Sabola answering by digging his bony elbow so far into Odji's ribs that he could have swore he felt it in his lung. Ishaq didn't even acknowledge any of it, though he did upgrade from wild flailing to incomprehensible stammering after a couple of seconds.

"W-we... the-the-they...! W-w-w-w-we...! Outside! Outside!"

Khalid cocked an eyebrow, his expression as stoic as ever. In a level, calm voice, he inquired, "Did the radio say something was up?"

"Yes!" Ishaq responded, the word coming out with a hoarse sigh of relief.

"Something's up?" Sabola echoed. "Where?"

"Here!"

The rookie's voice came out in a scratchy squeal of alarm, cuing Odji to cackle wildly. Khalid, however, was less than amused. Though still rather bedraggled and obviously not at the top of his game, the look in his eyes screamed that he was going to at least try to fuck somebody up. Almost as a direct response to the Pharaoh's reaction, Sabola leaped from his seat and chimed, "I think we can handle this, right men?"

Odji mumbled an unenthusiastic agreement, beginning to slide up from his seat. Ishaq fumbled with his words, though he eventually agreed that, yeah, he could handle it. Before he could turn to their leader and urge him to sit back down and finish their food, Khalid was up and gliding toward the door. Immediately, a knot formed in his stomach and he turned to Sabola; he was the calmest Immortal, always keeping his cool in even the worst situation. Surely, he would know how to handle this!

And indeed he did. He squawked like a parrot, stumbled over his skates, almost flipped the table, and―after he finally caught his footing―took off after Khalid, begging him frantically to stop before he got himself killed. Odji followed close behind, adding that Ishaq hadn't even told them who it was that was attacking their turf. As Khalid slipped out of the exit and into Pharaoh Park, Odji's words of caution morphed into words his mother wouldn't be too proud to hear, roared at a volume that caused everyone in the restaurant to look up from their meals.

Then, there was Ishaq, standing alone by a messy table with a look of utter horror on his face. A nearby waiter glared at him and cleared his throat; without his gear on, the guy had no idea who it was he was messing with. If only he knew it was an Immortal...

Hell, Ishaq thought with a sigh, stop kidding yourself. Even if he knew you were an Immortal, it's pretty apparent that you're the bitch.

He forced a smile and laughed nervously, reaching into the baggy sleeve of his pullover and pulling a golden, engraved bangle over his hand. Sure, it was one of his trademark pieces of jewelry, but he wasn't the one who was supposed to have paid for dinner. Hell, he didn't even have his wallet on him.

Lifting it so that the waiter could see, he chuckled, "Uh, hope you don't mind me paying in gold, bro."

The waiter wasn't amused, but Ishaq didn't give him time to object. By the time the bracelet clattered to the table, the smell of fuel filled the air. People screamed as he roared past them, the intense heat of his getaway leaving scorch marks on the floor that would likely never wear out.

Still, they didn't catch him, and that was all that mattered. Sometimes, it was good to have rocket skates.