Red line thrills and chills that tasted like the sour smell of burnt nitrous oxide provided a kaleidoscope of emotions for one Denji, professional 'driver.' Underground races were so easy to find in this lawless city, unrivaled for its seedy underbelly and rampant poverty. In environs like this, the Yakuza thrived. A beneficial business with ruthless repercussions, they swam with sharks and mingled with the world's elite.
Sponsored by this elusive criminal family, at least professionally, Denji was a full member of the family, adopted at a young age and brought up as a fully fledged member of this white collar criminal body. Grace under pressure, composure in all circumstances and, above all, respect for traditions and an older age that had died with the advent of modernization. Crisp suits hid scruples that didn't quite exist. Benign smiles and patient philanthropy paid dividends in the field of karma.
It was such a presence that stepped from the black doors of an even blacker Toyota Supra that idled loudly, aggressively, at the end of a mile long drag race, the track created by road blocks, the crowd a mixed bunch of regulars and, he assumed, people who simply came to see fast cars, beautiful women and men who'd risk everything for a purse and a rush, the adoration of the crowd and arbitrary respect.
"Denji, we have your payment!" He was disgusted with himself, seven and a half seconds not quite what he'd expected, or what he'd come to expect from his rather stellar career. After slamming the door, he cast a withering glance towards the pair of men with no class, men in poorly thought out suits and overly shined shoes.
"Do not disrespect me in such a public venue, sir. I think you would find it most distressing should you further this path. If it is not so much trouble, please speak with the agent I listed when I registered for this event. Thank you." A man gifted with presence and beautiful manners, he masked the threat with cool words and a polite, ambivalent bow. Khaki shorts and a trademark white tee shirt, v-necked, revealed the cause of such confidence, such formality. Displaced humans from Earth's Asiatic sector quickly began to murmur, though they did not speak of the race or the car. Rather, they conversed in hushed tones about the twin dragon tattoos, or the tiger that stalked his upper chest and collarbones. Hand driven, the ink held a distinctive emphasis that told a story often spoken of but rarely in public where the wrong ears might hear. Yakuza, Yamaguchi-gumi.Some spoke the words with awe, others fear and still others nervous respect.
Denji bowed to the crowd, though his eyes swept past the cheering fans, the scantily clad women hoping to make an easy dollar and the men who held wives closer, children tightly against their legs. Quiet aplomb, quiet acceptance of his life painted a benevolent smile on his face as he sought out a man wearing a sharply tailored suit clearly not taken from any rack at a department store. As he threw his arm over the other's shoulder, he leaned in for a whispered conversation.
"Little Brother, what news of last night's curious excitement?"
"Ah, Denji, honored Older Brother, I have most curious, most astounding revelations. The girl, Kiyomi, it seems, is the daughter of not only a fully practicing doctor with a private clinic, potentially most useful, but the daughter of a lawyer, one we had profiled. She has taken high profile cases, she being a defense attorney, and appears not to regard the nature of her defendants so much as she is concerned with the paycheck and the ability to win said case." Low tones cut across Denji's ear, the other's lips close enough to speak in a whisper and still be heard rather well.
Thinking silently, Denji nodded while contemplating the myriad ways in which this path could divert, should it be walked carefully enough. "I see. This is pleasing, a promising start. They are aspiring racers, and the one in particular being rather attractive, I could do little but offer assistance, that being the polite thing to do, yes? The daughter of a lawyer who would take a case, the daughter of a doctor who has his own practice..." He, for once, smiled with honest pleasure perhaps fueled by the nostalgia of a night spent in seemingly innocent fun. "It was not a kidnap, though? She went willingly and the man did look quite like her. Her father, I assume?"
"Yes, Older Brother, we matched photographs from Kiyomi's high school graduation, a family photograph printed in a newspaper, and discerned that it was, in fact, her father. All is well, at least in regards to a potential forceful removal of such a specimen. Tell me, are you interested past what can services can be rendered?" The question was asked of a higher ranking member only through deep familiarity and a long friendship.
"I think, Hikato, that they are an interesting group of friends. Pretty girls, fun loving girls. Besides, the other one, Izumi, seems to have links to a casino of sorts. Another interesting chance, I feel, has been found. In answer to your question, though, yes. The casino, and the lawyer, as well as the girl, will be considered under the protection of the family, should need arise. Do I make myself clear?" He stared across the small gap, black eyes unblinking and unflinching.
"Yes, Older Brother, it is understood and will be done, have no fear." For only a moment, Hikato was able to meet Denji's eyes, cold as they could become.
"Do not follow them, by all means, we do not know enough of this city, nor is there any real need, but please, if it is not too much trouble, be mildly aware of the troubles they might find." After patting Hikato, an inferior member within the shadowy hierarchy, he turned back to a crowd still buzzing with excitement. This was, after all, his professional life.
Any sign of danger was washed away behind a flood of compliments for the other races who were still congregated near the finish line, each demanding his moment of glory. On a whim, he opened the hood of his supercar, one of three already imported, and waved a hand across the titanic horsepower that it held within the finely tuned chassis. As the crowd moved closer, he folded his arms and managed to conceal, slightly, the smug look turned towards Hikato before being swallowed up by the fans who wanted to touch him, the car or even both.
Sponsored by this elusive criminal family, at least professionally, Denji was a full member of the family, adopted at a young age and brought up as a fully fledged member of this white collar criminal body. Grace under pressure, composure in all circumstances and, above all, respect for traditions and an older age that had died with the advent of modernization. Crisp suits hid scruples that didn't quite exist. Benign smiles and patient philanthropy paid dividends in the field of karma.
It was such a presence that stepped from the black doors of an even blacker Toyota Supra that idled loudly, aggressively, at the end of a mile long drag race, the track created by road blocks, the crowd a mixed bunch of regulars and, he assumed, people who simply came to see fast cars, beautiful women and men who'd risk everything for a purse and a rush, the adoration of the crowd and arbitrary respect.
"Denji, we have your payment!" He was disgusted with himself, seven and a half seconds not quite what he'd expected, or what he'd come to expect from his rather stellar career. After slamming the door, he cast a withering glance towards the pair of men with no class, men in poorly thought out suits and overly shined shoes.
"Do not disrespect me in such a public venue, sir. I think you would find it most distressing should you further this path. If it is not so much trouble, please speak with the agent I listed when I registered for this event. Thank you." A man gifted with presence and beautiful manners, he masked the threat with cool words and a polite, ambivalent bow. Khaki shorts and a trademark white tee shirt, v-necked, revealed the cause of such confidence, such formality. Displaced humans from Earth's Asiatic sector quickly began to murmur, though they did not speak of the race or the car. Rather, they conversed in hushed tones about the twin dragon tattoos, or the tiger that stalked his upper chest and collarbones. Hand driven, the ink held a distinctive emphasis that told a story often spoken of but rarely in public where the wrong ears might hear. Yakuza, Yamaguchi-gumi.Some spoke the words with awe, others fear and still others nervous respect.
Denji bowed to the crowd, though his eyes swept past the cheering fans, the scantily clad women hoping to make an easy dollar and the men who held wives closer, children tightly against their legs. Quiet aplomb, quiet acceptance of his life painted a benevolent smile on his face as he sought out a man wearing a sharply tailored suit clearly not taken from any rack at a department store. As he threw his arm over the other's shoulder, he leaned in for a whispered conversation.
"Little Brother, what news of last night's curious excitement?"
"Ah, Denji, honored Older Brother, I have most curious, most astounding revelations. The girl, Kiyomi, it seems, is the daughter of not only a fully practicing doctor with a private clinic, potentially most useful, but the daughter of a lawyer, one we had profiled. She has taken high profile cases, she being a defense attorney, and appears not to regard the nature of her defendants so much as she is concerned with the paycheck and the ability to win said case." Low tones cut across Denji's ear, the other's lips close enough to speak in a whisper and still be heard rather well.
Thinking silently, Denji nodded while contemplating the myriad ways in which this path could divert, should it be walked carefully enough. "I see. This is pleasing, a promising start. They are aspiring racers, and the one in particular being rather attractive, I could do little but offer assistance, that being the polite thing to do, yes? The daughter of a lawyer who would take a case, the daughter of a doctor who has his own practice..." He, for once, smiled with honest pleasure perhaps fueled by the nostalgia of a night spent in seemingly innocent fun. "It was not a kidnap, though? She went willingly and the man did look quite like her. Her father, I assume?"
"Yes, Older Brother, we matched photographs from Kiyomi's high school graduation, a family photograph printed in a newspaper, and discerned that it was, in fact, her father. All is well, at least in regards to a potential forceful removal of such a specimen. Tell me, are you interested past what can services can be rendered?" The question was asked of a higher ranking member only through deep familiarity and a long friendship.
"I think, Hikato, that they are an interesting group of friends. Pretty girls, fun loving girls. Besides, the other one, Izumi, seems to have links to a casino of sorts. Another interesting chance, I feel, has been found. In answer to your question, though, yes. The casino, and the lawyer, as well as the girl, will be considered under the protection of the family, should need arise. Do I make myself clear?" He stared across the small gap, black eyes unblinking and unflinching.
"Yes, Older Brother, it is understood and will be done, have no fear." For only a moment, Hikato was able to meet Denji's eyes, cold as they could become.
"Do not follow them, by all means, we do not know enough of this city, nor is there any real need, but please, if it is not too much trouble, be mildly aware of the troubles they might find." After patting Hikato, an inferior member within the shadowy hierarchy, he turned back to a crowd still buzzing with excitement. This was, after all, his professional life.
Any sign of danger was washed away behind a flood of compliments for the other races who were still congregated near the finish line, each demanding his moment of glory. On a whim, he opened the hood of his supercar, one of three already imported, and waved a hand across the titanic horsepower that it held within the finely tuned chassis. As the crowd moved closer, he folded his arms and managed to conceal, slightly, the smug look turned towards Hikato before being swallowed up by the fans who wanted to touch him, the car or even both.