Having learned nothing from his dire nights rest. Furyo kisses Cynthia goodbye and rushes into the quest for adrenaline and serotonin. Stealing a kids skateboard from a balcony, he is in the wind. Pushing into the cement alley ways and strange vistas of this new landscape. He wants to check out the underside of Tokyo, the graffiti, the abandoned buildings, nexus of bad kids and street gangs. Coming to a parking lot of an abandoned factory he sees the leftovers of a rowdy night of biker gangs and local chimpira thugs having an illicit street takeover. The names were all in Kanji but some had flags with English writing. Names like “Death Machine,” “Eternal Torment,” “Charlie Manson Gang.” That one rings a bell. He remembers some Japanese Bōsōzoku in San Francisco from Charlie Manson Gang. Their patches were different. In SF they dressed like Rockabillys with greaser jackets with Charles Manson emblazoned on the back surrounded by a ww2 Japanese war flag with red streaming rays of the sun. Their 旭日旗 (Kyokujitsu-ki, battle flags) are covered black Kanji professing allegiance to several different street gangs.

Here they wore pressed blue, white and black khaki mechanics suits and trench coats covered in yellow and white diatribes down the legs and arms. It looked like some kind of punk rock battle uniform. The biker gangs streamed in dizzying formations, darting between each other and screaming like devils. The bikes were customized to be offensive to society, screaming mufflers with out baffles welded to stick up over the bike like something the Hells Angels wouldn’t have dared to do even in their 60s heyday, fairings installed to poke up at odd angles, paint jobs in vaporwave color schemes to evoke a sense of “cyber punk” Mad Max. All of them screamed and chanted slogans of the 神風 (Kamikaze), making their war band seem ferocious to the squares who complained to the police from behind curtains. From boomboxes blared every thing from punk rock and hair metal to gangsta rap and city pop.

The 暴走族 (Bōsōzoku) “Thunder Tribes” had a contingent of tough looking girls with dyed hair in blonde and red. They looked like they had kabuki wigs and had eyes full of resentment and contempt. The men circled Furyo with sticks, chains and clubs as he approached. Walking to a loading dock where the leaders sat. He didn’t say a word, sat with them and before long side talk ended and they accepted him as a silent watcher, witnessing the warlike displays of the rival groups. Somebody passed him a cigarette and jug of wine. With out a word of Japanese his vibe had found his tribe. Just being here made Furyo feel a demonic lust for violence and crime. The Bōsōzoku sneered at him with a mix of caution and interest in his strange American clothing and unfazed attitude toward the fearsome horde of killers, shunned by the mainstream public.

Seeing a large wall and cases of spray paint. He helped him self to a couple colors and began making his mark. Taking white and yellow, he drew intense geometric patterns. Pushing lines and 3d shapes that displayed letters crossing over with arrows and complex back masked slogans hidden in the execution. Before he could select fill in colors or how to fill out the back ground. He noticed a couple female admirers with white faces like ghosts. Just as he smiles and starts to ask them, their names. Police lights break up the party. Red and blue strobes cut across the horde of kids. He didn’t even notice a photographer among the throng of swarming biker gangs taking his photo.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Cops came in battering metal buckets with wooden clubs. The cops were more interested in taking away cigarettes and beers than arresting any one so long as every got a couple swats with their batons. A frenzy of violence gave Furyo and a couple girls the perfect distraction to flee into the shadows of the opposite side, Furyo stopped to grab both crates of aerosol cans before following the girls to a hole in the fence. They ran along a dark industrial street along urban decay and noticed around here there were actually homeless everywhere in the shadows. Coming to a row of apartment buildings, the girls ushered him up some stairs and into a nice family apartment with a zoned out couple of parents smiling like idiots at the tv. In the girls room it could have been any where in the world. Heavy Metal and Anime posters, smells of perfume and hair products and pink beds covered in teddy bears.

Furyo couldn’t believe his luck. The girls pulled out their American magazines and started pointing to pictures and jabbering questions. Furyo smiled and nodded while another girl lit up some marijuana and passed him an ornate bottle of her parents scotch. They quickly decided they didn’t speak a word of each others language and started to make out with all three girls while watching some violent horror manga. He was pretty satisfied as the girls took turns practicing fellatio on him and vice versa. Their only means of communication thumbs up or down. Furyo started to think this was the life before the Police busted in and dragged him out. Rushing down the stairs the police clubbed him over the head with sticks and sent him flying down several flights of stairs. Outside of mob of elderly pointed and gestured with brooms, now emboldened by a large police presence to break up the youthful hellions.

Furyo doesn’t get an explanation or mirandized, he is beaten, shoved in a van full of street punks and taken to a jail several stories bellow street level. Hearing the familiar buzz of halogen lights, roar of freezing cold air conditioning and seeing the down cast eyes of the broken suspects… Furyo wants to fight. Sitting in a long and narrow cell with wooden benches and educational posters, Furyo flies into a rage. Ripping down framed posters and smashing furniture. A couple hot tempered cops in plain clothes come in and spray him with mace. This only makes him angrier. He wants to test their martial arts skills, kicking their knees and dodging lunges and wrist locks. The cops seem out of their league so they retreat and come back with an attack dog. This is where it gets nasty. This fucking mongrel hound seizes on his hand and tears gaps between his bones.

It’s a prolonged and vicious fight with Furyo kicking the dog in the nuts while guarding his own. This trained killer is reducing his clothes to ribbons, tearing the sleeves of his sweatshirt, pulling holes in the ass of his trousers and it was all Furyo could do to not be castrated when they send in a second dog. Despite punching and kicking, slamming the dogs backs into walls and knocking at least one tooth out. Furyo is bloody and tired. He goes limp and allows the dogs to go to work on his arms and legs. Puncturing his thighs and shoulders. This gets him in the ice box. They leave him with no medical attention in a black hole naked. He spends a week there until he is released with out a word in a blue paper suit. They must have shot him with darts because all his wounds are sewn up but he has no memory of medical care.