MAY, 2039. The large, lukewarm drops of spring rain pelt the stained and worn out sidewalk with high velocity. The tiny splashes moisten the black Oxford shoes of a man standing underneath the awning of the entrance to his favorite donut shop: Takahashi's Donuts & Coffee. He positions himself next to the glass door, staring up and across the street at the gargantuan towers of steel and concrete that are covered by flashing lights and neon colors for almost every centimeter of their exteriors. They're holographic advertisements for the most explosive Hollywood blockbusters, the trendy designer bags, and the shiny new housekeeping androids. The occasional wingless flying car buzzes by at about sixty feet overhead – a luxury only afforded by people who can scoff at the six-figure price tag or are patient enough to withstand the weeks-long wait time for one of the handful of taxis to become free.
The vibrant lights of these formless billboards shine through the clear droplets of rain, almost giving them the appearance of tiny, multi-colored gems falling from the skies. It's a marvel that's created in a joint effort between man and nature – a fleeting spectacle that lasts until those drops hit the ground, merge into puddles and, despite their beauty while in the air, slip into the foul gutters beneath the city. While the man could stand and admire the majesty, he instead opts to sigh at the sudden appearance of the downpour and take an irritated bite of the triple chocolate donut in his hand. He had hoped to indulge in his mouth-watering snack while on the way to his destination on foot, but the weather had something else in mind. The lack of an umbrella also proves to be an annoyance.
He's a sharply dressed individual with black dress pants, and a black vest over a pristine white dress shirt, which has sleeves neatly rolled up past his elbows, complete with a skinny black tie and black leather belt. His cybernetic arms lack the synthetic skin that usually cover prosthetics, instead displaying its normal charcoal-colored alloy exterior. His clean-shaven face and fair skin contrast his pitch-black hair, which is dense, but kept short along the sides and back, and the longer strands on the top of his head are brushed from the left to right, with some stray locks that twist and curl in natural ways. Despite his expensive, professional attire – which is expected of a man in his position – he isn't some middle-aged businessman. Rather, he's a relatively young member of the Sanada-gumi, evidenced by small the golden pin on the lapel of his vest that displays their emblem – the kanji '真', which means 'truth' or 'reality', but as part of a name is read as 'sana', over three horizontal lines signifying the founders of the clan, three brothers of the Sanada family.
Strangers with places to be or the desire to not get wet walk past him at the pace of the usual metropolitan hustle and bustle, though the glint of the golden pin also proves to be a very loud warning to normal civilians to not interact with him. As he blankly stares at the obnoxious neon signs above him, waiting for the rain to lull, the soft tune of a mobile phone's ringtone causes him to check his pockets. His smartphone is an expensive triple-section model that folds in two places and can turn into a nearly paper-thin tablet with a brushed titanium body, holographic display, pressure-sensitive sides and back panel, fingerprint reader and eye scanner for security purposes. It boast a quadruple AR/VR-capable camera setup on the back, plus two on the front, below the glass of the screen for notchless viewing when not using it. He looks at the screen to see that someone's calling him: 'Devin.'
“Hello?” The man speaks into the phone with a mildly coarse, monotone voice.
“Atreus!” Devin, on the other end of the line, gives an enthusiastic greeting. “Are you still at the donut shop?”
“Yeah.” The well-dressed man looks up at the overcast sky again. “I'm still here.”
“Good. I just got done with my errands and I'll be passing by there in a couple minutes. Want to hit up Joji's for some drinks?” The voice on the phone asks, referring to a small, hole-in-the-wall bar that the two men visit on a regular basis.
Atreus sighs. “Sure. I'll wait for you. You still want to walk there, though? In this rain?” He asks as his gaze follows a random raindrop pelt a newly forming puddle on the street.
“Yeah, it's fine. I have an umbrella with me. Why, do you want to just take a ride?”
“No, I'll still go on foot. It's not like I'm in a rush.”
“Awesome. Stay right there, I'll see you soon.”
“Alright. See ya.”
The call ends as suddenly as it started, and the augmented man stuffs the phone back into his pocket. He is Atreus Watanabe, a Japanese-American lieutenant of the Sanada-gumi's Asano family, based in Kyoba, Los Angeles, a district of primarily Japanese immigrants and Japanese-American citizens. It's crammed with well over four hundred thousand inhabitants in eleven square miles, and five thousand of them are Sanada-gumi members spread across eighty families. There's an additional twenty thousand members still based in Japan, and numbers are growing, both domestically and internationally.
To pass the time, Atreus wolfs down the rest of the triple chocolate donut sitting in his hand and continues watching the nameless Kyoba inhabitants go about their lives in the dense, stuffed district where buildings are packed so close together, that even some alleys are too narrow to be accessible to most adults. The mesmerizing neon signs of night life have begun to flare up in preparation for the businessmen and women to quit for the day and drown their personal sorrows and professional anxieties with spirits and loud karaoke.
The quiet gangster pulls an electronic cigarette from his pocket – a sleek, matte black, strawberry-flavored model from Tiberius Tobacco that ignites a subtle blue glow from the 'lit' end of the cigarette when a puff is taken. He doesn't smoke often, but it helps pass the time and provides a unique taste following a delicious dessert. He's considered moving to traditional tobacco cigarettes in order to take more advantage of the lighter in his right pinky, but they're far too rare and expensive since the introduction of multiple laws cracking down on them to bother.
“Hey!” A familiar voice is heard, catching Atreus's attention. He turns his head to see Devin approaching, protected from the rain by a generously wide black umbrella. “Ready to go?” He asks, making a beckoning motion with his head.
Devin Shinoda, Atreus's friend and fellow member of the Sanada-gumi's Asano family. His medium-length hair is naturally wavy and brushed back, away from his boyish, clean-shaven face. He's dressed similarly to Atreus – Oxfords, vest, and all – but sporting a tasteful dark blue with white pinstripes instead of all black, and his dress shirt sleeves aren't rolled up. Again, the Sanada-gumi pin on his vest lapel shines under the intense lights.
“Is Joji's the only place we're stopping by tonight?” Atreus asks, taking another puff of his e-cig.
“Well, we can stop by Mystik.” Devin suggests, referring to the high-end hostess club that's going to be particularly busy as night approaches, like usual. “It's been a while since I've seen Ami.” He speaks of the club's most popular girl.
“Still going on about her, huh?” The stone-faced Atreus asks, quietly recalling the innumerable nights his friend had spent obscene amounts of money and maxing out his time limit at the club just to stay in her presence. “What's wrong with the groupies that you hang out with from time to time?”
“I can appreciate their company every once in a while.” Devin responds with a non-committal shrug. “But Ami has this sophisticated aura about her that just can't be topped. I feel like a king just sitting next to her, you know?” His eyes practically sparkle with optimism at the idea of another meeting with the illustrious hostess.
Atreus stares at his friend with sheer bewilderment, feeling more pity than sympathy for his one-sided romantic affections. The soft tone of a bell chime is suddenly heard, and the entrance of the donut shop they're standing in front of swings opens. A stocky middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a five o'clock shadow pokes his head out at leers at the two gangsters. It's the owner of the establishment himself, Mr. Takahashi.
“Oi, boys!” The elder man calls out to Atreus and Devin in a gruff voice. “If you're gonna hang around, then come inside. If not, then don't loiter around the entrance. I don't want you scaring away customers, you hear? We're about to hit peak hours soon.” He casually lectures them, showing not a single ounce of fear at their golden pins like most would.
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Atreus offers a quick, apologetic bow of his head. “Sorry, oji-san. We'll get lost.”
Having yakuza members casually stand at the entrance of a shop, club, or service vendor is usually taken as a bad sign by civilians, as it often means they're there to cause some sort of trouble, especially if they prevent others from entering. Having a good relationship with Mr. Takahashi and enjoying his donuts, Atreus would feel guilty if he ruined the man's revenue for the day.
“Remember to drop by tomorrow.” The donut master comments before the two sharply-dressed men walk off. “I'm bringing back my mint creme-filled peanut butter glaze chocolate donuts, okay?”
Atreus's expression perks up a bit with interest. “I'll be there.” He responds, giving a smile and wave as he joins Devin under the umbrella and walks away.
The two gangsters begin to make their way to Joji's bar, which is a few blocks away. Their short trip leads them through a street of lively clubs and game centers, with more bright neon signs and giant advertisement holograms decorating the side of each building. The puddles of rain water that moisten certain spots along the street reflect the vibrant lights, illuminating the ground and creating an almost mesmerizing path of drunken revelry and entertainment that beckons one to let loose their wild side.
They soon approach a modest bar that's crammed in a narrow spot between a gambling den and a pawn shop, simply named 'Joji's'. Devin closes their umbrella and the men enter the establishment, a soft bell chime signifying the owner of their arrival. As the door shuts behind them, the sound of rain pelting the asphalt fades away. The interior sports a polished and pristine wood floor and walls painted a calming shade of light blue. It's a tiny place with just the serving counter and two upholstered sofas facing a coffee table and large television for karaoke, but it's welcoming and well-kept.
“Hey, boys.” A silver-haired man with an equally silver goatee greets the two gangsters – George Kamiya, the owner of the bar, simply referred to as Joji. He's wearing clothes similar to Atreus, specifically a white dress shirt underneath a black vest, but no tie. Rather than looking like a member of the Sanada-gumi, however, he looks more like an expensive butler. “Take a seat wherever.” The kind elder man gestures towards the stools at the counter.
“Hey, Joji.” Devin returns the greeting as he and Atreus take their seats at the end of the counter closest to the entrance. “Can I get a whiskey sour with a dash of raspberry on the rocks? No egg white.”
“Absolutely.” The classy bar owner responds with enthusiasm, quickly grabbing the ingredients necessary to start on Devin's drink. “And you, Atreus? What'll you have?” He awaits an answer while mixing bourbon whiskey with lemon juice and raspberry gum syrup in an old-fashioned drinking glass.
“I'll take a White Russian.” Atreus answers just as Joji already finishes making Devin's whiskey sour in record speed.
“Thanks, Joji.” Devin gives his gratitude to the proprietor as he accepts his glass.
Atreus watches as Joji mixes vodka, coffee liqueur, and cream on ice in another old-fashioned glass. He completes the drink in a flash, and slides it to the gangster on a coaster.
“Thank you, Joji.” Atreus casually offers his gratitude and takes a savory sip of his cool, sweet drink. Every time he visits this bar, he always remembers the days immediately after receiving his cybernetic arms. He still had difficulty controlling the power exerted in their grip, and accidentally shattered many glasses in his alloy hands. He must've spent well over six to seven hundred dollars in repayment for them before he finally stopped.
“So, what have you boys been up to lately?” The bar proprietor kicks up some small talk as he resumes cleaning his used glasses, washing them and thoroughly wiping them down. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”
“Well,” Devin begins to answer, “I had to accompany Ryuji to a real estate meeting earlier today. We're helping some friends of ours expand.” He says, keeping certain details purposely vague to spare the elder man from becoming too involved by second-hand knowledge. The person he referred to, Ryuji Asano, is the patriarch of the Asano family – the boss of Atreus and Devin. “Not much else besides that. We've been keeping our heads down, more or less. It's been a bit boring recently.”
“Well, it's menial work, but it stays within the boundaries of the law, so to speak.” Joji remarks, the subtle squeaks of cloth against glass punctuating every other word. “Keeps you from standing out too much.”
While not directly involved with the Sanada-gumi, Joji has been running his bar in this same spot for twenty years. In that time, he's served many members of the clan, some of whom speak more candidly about their activities than others. He retains some knowledge of the underworld – more than the normal civilian does – but he always keeps himself at arm's length distance away, preferring to not know more than he probably should.
“Yeah, that's just how Ryuji is. You know, some asshole from the Terada family tried to get him in on the drug trade stuff recently, and he got mad as hell.” Devin responds, discussing his boss's desire for a safe, honest environment for himself and his followers. “The odd job stuff isn't particularly exciting, and it keeps the family pretty small, but I guess it does keep us from getting harassed by the law, too.”
It's true that Ryuji, as the leader of a Sanada-gumi family, is somewhat unambitious, but he's always been dependable when the higher-ups requested assistance from him. It's why he was allowed to establish the Asano family to begin with. Loyalty counts for a lot in the underworld, where those who are ambitious can become prone to manipulating and deceiving others. Thus, his lack of grandiose goals make him prime right-hand man material. Atreus is somewhat similar, preferring a straightforward, uncomplicated lifestyle, which is why he was drawn to Ryuji's no-nonsense attitude.
“How about you, Atreus?” Joji asks while setting down a dried glass and picking up another wet one to begin wiping. “Still on bouncer duty?”
“Yeah.” Atreus answers casually, accompanied by a halfhearted nod before taking a sip of his creamy, cold White Russian. The old man is referring to Atreus's current post as a bouncer for a hostess club, Crown, which is a ways down the street from Joji's bar. The club is owned in part by Daiji Shibata, patriarch of the Shibata family, and friend of Ryuji. It's a high-class place, similar to Mystik. In fact, Mystik is it's closest competitor in terms of revenue, and Atreus was posted there simply as a favor to Shibata from Ryuji. “I'm not usually the type of person who would enjoy hanging around a hostess club and not interact with the girls, but at least I get paid,” he gripes.
“There aren't any perks for employees?” Joji inquires as more glassy squeaks are heard after every other word.
“Well, I get a twenty percent discount pf the initial service fee if I visit on my free time.” Atreus answers while staring into the receding surface of his White Russian. “But this guy keeps dragging me to Mystik so he can see his favorite girl.” He points at Devin accusingly. “Despite the fact that they're a competitor and it could get me in trouble.”
“Hey, man.” Devin lowers his drink – mid-sip – to defend himself. “I get anxious when I'm around Ami, alright? I gotta bring someone with me to help ease my nerves, and I hang out with you the most, okay? I'll go with you to Crown whenever you want, I promise.” He motions to continue his drinking. “Except tonight, because I want to see Ami,” he adds under his breath as the rim of the glass touches his lips.
“You see what I mean?” Atreus snarkily remarks before taking another sip of his drink.
“Well, love can make a man do crazy things.” Joji comments with an encouraging smile, the wedding ring on his left hand glinting under the bright fluorescent light. “I don't think I've ever mentioned this to you before, but I installed the karaoke game simply because my wife enjoys it.” He points to the television hanging from the wall in the opposite side of the room, cords connecting it to the almost shoe box-sized device sitting on a floating shelf underneath it. Wireless microphones and a touchpad interface rest on top of it, ready for a user to come along, select a tune, and begin singing at a moment's notice.
It's called Idolstar, and it's a must-have for every bar, club, and arcade. It's an online, uniform karaoke service that was created to take advantage of the rise of the activity's popularity in the west. By purchasing the device, you gain access to a select number of popular songs, but if you pay for a subscription, you can expand the library with a constant influx of both licensed and original music that come and go in cycles. However, you can also pay to keep a song in your personal library forever with an individual, one-time purchase. There's a scoring system that rates players' pitch and timing when singing along, and anyone who isn't singing can still participate with a simultaneous rhythm game on the touchpad interface.
Each song purchased comes with a music video that plays in clean, crisp 8K resolution, and high scores are recorded and uploaded to local, regional, and global leaderboards, and detailed statistics are kept to track the user's best and worst performances, their favorite songs, and much more. Instrumentals are also available for a lot of songs, just for ambiance's sake. There's even a virtual reality version of the game, though it's more expensive and usually seen in game centers. It's quite a phenomenon that took the world by storm.
“She's only in here about once a week – if that.” Joji continues. “But when she's here, almost every second is spent on that thing, and she's one of the few who actually use it.” He heaves a small sigh, but a smile crosses his face at the same time. He somewhat laments the fact that he's paying for a service that few customers use, but he ultimately puts up with it because one of them is his wife.