Chapter 3 Dark Age Hero Rising
Noon on the Pacific Ocean
A high-pitched windy howl scratched the air as a typhoon raged against a massive cargo ship as if all the aquatic gods, including Poseidon, Dagon, and even Lovecraft's Cthulhu, took offense to the mortals casually crossing their waters without so much as a prayer to them.
Waves battered and tossed the ship up and down in a whip-like effect, making it a pain in the gut to keep balance. Outside, the heavy rain soaked every single nook and cranny on deck with salted foamy water, except for one lone hooded boy on the ship's bow.
"Kamehamehaaaaaa!" Tyler screamed like a familiar anime superhero and, with both hands cupped together, threw a semi-truck-sized cannonball of pressurized air at a massive wave about to wash the deck of the cargo ship. The giant incoming water wall spread open like a curtain, and the cargo ship he stood on passed smoothly through the gap like a fresh sock. Tyler shivered as the freezing Pacific Ocean air prickled goosebumps on his under his insulated waterproof jumpsuit, and his legs buckled and straightened in sync with the bucking ship like the time he used to play on the backyard trampoline.
Tyler gasped, trying to regain his breath. "Damn it, gotta keep up breathing . . . rhythm. Working on one of Eduardo's company's ships . . . was a harder job. The captain had a helluva . . . idea to assign me as . . . this job . . . during a Typhoon. Even . . . Eduardo agreed . . . thinking it was good training. As if 'blow drying' cleanup duty wasn't good enough.
He panted bitterly at the memory.
(Flashback scene)
" Capitan Queso, meet my 'intern'." Eduardo introduced Tyler to the skipper, a man of Filipino descent with a mustache, which he grinned under. "The Robin to your Batman, eh?"
Tyler brainstormed for a sly remark, but Eduardo beat him to the punch, "Better than a boy wonder. He possesses a powerful air quirk which I guarantee will be worthwhile for one-time employment."
Tyler wanted to say something, but he felt so inadequate. Eduardo was many steps ahead of him in the interpersonal dept.
"Ooh, like in that popular Nickelodeon show. What job do you suggest for him, senior Del La Vega?"
"Any possibility a mariner of your caliber can see?"
Queso grinned under his mustache, " I can think of several ideas, especially since it's typhoon season."
(End Flashback)
Of all the cabin boy duties, it had to be a freaking "snowplow!" I'm stuck wiping out all incoming waves, like stains on the deck. To think it was fun at first, but now it's aggravating.
Then he noticed a wave towering above five waves away in the distance. Is that a . . ? He boosted himself into mid-air with a pressurized air blast beneath his feet. He saw the fourth nearest the wave flowing backward towards the fifth last wave, forming a vast ditch before it, while the fifth wave swelled bigger and bigger with white caps already forming on top, and the preceding fourth wave shrank smaller and smaller.
"Oh no! Rogue Wave!"
He landed back on deck, and with a big gasp, he gathered an immense air bubble, bigger than ever before. Got to blow this away fast before all four remaining waves ahead expire like lifelines.
"Kaaaaa . . ., " three waves left. Meeeeeee . . . , " two waves left, "Haaaaa . . .," one left. "Meeee," none left. The ship's bow nose-dived into the Rogue Wave's gaping maw. "H-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
He threw the air cannonball. It hit the cresting wave but stopped short of blasting through it. The air ball spun like a propeller, twirling faster and faster. The wave slammed down on the ship like a sumo wrestler and the boy, but when the water splashed over the hull, it hurt no more than a water balloon on a child's cheek. Tyler tossed his giant air bubble full of salty water over the ship's front bow and kneeled on one knee, gasping as water dripped off his raincoat sleeves before he collapsed, exhausted and relieved.
Man, that was scary; seeing the wave ready to body slam me and the ship-(gasp). Now I know how it feels to stare the iconic Eldritch Kaiju Cthulhu in the face.
Several crew members burst on deck. One had a head resembling a daddy-long legs spider with actual long legs. He skittered across the deck with a tightrope walker's grace, picked up Tyler's barely conscious form, and carried him to the nearest door. "Surfs up, kid, we rode a wild surf, and you wiped it out, but so are you. Now it's crash time." He carried Tyler across the deck while the other crewman checked the hull for damage. The spider sailor bashed open the door and rushed to the infirmary with his young charge in tow. Once there, he placed Tyler on the cot.
He helped him out of his banana-yellow rain jumpsuit and damp clothing and gave Tyler a fresh set of PJs, which the latter barely slipped into. Tyler laid onto the cot, and the spider head tucked him under the covers."
"That was a big one, kid. If it body-slammed the whole ship, we'd be floating on lifesavers for the rest of the trip." His spider mandibles emanated a series of grinds and clicks with each vocalization.
Tyler panted harder, wide-eyed, his mouth agape and his heart skipping a beat at the sight of his host's creepy arachnid face. It was hard not to imagine any other context that didn't involve the crewman digging his spider mandibles into his stomach and slurping his intestines like a hotdog string, even though the Daddy Long Legs was among the friendliest non-venomous spider species. There was no way the spider-headed crewman couldn't notice.
"I know, scary, ain't I?"
Tyler averted his gaze in shame. "Sorry, I uh didn't mean any offense, pal. Frankly, I would be scared if you were ten times bigger, thirty times way uglier."
"None taken, kiddo. I got many reactions like that from lots of bad guys back when I was a vigilante, much like you. Hell, I recall that a few of them were so scared that they wound up in the morgue.
"Whoah! If you're that discouraging to crime, why didn't you train to be a legit hero?" Tyler asked.
"I tried, but take another look at my face."
"Uh, I can see why; the same reason even good guys don't appreciate your company just because of bad looks," Tyler said, hoping he didn't hurt his feelings.
"Ain't nothing to be ashamed of 'Gusty,' boy, we can't all be male model material. My mother did freak out after the delivery. It took a hefty amount of therapy sessions before she accepted me for who I was. My life problems aside, that was an awesome move there. You took the 'wipe' out of wipe-out. I bet the captain we'll promote you. No more dry deck swabbing."
"I won't be around to enjoy the promotion, though; I'm getting off at Tokyo, Japan, for a foreign exchange school enrollment. Not that a sailor's career is what I had in mind."
"Let me guess, you enrolling in UA?" Asked the Daddy Long legs or "head" crewman.
"Seems that way," Tyler said.
"No surprise there, with a quirk like yours, you can land any kind of job, especially a pro-hero."
"I wouldn't call myself a flat-out hero. Heroes are overrated, anyway. The only heroes I know are in mythology and dark 90s comics that don't play by moralistic OCD rules."
"No argument there, 'Gusty.' Hope you don't mind the nicknaming."
"Nah, I'm used to it, better than the old 'El Nino' nickname used by Senior Del La Vega, if a little kindergarten kid's show sounding."
The spider-headed crewman's hair shot up like porcupine quills. "Spider sense tingling, Captain Millard Rojas and the big boss Eduardo Del La Vega. Think the top brass is about to award you a medal with a purple heart thrown in. I'd better get back to work and enjoy the fifteen minutes of fame. You get lots of that where you're going." Folding his long spider legs, the spider-headed crewman slipped through the infirmary doorway and walked out on his own two human legs. Eduardo and Captain Rojas strolled into the room in less than a minute.
"Nice save there, Nino, Captain Rojas, a few crew members, and I saw that from the bridge." Said Eduardo.
"I caught it on video for the rest of the crew who didn't see it. That rogue wave you carved open could go a long way to validating your hero career." Added Rojas.
Tyler sighed, unmoved by the praise. He was more relieved to be alive than to bask in fame.
"You should be proud of that miracle you pulled on that rogue wave that'd make Moses jealous. I don't believe your usual Dragon Ball anime mojo wouldn't have worked. If that wave flopped on deck full force, it'd have smashed in and flooded the cargo holds of my bulk freighter. The added water weight would dip the ship's bow deeper with each bobbing wave, and we'd be in extreme danger. We're almost out of Typhoon Kuki. Aren't you feeling proud 'Gusty Boy?" Asked Rojas.
"I've forgotten how to feel proud. And, for the record, that wasn't a miracle," Tyler panted again. "Just improvisation. I couldn't breathe enough to blast the rogue wave with my air cannonball (pant). It'd take a lot out of me (pant), so I used my air ball like a drain, (pant) sucking up all the water in the middle (pant) and spewing it out on the other end. It parted a huge gap in the wave (pant), allowing the ship to pass through unharmed. Achooo!" He sniffed a fresh string of snot back up his nose. "Mostly."
"Looks like you got nasal congestion from the freezing water." Said Eduardo.
"You might as well sleep it off and stay warm before hypothermia becomes a full-on cold. We'll reach Japan in less than a week. I'd better get back to the bridge and have a nice long nap." Said Rojas.
When the captain left, Eduardo handed Tyler a book on temperature and physics, "Speaking of cold, you might as well read this; it will occupy your crash time, and even better, it will give you insight into your quirk and more or less lethal options for dealing with villains and for rescuing civilians.
"Sure thing, Senior Sensei. Might also give me a career in meteorology," quipped Tyler.
Eduardo chuckled a bit. "I know what weather you always predict: heavy rain with a fifty percent chance of negativity. But remember, being a Pro-Hero requires at least a peek of sunlight through the proverbial dark cloud that is your gloomy soul. You wear that cloud as your cape, but I recommend you balance it with a smile."
Tayura blew his nose through a tissue. "Smile like this?" Tyler's best smile was a very sinister grin.
"Not a bad, if a bit uninviting. That bad-boy attitude will only get you so far. I understand your contempt for hero society and its inadequacy, but it wouldn't hurt to pet a few puppies for the camera or any pandering to the fanbase."
"Knowing the fans, plenty of them are ok with what they got. Hear about 'Gang Orca?"
"Si. He's ranked third among the more 'Villain-like' Heroes."
"Yeah, he's like Marvel's Kingpin cosplaying as Shamu while shaking down Sea World. Hell, he'd upstage Captain Planet if he did that."
Eduardo chuckled. "I'd pay well to see that. Your point?"
"My shtick is nineties era comic book antihero, the cynical kind of hero, a knight in sour armor with dil pickles on the chest plate. If I smile like All-Might, it'll hurt that image. Besides, science says animals smile for the same reason you flash a gun. If I smile for real, it's when I'm having a good time. I'm not some camera whore. Besides, the only smile I'm more familiar with is the layer of rotten onion. If you peel that smile off like an onion layer, you'll find no heart, just something equivalent to expired egg salad," Said Tayura.
"You're right about those science subjects about some animals smiling to discourage confrontation and the treachery that potentially lurks beneath a happy face, but science also says for us humans smiling is far more different. It signals positivity in others, and science also says it is one of many ways we relieve stress. Like animals, we don't smile when truly happy, but holding a fake smile long enough triggers your body's natural chemicals to feed your body a 'spoonful of sugar' and helps provide the feelings to legitimize the matching feelings. Smiling for genuine joy may be right, but so is the opposite. Thus, your smile will signal joy in others and do the same for you."
Tayura sighed sarcastically at his benefactor's speech. "I coulda sworn you ripped a line from Mary friggin Poppins."
"It was my mother's favorite movie. She would invite me to watch every opportunity. But you can't deny a smile; even a fake one can go a long way. To ensure not just the ease of your sponsor, but those looking up to your true believers and even better, yourself."
"Thanks for the motivational speech, Senior Sensei. Now, can I have my beauty nap, please?"
"Righto, El Nino. " Eduardo exited the room, leaving Tyler alone in his berth.
Tyler reflected on his mentor's speech. Perhaps Senior Sensei's got a point there. I've seen too much of the horror that lies underneath the proverbial cake icing of hero society. I've seen it up close and personal, like the fake smiles I discussed.
Visions flashed through his head. Very unpleasant images of memories he'd rather forget. One was the smug, grinning face of a Hispanic teen that warped into a cruel, snarling face followed by his fist soaring at his face. Another was the burned face of his father. The third vision beheld a steel cage MMA-style arena with electrified barriers to keep the contestants from tapping out and an audience cheering with more depraved glee than ancient Roman citizens at a gladiator tournament.
Tyler twitched at the painful memories. If anything, people may hold genuine hearts behind their happy-go-lucky faces.
Arrival at Japan
The ship had safely docked at Tokyo harbor and unloaded its cargo. Tyler and his benefactor left the gangplank and rode Tokyo's famous subway.
Tyler gazed out the window and watched the buildings, cars, and people on the streets below pass him by, particularly the children. He wondered what their lives were like without worries about a villain showing up to ruin their day or, worse, marry their parents.
"Yo, Nino," Asked Eduardo.
"Yes senior?"
"Remember I told you I have an important meeting this morning."
"Yeah, and I have to wait around, bored to death, if not for my Kindle tablet in my pack. "
" I had no intention of bringing you along as my ward. I believe there's a place in Japan you always wanted to visit."
Tyler's eyes lit up, "Wait, you mean -?
"Akihabara!" For the first time in several years, Tayura was in awe; Akihabara, Tokyo, the Anime capital of the world, where every day was an Anime convention. Posters, shelves, and windows displaying anime merchandise from figures, mecha model kits, and key chains bombarded his eyes. He could hear an adorable J-pop idol band singing from a speaker somewhere.
"Wish everybody made it here, wish we all made it here." Tyler lamented, knowing he only made the trip to Akihabara out of all his permanently absent friends and family. Still, I shouldn't let that spoil my fun. They wouldn't want me to be a downer anyway.
Tyler walked to a digital map sign. He read the hiragana writing thanks to one and a half years of Japanese lessons and identified places of interest. Then he played with the arrows and marked the areas he planned to visit on his brand new cell phone's GPS. First, I'll scope the anime shops, then the Mecha café for a bite.
As Tyler walked along his tour route, he noticed what the locals wore other than costumes. Some wore formal business attire, while others, more interestingly, wore casual street fashion. Tayura glanced to the left and halted himself mid-step, A clothes shop. Instinctively, he looked into the nearest window and at his reflection. A sudden wave of fashion consciousness washed over him for the first time in memory. Come to think of it, these jeans and jackets are pretty old and dingy. I stand out like a bum, and Japan used to be hyper-conformist. And as a good tourist, I gotta follow the adage of 'when I'm Rome.' If anything, I should shop for a new wardrobe. It might be a productive way to kill time today.
Tyler entered the store, and his eyes swerved left and right like a surveillance camera. He browsed, looking for anything that would speak to him, but nothing did. He found nothing street fashiony; every selection looked too formal or plain.
Tyler sighed. I guess I'm in the wrong place. No way am I walking the clean streets looking like last year's rummage sale or Average Joe.
He reached for his phone for a GPS search when-
"Hey there, boy, what are you looking for today?" Tyler turned, and immediately, his cheeks felt like roasted marshmallows. Standing at his left side was a Japanese woman, a scorching hot one to boot, gazing at him. A pair of glasses decorated her sinister eyes indistinguishable from a domino mask, spiky raven hair hung flowed from her head like shark fins diving down a pine tree, her right hand planted on her pencil-skirt sheathed hips betrayed a nice toned pair of legs and feet below encased in a nice pair of black high heels, and whatever matching curves she had were well hidden under upper half of her female business top. But the proverbial cake icing was her eyes and a smile that hinted a lot of mischief.
"Oh, h-hi-uh, ohayo (morning) Okusama (Miss). Watashi wa namae wa Veiru Tayura. (My name is Tyler Vale.)" Awkwardly, Tyler bowed his head and bent at a right angle at the waist, which he knew was the obligatory Japanese custom for casual greetings. The lower the bow, the greater respect conveyed. After all, a good tourist, especially an American, had to make good impressions on the locals, the fair sex included.
The woman, in response, bowed in return and posed contrapposto style with her left hand on her bent hip, forcing all her weight onto her left leg while the other portion raised a high heel-clad foot until it rested on the toes. Meanwhile, the above shoulder is raised higher than the right as if yoga is stretching the rib cage.
With a pose like that, Tyler momentarily forgot how to speak Japanese and English. He knew Japanese girls were cute, but older ones, mid-twenties and slightly up . . . Man, this babe was hawt. She had all the right assets, topped off with a devilishly charming face that tempted hundreds of altar boys to wolf down the forbidden fruit without hesitation.
"Dozo yoroshiku (Pleased to meet you), and that your Japanese is passable," the woman switched to English on the second verse. I'm Nemuri Kayama. Welcome to Akihabara. First time here, Tayura-kun?" She asked with very affectionate emphasis on the honorific "kun" suffix.
Tyler tapped his feet like an impatient cloned raptor with anxiety and bashfulness. He never imagined encountering attractive company on the first day in Japan, less a buxom older woman, and he didn't know how to interact without playing the verbal mime.
With bare minimum focus, Tayura quickly picked his words. "H-hai, uh, yes, I-I just got h-here."
"Enjoying the tour so far?"
"Not yet. I h-haven't even started t-touring yet."
"Hmm, judging by your current fashion state, you're out for a wardrobe change, which is why you're here. Looking to walk the streets in style, ain't you?"
Tyler only nodded once, still spellbound by Nemuri's hypnotic presence.
"Then what style are you aiming for?"
"A-anything that suits me." Tyler put his right hand to his chin. "Something like-in the, street-uh, punk-errgh, . . street punk zone Kayama-san."
"Ooh, dress like a tough guy?" Said in what sounded more like a moaning coo. "Sounds like somebody wants to live the Thug life. But if you badly want liberation from that scruffy post-modern Oliver Twist getup, you're in the wrong place."
Tyler felt more nervous as he recognized that Nemuri's voice sounded progressively more "passionate," like the kind of M-rated activity that happened and stayed in the bedroom, especially at a Vegas hotel. And how she delivered the English word "liberation" from his old worn attire gave off very scandalous vibes. The given impression implied she was in no hurry to see him wear his new clothes once he ditched his old ones.
Either that or maybe I need to lay off the ecchi and harem anime.
"W-where exactly?" He asked
She extended her right arm and made a come hither gesture, rhythmically folding all her fingers. "Come on. I know just the place that wears your style on this street. Just follow my lead, and you'll become an instant stud, Tayura-kun," Nemuri said and started walking.
Tyler followed, trying to catch up, short of walking close by her flanks, "Yes, d-domo arigato Kayama-san." He stumbled between both languages.
Tyler got goosebumps as they walked out of the clothes shop and back onto the streets. He couldn't resist the magnetic temptation of ogling the tsunami-sized "waves" Nemuri's delicious derriere made underneath her tight pencil skirt. Her swaying hips didn't help.
Soon enough, they came to a store with its name perfectly spelled in "blazing" katakana and English graffiti: "Infernal Theme."
"We have a keeper. Somehow, I know this shop is your decor," said Nemuri.
"It looks . . . promising."
"Well, don't be shy, boy. The point of tourism is scoping out, so let's go on in for a look-see."
"H-hai, Kayama-san." And he followed her into the shop like a lamb led to a sugar-coated slaughterhouse.
Once inside, Tayura was awed. The store was dim but highlighted with holographic flames lit for emphasis on its punk themes, and he saw a wide variety of items, from anime figures, keychains, spiked belts, and exactly what he was looking for.
First, a black Gundam T-shirt displaying fan-favorite Heero Yuy with his trademark "spread fingers over his eye pose" with the equally fan-favorite Wing Gundam. He grinned, satisfied. Next was a pair of black cargo shorts with straps hanging at the hips. For some reason, hanging straps on pants always seemed associated with anime. He picked it up and held it spread with a grin.
"Ha, winner."
"Not so fast, tiger," cut in Nemuri. "Before you rush for the register, let's get your measurements." Nemuri produced a convenient roll of measuring tape with a wide tooth-baring grin, anime-style. With her shape obscured by the shadows and her glasses reflecting off the light from the entrance behind her, Nemuri looked eerily sinister.
Tyler gulped, "Uh, sure, no arguments there."
Nemuri wrapped the tape around Tyler's waist, strung so tight Tyler felt as though he was getting a hug from a Burmese python.
"Mmmm, 28 inches around your waist is your size, pretty good." Nemuri licked her lips like she gauged the size of a gourmet t-bone. Tyler was still nervous. "That narrows it down. Better look for anything size thirty and up, and you'll save yourself a good hour of daylight. You got a tour to attend, right?"
"Y-yeah, wouldn't want to miss another b-beat."
Tyler walked into the changing room and closed the door behind him, which judging from the vacant screw holes, the door's bolt lock was on a maintenenance vacation. He slowly and nervously disrobed, trying to mentally shield himself from the immutable hormonal fantasy of Nemuri barging into his dressing booth, wearing only her smile.
That lady makes me nervous and confused. Is this what guys said about raging hormones? Cool it, Tyler; you're a badass antihero in the making. Garden variety thugs can't scare you, but how does a ripe older woman make me nervous? Better hurry before noon.
With deep nasal inhalation, he changed into his new outfit.
10 minutes later, he exited the stall
"My, my, take a look at yourself, Mr. Debonair." Nemuri liked what she saw.
Having exited the dressing room, Tyler looked at the mirror doe-eyed and grinned: The Gundam Wing T-shirt and the cargo short pants with hanging straps on his hips gave him just the new look he aimed for. He planted both hands on his sides. He angled himself from side to side, branding each image like a Kodak selfie. "You're right, Nemuri-chan; this is the right size. And it traces my figure like a piece of AI art." Speaking of selfies, he decided to whip out his cell phone from his pocket.
"Looking to capture this moment?" Asked Nemuri.
"T-totally Nemuri-chan."
"Allow me. To do the snapshot."
"Uh, s-sure," Tyler, a bit hesitant, handed Nemuri his phone.
"Okay, now show me some magic. Strike a sexy pose!"
Tyler blushed. Come on, Tyler, don't disappoint the hot lady. Think of some radical pose or something.
A particular paper towel brand mascot flashed through his head, and he posed appropriately with his arms at his hips and his best forced toothy smile.
But the woman frowned. "Trying copyright infringement? Sorry, Tayura-kun, but somebody owns that pose already."
"Oh, sorry, didn't know you were a Brawny paper towel fan."
"You called it. I use that for all my house cleaning needs. In the meantime, strike a better pose with more je ne sais quoi (French translation: I don't know what)."
"Okay, like this?" Tyler gestured by putting his eyes between his two front fingers like Heero Yuy but with a slight grin instead of an emotionless frown.
Snap. "Mmm, that's an improvement. Now something more 'you.'"
"Sure." Shot for shot, Tyler posed in various versions of the Gundam Wing protagonists, involving a similar slight grin or a relatively innocent smile. He didn't think about it; he acted and framed himself on pure instinct.
Snap, "Yes." Snap, "You are stylish." Snap, "Now that's snappy." Nemuri snapped multiple pics on Tyler's phone while licking her lips. Such an uncomfortable yet excitable gesture made him smile like a shy schoolboy, only making him look contrastingly adorable to his usual bad-boy frown.
"Now that's more like it," Nemuri excitedly snapped more pictures like a spotted hyena in heat. "Now that's the money! Might as well have a look-see." Nemuri handed his phone back. Tyler scrolled through each photo.
"Wow, you got good shots. They got a pro's touch."
"I always had an eye for detail." Nemuri posed proudly contrapposto style.
"You some model scout?"
"In a past life, I suppose."
"Then what do you do for a living?"
Nemuri grinned, "I'm an artist."
A pretty aggressive, if not pervy, one to boot, Tyler thought.
"But you gotta admit, you've got potential in the model industry. I have friends in the industry who've expressed an interest in foreign models."
"I'll keep that in mind."
After paying for the clothes and putting them on, Tyler and Nemuri walked out on the Akihabara streets.
Tyler looked around and admired himself on the reflective windows. He also noticed a few schoolgirls glance his way.
"Where do you plan to go next, Tayura-kun?" Nemuri's unwholesome tone hadn't given an inch.
"Well, I, uh, planned to scope out a few places with my fave anime merchandise, then chow at the 'mecha café.'"
"And what comes after lunch?"
"Don't know what next, but I'll look to the map and figure it out."
"I have suggestions: How about heading for the Yodobashi Camera for your gaming and electronic needs, see the Kanda Myojin Shrine, and top it off with dinner at the nearest Maid Cafe. Those lovely maids happily offer all kinds of "service."
"Good idea, Nemuri-san," Though that last part about maids doesn't sound like it'll stop at serving food, drinks, or janitorial service. Can't she say anything without the fragrant whiff of "naughty?"
"By the way, I didn't waste much of your time, did I?" She leaned a little too close to Tyler's personal space.
Tyler hastily looked at his watch. "Oh yeah. I wouldn't s-say I missed anything. I t-think this counts as part of the tour."
"I, uh, had a great time dating-uh, shop-I, I mean thankful for you being my b-browsing guide for the day Nemuri-san-uh, Nemuri-chan."
"Please call me Nemuri-chan."
Then, a low buzzing sound hummed in Nemuri's left skirt pocket. Nemuri fished out the phone and answered. "Moshi, moshi? What's up? Oh yes, that 'case.' Don't worry. I'm all over it." Nemuri hung up and turned back to Tyler. "Well, Tayura-kun, it was fun, but it looks like duty calls. I got some business to take care of, serious business." Nemuri's turned utterly straight. "And you better watch out." She added with her once sultry voice in serious mode.
Tayura was feeling nervy. "For what, a cheesy comic villain armed with ketchup and mustard guns?"
"Worse, a more familiar species of villain, the kind that targets gaijin tourists like yourself for easy money. Don't trust people around here too easily, alright."
"Ssssure thing, N-Nemuri-chan. I'd better carry on. I got some sightseeing to do."
"Well," Nemuri instantly switched back to her playful persona. "Enjoy Akihabara's hospitality, Tayura-chan." she struck a suggestive pose. "All of it."
"Sure thing . . . N -Nemuri-chan. S-sayonara." With all his might, Tyler turned 180 degrees as hard as if painfully unscrewing a vintage bottle cap and walked away.
Do Japanese ladies have a cougar thing going on nowadays, or is she an office drone who moonlights in the red-light district? Hell, she came on a bit too strong. I felt like a rabbit in a vixen's optic headlights, or mammary headlights as the case would have it. Guess I got a lot to learn about the fair sex. Why did I follow her lead so mindlessly? Why did I pose for her like I was happy to model for her? Was it because she was hot? Am I going simp for a cougar I just met?
The earlier pink shade on his cheeks turned a darker shade of red. Whatever Nemuri's job was, it had to involve fashion. It seemed the only occupation where the thirsty-looking gaze she cast over him was considered appropriate.
Either that, or she likes her guys younger. My first experience in Akihabara, and I got hit on by a thirsty older woman. Damn Japan, you naughty.
Tyler wasn't entirely wrong; she had played a role in fashion politics. Specifically for the same reason, boys his age could relate when it involved comic covers featuring sexy superheroines. Tyler walked on as Nemuri watched him with anticipation and had no idea what role she'd played in the fashion dept, less how "intimately" involved she'd be in his life later.
Tyler Power walked through Akihabara's streets, forgetting where he planned to go next. He never knew he would feel relieved to be away from attractive women. The hotter they were, the harder it was for him to concentrate, less read any decent lines from a movie script to help him deal with it.
Damn, that was intense. I never knew ladies with a high score in the hotness zone, especially older women, could make me so nervous. That Nemuri seemed a little too forward for your average Japanese lady with her confident swagger. I read that Japanese women are very reserved in the romance dept, Japan's conformity, obsessed society, and all that. I also got a lot to learn socially, especially the opposite sex. I hope she's not some creepy stalker sizing me up for a future molestation. I mean, not that I wouldn't mind a relationship with an older woman as long as she's hot with a reasonable level of consent, but she did come on a little too strong, in all fairness. Not to mention she'd give that Nazi Gestapo creep from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' a run for his money with the way she held up that measuring tape vs. his coat-hanger scene.
Tyler remembered how Eduardo's hired home tutors informed him that autists like him were vulnerable to being taken advantage of due to their inability to read social cues. He remembered just how much he excelled in the social department when dealing with your average thug by comparison.
Thinking of your average Thug, I'd love to have an accidental run-in with one or two and kick their asses straight to the curb Rockstar Games style. That'll relieve the stress off my shoulders.
"Um, ex-u-scuse me misutah?" Tyler felt a tug at his right arm. He looked down at his right side and noticed a little girl in his early pre-teens whose height was about a head beneath his shoulders. She wore a pink Lolita dress Topped with a bow tie in her blonde hair that seemed a bit too flamboyant for your garden variety cosplay convention. Her English pronunciation needed a little work.
"Yes, what is it?" Tyler asked in perfect Japanese.
"C-can you help me? It's an emergency. My granny's fallen and broke her hip."
"Oh, for real? Uh? S-Sure, I'll call an ambulance." Tyler replied in his top-notch Japanese language and dug into his pocket for his cell phone, anticipating a 911 dial, but the girl grabbed his hand.
"No, no!" The Lolita girl cried.
"What do you think you're doing? Dialing 911 is what we're all taught to do in an emergency. Best leave it to the professionals."
"No, they won't help her. My grandmother has Alzheimer's, and the hospital people don't want to help people like her. They say she's very annoying."
"Okay." Tyler scratched his head in contemplation. Japan did have issues with ableism: discrimination against disabled people. That made sense for the girl to ask a foreigner like him for help. But in his growing panic, he was at a loss. "If the hospital won't your grandmother, what should I do?"
"Only a special Clinic is willing to treat her. And my granny doesn't have a cell phone."
Tyler further scratched his head. He remembered how his late grandfather on his late dad's side didn't have a cell phone since he was on the conservative side and didn't want to waste his pension money on technology he didn't need at the tail end of his life. It wasn't all that weird that some elderly people were bereft of modern technology.
"Can you give me that clinic's phone number so I can call them?"
"No, I don't know it, she knows. First, you got to help my granny get comfortable. She's lying on her broken hip, and she hurts, she's hurting real bad. I need your help to lay her down comfortably First."
"Okay. Where is your grandma?" Tyler asked.
"In a bike garage, I'll take you there." The pink Lolita replied
"Okay, just lead the way."
The girl grabbed Tyler's hand tightly and pulled him in a frantic sprint. She led him to the Eastern edge of Akihabara until they came to a bike garage with two open doors. He saw a shelf bin, several bicycles, and an old lady in a maroon dress lying and moaning on her hip.
"Oww, ooooh. It hurts so much my back is sore, too."
"Grandma, I brought this nice Gaijin to help. He'll call that special Clinic that cares about you."
"Oh, thank you, young man, you're a sweet angel." said the elderly lady.
Tyler cringed at the girl's grandma's cheesy delivery. Still, he remembered Eduardo's personal teacher lessons and that he needed to use any available first aid options and equipment in case of an injury to himself or others. He scrambled for the garage bin. "Just a minute, I gotta get some first aid from these bins." He impulsively ripped open drawer after drawer for medical equipment. "Which one has the medical-?"
Tyler's mouth froze as he scanned the contents of the most recently opened drawer. He noticed over a dozen booklet-like objects that all spelled the same word: "Passport." Tyler grabbed one of the booklets and flipped it open. Inside was a photo of a pale blonde woman "Wendee Lee: age twenty-six." Tyler dropped it back in the drawer and picked up and read another passport and another and another, each with the names: Greg Ayers, Dave Matranga, and Christopher Sabat. All American tourists-like me?! "What the hell?"
Nemuri's earlier heads-up slapped him in the noodle . . . a more familiar species of villain, the kind that targets gaijin tourists like yourself for easy money.
An icicle-like sensation stabbed into the back of his neck, spreading the chilling feeling through his bloodstream.
A bout of giggling echoed through the garage, and Tyler whipped back to face the little girl and her grandma. "Heh, heh, you're so kind for a Gaijin boy scout." said the old lady, who picked herself up with surprisingly flawless grace. "And a total sucker." She, or rather "he," said in a rough, smug masculine tone and tugged off her hair. NO a wig! It revealed the confirming face of a man with plain black short Japanese hair.
Tyler witnessed a strange flash in the disguised cross-dresser's eye like a laser pointer as he locked eyes with his and blinked. Then, suddenly, all the garage doors slammed shut. Tyler reflexively twitched his head left to see, but he couldn't, as if his neck was wrapped in a quick cement cast. A stiff neck wasn't the only problem. His whole body was a stone-cold frozen meat statue.
"Hey, I can't move . . . what'd you do?" He tried to take another step or fling his arm, but he couldn't move more than a few twitches and instantly lost balance.
"Whu-ooh-ooomph!" Tyler was thankfully spared a skull-cracking landing from two surprise arms gripping his shoulders. "I'd hate to see a pretty boy gaijin scramble his brains on the asphalt." The little girl's voice came from behind as she gently lowered his paralyzed body to the concrete floor. She loomed over him, her once shy and sweet bashful demeanor replaced with a sly cat grin relishing in his helplessness as cornered prey. But the Lolita girl's face-heel turn wasn't a complete 180 yet. Her cute, youthful face warped and twisted while she grew taller till she was a head above his own.
When her face reconfigured itself, Tyler wretched in shock and disgust. Correction, she, like her "granny," was also a gender-bent 20-something, cross-dressing, "he!"
"You make a nice big brother. Perhaps you and I will have a good time." The fake Lolita now revealed as a creepy transvestite, blew a kiss at Tyler, who gritted his teeth with disgust.
A door clicked open, "Well, whaddya know?" Came a grindy male voice. "Your 'granny broke a bone act' reeled in another sappy gaijin."
"Heh, heh, that's the twentieth in a row this month." A second slimy, contemptible nasal voice came from the first new man's partner.
The smarmy faces that owned the new voices shuffled into Tyler's sight line. Their smarmy, triumphant grins turned his prior disgust to seething indignant rage.
"Figured it out, Yankee? You've been had, just like, a good number of dumb Gaijin tourists who showed up here to get their otaku freak on."
"You leave it to you dumb flag humpers to cash in for any chance for a few minutes of fame, only to cash out." Tyler couldn't see the nasal-voiced man's pun as funny in any context.
"OK, Gaijin, He is the deal; you stay still as a branch, we take what we want, and we'll handle you gently." Said the fake granny.
"I can do the all the 'caring' 'granny.'" said the fake Loli." Tyler groaned in disgust at the implications.
He could feel them ripping off his backpack, hear them zipping it open, and the fake Loli rummaging through his pockets, albeit a little enthusiastic about the touching part. Tyler badly wished it was Nemuri doing the touching.
Unable to turn his neck, Tyler could only glare at the fake cross-dressing granny who tricked him. However, he noticed how she (I mean he) glared back and maintained eye contact by blinking with one eye at a time.
The fake Loli almost got inappropriate while searching Tyler for "valuables" when his other pals intervened. "Hey, no jerking around with tourists, you home, Loli creep. Just get all his loot. I mind-swipe him, and he forgets all this ever happened, period."
"Aw, why do you guys have to be such buzzkills." Said the fake Lolita mugger as he opened the wallet. His eyes widened at the contents. "Oi, check this out; he's got some good-looking credit card."
The grindy-voiced thug, the apparent ringleader, came over and plucked the card from the fake Loli. "Torenado Transports? Some big-time shipping company?" The lead bigger walked straight into the prone Tyler's view parallel to the disguised fake granny and held the card up for him to see. "Why's a kid like you carrying some big-shot business brand card like a corporate celebrity?"
"Very curious, aren't you?" Tyler's smart-mouthed comment earned himself a kick in the ribs from the lead mugger.
"Don't play games with us, Amerikajin. Tell us your connections, whatever they are, and we won't hurt you like we promised, and the best part is you forget it ever happe-eh? What are you smiling about?"
"Catch." Tyler pursed his lips and, fwoooosh. A gust of wind blew the card free of the lead mugger's hand and slapped the fake granny with the force of a pimp slap.
"Ow, my face
"Whoa."
"How did he?"
"What the hell kind of quirk is-OOF!" The stasis-staring granny thug found an exhilarated Tyler's foot in his gut.
"Yeah!" Tyler followed up with a wind-propelled roundhouse kick.
"Guukgh!" "Granny Tranny" took off and slammed hard against a shop table edge with a wet crunch.
In a flurry of shoes and fists and shoes, the other three muggers lay moaning on the asphalt. Tyler stood posing in a one-leg fighting stance with a cocky grin. "Next?"
The lead mugger recovered first. "Why you!" His hands morphed into power screws. "Get him!"
"Stupid American! We normally go easy, but you voted the hard way." The smarmy, nasal, voiced mugger drew a revolver; however, the fake transforming "man loli" cowered in the corner.
Tyler's grin widened, with his teeth bared like fangs. This was gonna be a fun sideshow.
An excited Izuku skipped out of the art studio. A few seconds ago, he bought a marvelous painting of his number one Idol All-Might. His mother picked a good Sunday trip to Akihabara. It was an excellent time to get out of town for a one-day vacation and relieve themselves of life's monotonous routine. The best part was he couldn't wait to decorate his room with his new All Might paraphernalia; it'd look great on his room, another offering to the symbol of peace.
Fwam! Izuku paused mid-step. A metallic thump hooked his ears. Instinctively, he turned left to a pair of garage doors and saw them jolt with another bang. Curious, he shuffled to the garage doors and pressed his ear against the first door. He could hear muffled shouting, kiai grunting, popping like a cherry bomb. He felt the impact that sounded like a human body whamming against the door again and recoiled from it.
What's going on in there? A fight? Is someone in trouble?
As if to answer, the garage door he leaned against prior grinded open and revealed the satisfied grinning face of a Caucasian Boy his age.
Izuku jumped and scurried backward at cartoonish light speed with his back against the adjacent wall.
The Caucasian boy, apparently a backpacking tourist, noticed him and looked at him with a quizzical head tilt at the cowering Izuku. Izuku scanned the young foreign tourist, including his prominent apparel, and broke into the shivers. The Caucasian tourist boy stood clad in the latest street fashion with a pair of strapped cargo shorts, a shirt with the Gundam brand, and a hoodie jacket. The main selling point for Izuku's brand new terror: The boy's face, ooh Kami! His face was that of a delinquent, a thug, a high school bully whose stare put the fear of the Gods in his timid soul like an IV injection, just like his childhood friend turned school bully, Katsuki Bakugo. Because he was born quirkless, his life had been scarred with bullying and mockery. No one, not even his school teachers, lifted a finger to help him because of his quirklessness. From all that bullying, simply gazing into the face of a scary-looking person was enough to send a hardwired, knee-jerk reaction up his spine.
Even in an age where individuality was proudly displayed from quirks, Japan's national penchant for xenophobia and conformity didn't die out. It simply switched a full 180 degrees to the opposite side of the "acceptable target zone." Where it used to be the extraordinary individuals who got the wrong end of the persecution whip, it now was the ordinary, alongside other "classic" minorities. Poetically ironic, isn't it?
The foreign boy stared at Izuku with his half-lidded eyes and head tilted slightly downward, Stanley Kubrick style, with a disappointed frown as if to criticize Izuku's timid reception.
"What are you scared of kid?" The foreign boy said. His neutral, monotone voice didn't help Izuku's trepid tremors.
Izuku gazed past the boy, and his pounding pulse pumped faster. He saw three people lying on the ground. Two were unconscious, and the third man wore a granny dress and a wig. Both lay sprawled on the floor while the latter moaned in agony.
Izuku Shook and shivered. He read enough manga and News reports to know you should never mess with a thuggish-looking guy, less interact with him, especially with a pile of bodies lying on the floor behind them. He knew from painful experience that to deal with one is to walk on a Vietnamese minefield.
Time seemed to move at a snail's pace as Izuku cowered against the wall. Then…
"Going somewhere, you shapeshifting sicko?" The foreign boy lifted his right hand, and a miniature tornado billowed into existence.
"Hey, put me down, you big meanie pants." A girl in a pink Lolita dress got vacuumed into the little tornado mid-air. She looked at Izuku with pleading eyes. "Help me, mister, this mean American Tourist beat up my friends and hurt my grandma. Please help me?"
Izuku, still confused and paralyzed with fear, hesitated. He wanted to save and help the girl, just like All Might. He tried to move a muscle, but he couldn't. It was that fear, that paralyzing fear, that same fear Bakugou and his bully posse continuously stabbed into his being with simple eye contact and the torturing helplessness to match.
"Oh, quit your whining; you're too old and 'manly'for that." The foreign teenager snapped his finger, followed by a whiplash sound. The little girl yelled and grabbed her butt, followed by something that would send Izuku and other potential onlookers scrambling for brain bleach. "Her" legs began to swell and stretch and grow hair. And lastly, her face, or rather "his" dirty, stubbled, and zit-riddled face, along with the above, contorted into the form of an adult 20-something male.
Izuku's jaw dropped to the limit of his hinges. All language was squeezed out of his already overclocked brain.
"You were ugly enough baiting me into that dimly lit garage, but now, seeing you in broad daylight, you're revolting!"
The fake Loli concentrated and reverted to his little girl form. "Oh please, Don't hurt me. It wasn't my idea, it was my older friends-Uwhoahwhoahwhoahwhoahwhoahwhoahwhoahwhoah!"
"Why don't you go for a spin while you're making up excuses." Izuku watched, mesmerized at the foreign boys' quirk, which seemed to involve control over the wind. Suppose he wasn't so stunned as much as trying to piece himself together, he'd have started taking notes as he watched the foreign boy, with careful calculation, levitate the fake Lolita and hang him like wet laundry on a street lamp post by the suspenders of his Lolita costume. The semi-conscious, shapeshifting mugger felt a bad stomach sensation, clutched his mouth, and his lunch decorated the street beneath him: gross sight, but not as much as the creepy nature of his quirk.
"Don't worry, loli-freak, you'll find lots of big bros, where you're going and in no short supply. Until then, enjoy a little hang time as the neighborhood pinata."
The foreign boy then turned his gaze back to the still-cowering Izuku. The white boy, likely American, ambled toward him and stopped less than two feet from his personal space. Izuku felt like a rabbit cornered by a tiger, and said tiger was taking its time sizing him up for the dinner plate. The only question was when would said tiger pounce?
"Okay, kid, you can stop shivering. I'm the good guy. Loli-tranny and those guys in the garage are the bad guys." The foreign boy thumb pointed to the prone criminals behind him. Izuku still trembled.
Crack. "OOW! My hip. Somebody call an ambulance." The fake granny propped on one hand while clutching said hip didn't make Izuku any cozier. Moments passed like hours as Izuku's eyes magnetically locked again with the American teen, as helplessly as he was against the bullying from Bakugo and his posse.
Then, the American boy bowed in Japanese fashion. "K-konnichiwa. Namae wa Tyler Vale-errgh, Vei-ru Tyler-uh, Tay-Tayura-uh, Veiru Tayura (Good afternoon. My name is Tyler Vale-errgh, Vale-errgh Ty-Tyler, Vale Tyler)."
Izuku's shivers stopped, his terror canceled by the American's awkward delivery in his native language. He forgot his fear when the American boy raised his head back up, and his tough guy's straight face was utterly marred with a blush. "I'll say it again, kid. I'm not the bad guy; those guys in the garage are. They're muggers who thought I was easy pickings."
"I-I c-can s-see that," Izuku replied. "I just -uh?"
"Just what?" Tyler asked.
"Uh, nothing." Said Izuku.
"Whatever, mind introducing yourself now? I've already done that."
"Uh, M-Midoriya, Midoriya Izuku."
Tyler grinned. "Dozo yoroshiku (Nice to meet you) 'Izu-kun.'"
At this point, Izuku's fear completely evaporated, and he smiled at being referred to with the kun suffix by an American tourist around his age of all people. "S-same here-nice to see you too. 'Tayura-kun.'"
"For clarity, I am a tourist, but only for today. The rest-I'm an expat."
"Oh-uh, good to hear. Why are you moving to Japan? Family move, parents landed a n-new job here?"
"Something like that. You live here, or are you visiting too?"
"I'm visiting with my mother. She wanted to help me celebrate my graduation from Junior High."
"Points for her; you got a perfect mother." Izuku sensed a bit of sadness in Tyler's voice.
"Since we're both fellow tourists, why don't we like 'tag team' and enjoy what Akihabara Street has to offer." Said Tyler.
"S-sure, that'd be fun, more the merrier. Oh, wait, I forgot something, but what is it?" Izuku scanned left and right.
"You mean that?" Tyler pointed to the All-Might painting.
"Oh, thanks." Izuku rushed to his purchased artwork and grabbed it. Meanwhile, he glimpsed at the tourist-trapper thugs who were left moaning on the ground senseless. Except for the less mature and creepy group member left "hanging." In a poetic sense of karma and irony, the fake granny couldn't limp an inch without screaming in pure waist-stabbing agony. "Oh, my hip. Someone call an ambulance." Crack!
Izuku winced with empathy, thinking of his mother carving raw chicken. "Uh, shouldn't we call the cops?"
Why bother? They aren't going anywhere. As a tourist, I want no trouble with Japan's dubious and skewed legal system. "Besides, that sick creep hanging from the lamp is happy to arrange that."
"Oh, I see."
"We'd better get going."
15 minutes later.
The boys slurped bowls of beef ramen noodles at a manga cafe and were going at it. Tyler was pleased to know that certain Japanese foods appeal to his taste buds as much as a non-fast food burger or pizza. It didn't have the usual taste bud flair as the latter two, but beef Ramen was in a class of its own if not healthier.
During that time, Tyler introduced himself to Izuku.
"So you're an expat."
"Since my guardian is currently working out the living stuff, he said I should unwind and scope out the place. I must say it's anime Nirvana or the biggest temple for anime religion."
"Who is your guardian?" asked Izuku.
"A rich and well-connected one. Like, say, Batman or Iron Man. But overall, he's richer than just his wallet."
"'Richer-than-his-wallet' how?"
"Rich enough to see the best in people, whether they came from a broken home or once ran in a bad crowd."
Izuku's previous bullying-induced fear and paranoia pricked him again, but only for a second. I hope he isn't a former member of a villain gang.
"So, what brings you to Akihabara?" Tyler asked.
Izuku reached into his backpack and pulled out a box with a mint-condition figure of All-Might in his silver-age suit. "This is a vintage collector's item. You can't find these anymore. My mother heard from a friend in Akihabara that they had this on sale, so this is one of the reasons she took me to Akihabara."
"So you're a big-time fan of All Might? Right?" Said Tyler.
"Yes. I've collected a lot of All Might paraphernalia."
"I take it you got a big collection."
" I wouldn't call it the biggest collection, but I got a lot of rare stuff from his golden age, silver age, and beyond."
"No surprise there. Everyone needs a role model, and All Might is the go-to guy like some "one size fits all" sports sock, right?"
"All-Might is more than that; he's the symbol of peace that has kept the country from falling into chaos and anarchy with all the villains threatening it."
"You bill him like he's some kind of Messiah?" Tyler let on he wasn't impressed.
"I really wouldn't exactly call him a Messiah. It's just that he's such a special person everyone looks up to, me especially."
"Good to know." Tyler's voice didn't slip by Izuku's ears. He was about to ask when an anime theme song played.
"Tooku wo mite'ru, sono manazashi wa!" Kokoro no naka no koe wo kiite'ru!"
"Hey, isn't that the Saiyuki theme?" Izuku asked.
"That's also my new phone's ringtone!" Tyler opened his phone.
Before he answered, Izuku's eyes snapped open, seeing the caller's name flashing. "Eduardo De le Vega?" He murmured. Why does that sound familiar?
Tyler raised a free index finger in a "wait a sec" gesture and answered the call. "Si (Yes)? Done with your meeting? Okay, what's the apartment address? I'm moving in . . . Shizuoka Prefecture, Musutafu . . . A danchi (group land/apartment) and the address is:
105 1K APARTMENT, MOTOICHIBA, Musutafu-SHI, SHIZUOKA, Room Number 105. I got it, all on my voice recorder and phone notes. Gracias (thanks), Senior Sensei."
Tyler hung up the phone and turned back to a stunned Izuku. "What are you so shocked about?"
"That's- that's . . . my home address!"
Tyler grinned. "What a happy coincidence."
"Urgh! Dang it! This is the worst day ever! Me and my pals had our sweet little tushies handed to us by such a cute American Boy." The fake Lolita in his creepy and perverted little girl form had managed to retain his artificial little girl body 90° and cling to the lamppost, tightly pushing against it to unhook his underwear. But it was pretty much a long shot as the end of the lamp was big and hard to maneuver and slide through. The underwear didn't come cheap, either. It was modified to be flexible as a bungee cord to accommodate his true ugly, fat, and nerdy size. And many mugged and stranded tourists would know; they bought out of their pockets.
"When I get down from here, I'm gonna use that gaijin for a tatami mattress, watch his face turn blue and-!"
He heard high heels clacking, and a black-haired woman in a gray office suit rounded the corner.
"Miss, miss, tasukete (help)!"
The woman heard him and walked up. "Oh, kami." The woman clapped her hands over her cheeks and jaw. "What happened, sweetie?"
"Some big and mean American bully did this to me, and he beat up my friends, too!"
"What did your American bully look like?"
"Um, he had-uh, a scowling, meany face, wore a k-knit cap, shorts with extra pockets, hanging straps, and, uh-Gundam shirt.
The woman etched a slight grin and gripped her chin with her thumb and index finger as if scanning his statement for a price check. Then she gazed right at the open garage door. "Oh, kami! You weren't kidding about your friends. Better hang tight, sweetie. I'm going to have a look at your friend's injuries and call an ambulance right now." The woman power-walked into the garage with the impatient fake Lolita folding his arms with a sigh.
"Why do adults always take their sweet fat time? Why can't parents ever come home to play with their own kids after work?"
Clack clack. The fake Lolita noticed the woman strutting out of the garage. If any healthy male were watching, their appropriate reaction would be like a Capcom-brand Attorney: AWOOOOGAA!
The woman had swapped her prior office uniform for a more liberal and unwholesome fashion statement right out of an S&M club.
The woman's lower body was clad in leather high-heeled boots that reached several inches below her knee, thigh-high purple stockings connected to garter straps attached to a pyramid studded belt with an envelope-shaped buckle in the center. And on her upper half, She wore a leather leotard-like corset with no bra cups, allowing her breasts to bounce free. Both leather articles of her outfit were studded with crimson red diamonds and pyramid studs. Her liberal strutting in such a risque outfit would have netted her indecent exposure charges if not for a thin body suit covering all the naughty bits and remaining skin. Not to mention she was the R-rated hero in the censored flesh. The fake lolita got an extra nervous and criminally natural trigger when he noticed the last-but-not-least handcuffs decorating her wrists like typical bracelets. "You! Uh, I mean-uh? You're Midnight. Hooray, I'm saved!"
"A bit late to change your tune, sweetie?" The fake Lolita's equally fake joy face drooped at Midnight's unconvinced response.
"It's fascinating that a pink lolita's best friends are a sketchy back alley crowd of 'not too good lookin' ne'er do wells. Not to mention keeping a collection of foreign tourist passports in the garage bin."
"(Gulp)!" Soon enough, with his snapped concentration and a sickening pop, the shapeshifting creep reverted to his true, ugly adult male form.
"Urrrrgh! Now that's creepy and disgusting," Said Midnight. "If you'd seen a dermatologist or hit the gyms more often, I'd be happy to take you home and play like I do some of the more good-looking villains. Shame you're among the exceptions." Midnight peeled her luscious lips into her scariest grin with zero lustful hints, only disgust.
"But don't worry, your pals will get an ambulance, including your 'grandma with a busted hip.' But until then, I'm giving you lessons on how to be a proper man."
Midnight pulled out a maroon leather whip and pulled it taught, and the shapeshifting mugger, still hanging by his underwear, could only tear up. "Oh, Kami!"
And that's a wrap, True Believers. In case you're wondering why I used that Lolita roleplaying freak? Yeah, he creeps me out, too. By psychological profile, he undoubtedly could use serious help. I don't know why I decided to use a shapeshifting creep besides making sense of how a bunch of muggers could get away with their crap for so long. But it makes sense, much like how today's bank robberies occur incognito instead of the stereotypical Jesse James-style takeover. So that you know, recently, all my uploaded fics were deleted from my profile, and I will have to re-upload them one at a time. Particularly the ones that I'm in progress with. The rest will have to wait till I'm motivated enough, e.g. "Dream Zeon (Gundam UC)," "Terra Remnant: Strike Force RECN (RWBY/Misc. Game X-Over)," or my debut fic "Do Viing Bo" (Skyrim) After watching the first two episodes of Cyberpunk Edge runners, I'm hooked and I plan to one day write up self-insert fic with a new character class comparable to wizard to Cyberpunk 2077's other playable classes's fighters (solos), rogues (Netrunners) and artificiers (Techies). I feel the 2077 game is an unworthy exposition of a classic tabletop rpg and should've been the prequel to the Edgerunners Anime. I'm such a slow writer but a determined one, though. Until then, ciao.
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