'1955 - That was the year it all started, some old folks with stories to tell say it was called "The Third World War" when it first happen, some called it "The End times" (given by some religious sect at that time; I don't really understand how people just craved some sort of apocalypse and frankly I don't care for such useless info) and others called it "The Step", this 'event' has given numerous dramatic names over the past 96 years, and will be given a few more in the future (That is if the world doesn't actually end first).
I guess the real point they are trying to make was – the lives of every living human changed since then, at least that's the stories pasted down by our forebearers and keepers of records but to the people born during this era; an era more adapted to this 'war', it's just the present reality, not history and we don't really complain about it.
It is known as 'The War" or "The Unknown War" to us, but who really gives a shit, it just a name honestly. This 'event' is basically the whole world being invaded by creatures through gateways to other worlds and mankind don't know much about their origin beyond the Gates after almost 100 years and little about their intention for invading is known.
I myself don't even know why I think about this shit, probably because the bastard TV guy on the steel caged old train's TV, hanging in right corner of train's roof with its broken screen making the picture less visible. The guy is arguing with another guy - guest with some fancy job description about some issues about 'The War'.
Probably why my mind trailed back to the things I heard about 'The Unknown War" or "The War" (Shit, it's even exhausting saying it in my head)'.
I could see the rain was still moderately falling as I looked out the window, my eyes drawn to the billboards decorated with neon lights and the buildings around them. Just like every other night, military drones and helicopters can be seen flying around, patrolling the city of Osaka.
My eyes moved about; absorbing any and all distraction to take my mind off the fact that I didn't get any work for like 4 days straight, partly because of it rained quite heavily earlier mostly and partly because it's one of those days that just suck for guys like me.
'Maybe I will get something to do at the Underground, it is Wednesday – meaning it's 'Scrap night'. I just hope Hoshi set me up good. What the hell am I even saying? All E-Grade Evolve fights pay shit, just want mine stinks less.'
Finally, after more than 50 minutes riding the train, I got off Sumiyoshi public train station, walked out the old graffiti-cover train that sounded like it is struggling to stay active after each run.
Then towards the exit ignoring the homeless bumps crawling around like roaches, to beg for money from those that just stepped out of the train. Some just stayed into their little corner, doing whatever suckers like them do.
I walked out of the station into the main street (above ground), immediately attacked by the chilling wind of the rainy night, causing me not to quickly notice the streets weren't as crowded as usual.
Normally, there would be a lot of people all over the place; some going to the Conquest District for work, some coming back, some trying to sell shit, some simply hanging around doing nothing from the perceptive of any passerby but tonight, few 'workers' like me could be seen running about, and fewer people just hanging around, which made less than half of the people that occupied the streets tonight, if you include the homeless.
Many of the folks just chilling, found shelter under vacant shaby shades in order to avoid the gentle rain; most killed time by having a smoke (cigarettes and grass was the main menu tonight).
Some threw me stink eyes as I walked by and I returned utterly nothing; not even a noticeable side glace. I just paced forward normally.
Bastards always looking for trouble.
The speed of the wind began to increase, carrying trash with it as it shifts the trajectory of the raindrops as they fell from the sky.
I cut into an alleyway, picked up my walking pace and eventually started running. Not getting soaked by the rain was not my agenda, I couldn't care less about that, I simply needed to reach the Underground, fast!
After running for another 25 minutes or so with all my strength cutting through back alleys, I arrived in the neighbourhood where the Underground brighten up the dark streets.
I stopped running to catch my breath then began walking through narrow street that lead up directly to the Underground.
Walking through the street, I could see silhouette some guy getting beaten by some street urchins in a muddy dark corner, I moved my gaze to another corner and there; a silhouette of a guy is grabbing the hair of a feminine-looking silhouette roughly as he piped her from behind with her hands against the wall.
She doesn't seem to hating it, with the sound she's making.
In front of that corner were guys smoking, chatting and laughing; all covered in inks, bandanas and piercings, hanging around like they were guarding that corner... or probably waiting for their turn.
Then passed by a couple of old buildings partially ruined by heavy war machineries, with loud rap music and other noise exploding from the building.
On every fucking block were street punks hanging around them; either dealing drugs, smoking drugs, talking to prostitutes, rolling dice or doing other things the everyday thugs does.
One every block are fucking low lives like me, simply doing their own thing to get by.
I was finally close to the entrance of my destination - a gym with the name "UnDerGrounD" highlighted above the entrance with fluorescent light; though some letters were busted and not lit up. It is not a very tall building but still somewhat wide and has been a victim of time, junks and graffiti.
*
A couple of guys smoking cigarettes hanged around the front entrance, engaging in a conversation. I heard few words like "pushers", "crap", "dead man", "pimp" but the wind carried their most of their conversation away and I wasn't that close, making it hard for me to know what they were really talking about; not that their conversation actually interests me… Fucks wrong with me today? Don't normally speak this much in my mind.
I knew one of the guys there, he had his back resting against a rough grey wall while passing the stick he was puffing to one of his pals beside him, he wore ragged jean, a black factory hoodie on and the tattoos running from his lips to his jaws.
He raised up his head while putting one of his hands behind his back, like he was reaching for a weapon immediately he noticed me approaching them.
"Calm the hell down, Razor it's just me" I announced aloud but unthreaded.
I got within five to six arms' length from them, for him see my body figure clearer, before moving closer and putting my head up boldly for them to see my face much clearer.
"Shit, I almost didn't recognize you there, Rat-boy… You normally covered in shit, guess the rain washed a big chuck of 'em of ya face" Razor said, bursting out into a silly laughter as he elbowed the guy right aside him and the lot of them laughed for a good moment to such the 'not-so-funny' joke.
I've seen lots of dead people saying stuffs funnier than Razor on his best days.
I couldn't help but annoyingly sigh internally. I HAD to just tolerate mind-scraping stuffs like this every freaking day if I want to bag some coins.
"Is 'scrap night' still on?" I calmly asked still under the rain as I walked up to him and we slapped the front and back of our palms against each other (a street hand shake common around here) and continue talking "Run-in today was a bust… got no elixir or coin, hoping Hoshi could fix me a spot, no matter the coin he's offering"
"I'm not his handy-boy, shitface… If you want to get a spot - get in and get it yourself. Now get the fuck out of my face, I need to take some of that" Razor said reaching out and taking the 'cigarette' from one of the guys by his other side.
Now closer to this sad bunch, I noticed from the smell of the stuff they were smoking, that it's actually a joint they were passing around, not cigarette.
I strolled into the gym and took a quick glaze at the people in the gym, seeing some huge dudes doing some light weight lifting with dumbbells (dumbbells are actually gears from heavy vehicles, so it can't be light-weight lifting, right?), some sparring, shadow boxing or doing whatever tickles their armpit.
I observed the people in the gym while walking up to the counter protected with reinforced glass, old paper stickers and few scratches, then rang the bell in front of the glass and after few seconds, a man walked into the counter from a door at the other side of the reinforced glass barricade.
The man was full bearded beefy muscular dude, around 6.2 feet in height with tattoos spanning from his neck up to the left side of his temple and more tattoos could be seen on his lower arms below his rolled-up brown sleeves. With the wrinkles on his face, one could guess he is probably in his mid to late thirties.
"Ahiii, it's you… was expecting someone else, so what elixir you got on you?" the big guy asks cracking his fists.
"Nah, today was straight up a 'no pay day', Hanzo" I replied combing my wet hair with my fingers to the back of my head.
"Then why are you here? To wet my fucking floor?" Hanzo asked a bit vexed, while diverting his gaze to something on his counter.
"I came to check if there's a spot…" Before I could finish, Hanzo returned his gaze to me and completely turned me down before I could even finish.
"The party's about done, kid. Weren't lot of spots for E-Grade Evolved in the first place… Ain't no way there's anything left for you to snatch up" Hanzo grumbles, sounding beat.
"… Hanzo, I need some 'bread'. I ain't going home dry. Just find me something, anything or can I go meet Hoshi myself," I mutter, almost begging.
Hanzo sighs with frustration, grumbling under his breath before finally spitting out a response.
"I can't promise you shit, but if you're that desperate, go see Hoshi. Maybe there's some somethin' left," Hanzo growls, then rings a bell. A dude nearby, busy throwing punches and locking some beat-up bag with his legs, stops and trudge over to the counter.
Hanzo gives a lazy tilt of his head. The dude nods and jerks his chin at me, telling me to follow. He lead us to a door on the left side of the gym. The moment he opens it and we step inside, every damn pair of eyes in the room is on me, watching as I walk past.
When they see I was basically tailing the dude, they quickly got back to their cards, while we make a beeline for a steel door across the room.
When my escort reaches the door, he bangs out a knock, and the peephole slides open, showing a miserable pair of dead eyes.
Those scrawny eyes scan us, top to bottom, before the door swings open.
On the other side, the guy standing there gave us a quick scanning once-over.
The punk was shirtless, showing off his bony, tattoo-covered body, with an AK-47 hanging off his shoulder.
My escort returns his own dirty look at the sucker. They have a brief stare-down before the guy grudgingly steps aside, letting us through.
The room was a dump, littered with nylon, bones—mostly animal-looking—and random trash like pieces of cartons, pipes, and scrap metal scattered everywhere. Thick, grimy blue nylon curtains hung from the battered ceiling, covering a big portion of the left side of the room.
You could hear metal being sawed from different machines, sparks flying, and smoke filling the air, smelling like burnt metal. All that noise was coming from the section behind the curtains. It was hard to tell what was really going on back there, but some of the curtains were seriously ripped up—half gone, torn to shreds—giving me a glimpse.
I could see two sweaty, muscle-bound guys covered in piercings and tattoos. One was hammering away at weapons—sword blades, spearheads, axe heads—while the other was in front of a panel, holding a tool that looked like a flashlight with a cable attached. That thing shot out a blue flame, hitting a blade-weapon of some sort on the panel.
I walked past them, sticking close to my escort, until we reached another steel door. He gave the same rhythmic knock, and this time, the door slid open without any peek-hole inspection, revealing a slender old man.
My escort stepped in, and I followed. This wasn't really a room, but an elevator. The old, skinny dude shuffled back to his seat and pulled on some old lever sticks on the ground, right beside where he sat.
As he yanked the lever, you could hear the gears struggling with their very 'lives' to turn. The elevator creaked as it slowly descended. While we were going through this slow-ass process, my mind was all over the place—thinking about how much I needed to scrap for some coins tonight, what I'd do if I couldn't, and what the hell else I could try if things didn't pan out.
When the elevator finally stopped, the old man got up and opened the door. My eyes were hit with the sight of a noisy crowd on the other side, people yelling, laughing, and cussing. I stepped out, gave the old man a small nod as a sign of thanks, but he just looked away, not giving a damn.
I shrugged it off and turned to the crowd of loudmouth gutter rats filling this underground pit. It was clear the night was nearly over—four cages in this space, with two already empty.
One cage had two guys dragging out some poor bastard covered in blood, most likely his own, while the last cage still had a fight going on. Even a kid could see it was almost done, with one guy beating the life out of his opponent, teeth and blood flying everywhere like some kind of twisted spray paint.
I stretched my neck, trying to spot Hoshi, pushing through the dense crowd. All I got for my trouble was half-naked chicks cussing at me when I accidentally touched 'em and dudes giving me shit for bumping into 'em.
But I couldn't fuckin' care less. I needed to find Hoshi fast. The whores and junkies could whine all they wanted.
Finally, I spotted him—a guy with the same build like Hanzo, wearing a black tank top, a single jewelry round his neck, and gray sweatpants. He was covered in tattoos from neck to wrist, even had one on the right side of his temple, looking very similar to Hanzo's ink. He was laughing with some guy in a suit who had a bird tattoo on his forehead… Shit, a Black Bird!
*
Hoshi co-owns the 'UnDerGrounD' gym together with Hanzo. Their gym is equipped to handle some insanely strong D-Grade Evolves, so their gym isn't totally wack even if it's in the slums.
Many Mercenary-Guards from around this neighbourhood frequent the gym, if not all of them and because of this, their street rep is quite up there, but like anyone with a lot of friends, they also have lots of enemies - gangs, business rivals, Enforcers, police… basically anyone who either have a problem with them or their 'friends'.
The gym and their 'training services' to Evolves from these parts is just a front.
Their real business is crafting of illegal arcane weapons, buying Aggressors' body part (especially the heart or arcane-core), stones, plants, ores; basically, anything from those Gates and soaked with arcane energy—all the shit we call 'Elixir', but those who do or use to do 'certain' runs for them, know their fingers stick deeper in some legit shit.
While doing those runs a couple of years back, I had the opportunity to see them deal bio-materials from Aggressors and other arcane stuffs to Corp agents and fixers from both the Silver and Conquest districts.
My guess to why top-side folks like that do a good amount of this kind of business with weapon racketeers like Hoshi and Hanzo, is to probably looking to either get cheaper stocks of Elixirs or some 'very' illegal arcane-materials that might not be available in their normal circles will be found here.
Anyways, Hanzo and Hoshi operation's actually small compared to others, but that's how they like it—keeps them off the radar of the government and, most importantly – the freaking Black Dragon Tower.
They are this insanely powerful para-military that handles all things related to Evolves, Guards, Arcane-beings, and Gates in the whole Japan; making 'em the people you least want to come knocking on your front door.
They are the real top dogs that can off anyone they want to and no one got the guys asking too much question or making too much noise about it.
There was this one time I heard where some real brass-necks in other Towers and politician got offed by some mean-looking agents from The Black Dragon.
They were said to have appeared out of nowhere like haunting spirits and had blood-red smoke oozing from every gap of their pitch-black amour; made from the spiked-hide of some demon spawn of an Aggressor, and killed every one that stood in their way of the poor suckers that crossed their path, then flatten the places they were found to earth dust before disappearing as they appeared.
The word on the street then, was they killed at least a thousand people and it even made it to lot of the news channels on the train, days after of the whole 'Black Dragon Executioners butchering loads of brass-neck' flooded this part of Osaka, but the narrative was very different from the hearsays.
There were no demonic assassins, no insane body counts and no destruction of building but it still follows the same story – The Black Dragons killed some top-side ballers and no one can do shit.
I am yet to hear of any Evolve, worker or something under the Black Dragon Tower getting throwed into the can for what happened then. There was this police commissioner or something that kept on yapping on how the massacre stood against their system and will get justice for those folks that were iced. He kept saying over and over again that no one is above the Law, absolutely no one.
Years later no one has heard shit, I guess the commissioner later found out those guys are clearly above it, I mean they are even the Law themselves; since Enforcers are said to be owned by Black Dragon Tower, only work for the federal government by extension.
The Black Dragon Tower mostly have their Enforcers in the Silver districts, and Conquest districts—sections in cities like Osaka where all them rich fat rats live, with silver spoons up their asses while the rest of us, outside the Conquest district, in ghettos like Sumiyoshi, are left to fend for ourselves when shit hits the fan.
Keeping history aside, Hoshi was laughing with that Black Bird-tattooed forehead chap like he heard the funniest thing ever. I steeled my nerves and approached him, calling out 'respectfully'—"Hoshi-sensei."
He went quiet as soon as I spoke, takin' a few seconds before turning to look at me. "Ahh… Ratty…" he muttered, his voice dripping with indifference.
He glanced at the empty cage in front of him, a hint of irritation in his eyes.
"Who's this fucker, Hoshi-san? I thought you muzzled all your bitches with a cock down in their fucking throats?" the bird-forehead guy sneered, his eyes burning with anger and clear shimmer of craze as he glared at me, I immediately go the feeling that he's just waiting for any excuse to tear me apart, just because I called out to Hoshi.
I averted my gaze, I know better than to knowingly irritate this well-known psychopathic gangster.
Everyone in this neighbourhood have heard of this twisted bastard, at least a dozen times and the numbers of people he has dropped for just annoying him are rumoured to fit in a freaking airplane.
'Not that I have an idea how big is a fucking airplane'
"Ignore him, Genji-san, he's just some runt… one of the boys that train in my gym," Hoshi said indifferently, not even glancing at me. Then he finally turned to me and asked, "…What do you want, Shitsubo?"
I tried to sound as desperate as I felt, "I need to scrap, please." I couldn't guess what his reply would be, but I knew i