Let me tell y’all about a little town called Japan. Ok, a big town called Japan. A country, even. Japan, where there are certain social stigmas against standing out. Japan, where you can get butter-flavored Kit Kat bars. You can’t actually get girls’ panties out of a vending machine, though. One of those cases where the spring didn’t rotate all the way. No way would I allow that machine to steal my money. That’s how I destroyed the last panty vendor in Tokyo.
Because of course I went to Tokyo. You don’t stay in the biggest city of Australia if you want wildlife, but you do go to a crowded Japanese city full of tech companies.
So I’m here now and I just have to say…I love it. There’s all sorts of fun to be had.
Like earlier when I had to exchange some money. It’s always important to keep up with the local currency. It’s common courtesy.
In order to get my new money, I stopped by a bank. I kept the visit short; just enough to strip them of some money and myself of my clothes. I left both with Moai, who hid them under a giant cowboy had and posed as sidewalk art as I ran out the front door. The police squealed to a stop in front just as I ran out. Well, weren’t they just Johnny-On-The-Spot? I ignored them and their feeble attempts to restore peace, instead picking out a tune in my eye HUD for the chase. I chose “Rock the Dragon” from the North American release of Dragon Ball Z and took off running down the street. Stage directions: exit, chased by pigs.
I got stares. I caused wrecks. I jumped over cars and flitted from one lane to the other in the name of self preservation, because some of the drivers almost hit me. Damn Asian drivers. Don’t they know how to handle a naked supervillain being chased by the cops? Their driver’s ed classes must be total bullshit here- Carzilla!
I briefly stuck to the front of an oncoming bus. That’d be difficult for most people, but most people wear clothes. Skin is stickier, so I stuck to the front of the bus until it stopped and I peeled off onto the street.
Hopping up, I stepped around to the door and knocked on it. The driver opened it, looking flabbergasted. I stuck my leg out. “Going my way, handsome?” He stuttered, but any answer was cut off by the skidding of a cop car and the arrival of officers. I waved him off and ran past the bus, heading towards a nice, busy intersection.
I knew the intersection; I left a present there before heading into the bank. I ran over to where a long package sat on the sidewalk with a note reading “Please don’t touch,” on it.
See what kind of playground I’m in?
The Tokyo Metropolitan Police weren’t exactly far behind. Hard to give them the slip. After all, skin is stickier. Still, they kept their distance and trained their weapons on me while I tugged my package loose and aimed a harpoon gun into the air. I fired it off, then reached into the wrapping for one last surprise: a yellow, spiky-haired wig. I pulled it on and winked at the police. One of them took a half-hearted shot, nicking me in the shoulder and shattering the window of a car behind me. I looked at the guy and was all like “What the fuck, dude?”
The man actually held his gun up and bowed his head slightly while saying. “Sorry. Sorry.”
I shifted the harpoon gun, with its cable still flying out, under one armpit and pointed at my hurt arm. “You ruined my outfit. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of a suit?
His superior spoke up using his car’s public announcement system. “The metropolitan police will compensate you for your damages. Put the gun down.”
I shook my fist at them. “No, you put your guns down!”
My apologetic attacker began to comply. Just then, the harpoon connected and the body of the gun began automatically reeling me into the air. They didn’t bother to shoot as the line pulled me up the side of a building. I pretended I was flying in my wig with some song called “Cha-La Head Cha-La,” playing in my head.
It wasn’t the smoothest escape. When I planted the harpoon gun, I misjudged how much I’d be dragged against the outside of the building. I left several floors worth of windows with a long, dangly streak.
A backpack awaited me on the roof and a helicopter approached from the south. The backpack was mine; the helicopter wasn’t.
It’s interesting to note that despite how many people take offense to being called animals, humans still like to chase things that run. They also enjoy fetching balls and playing with sticks, but that’s baseball for you.
Faced with a flying top filled with people, I reloaded my harpoon. I had an idea that I’m sure the Japanese would sympathize with. I was gonna whale on ’em.
“Call me Ishmael, bitch!” I yelled as I brought it to my shoulder and fired. I missed wildly. Son of a biscuit-eating bulldog. But I had an idea all the same. When I felt it hit and the line begin to pull taut, I threw the rifle. It angled enough to knock the skids on the chopper, but didn’t do more than shake it.
I already had a good opening, but that one made it better. This bleached my opening, shaved it off, and sprayed a bit of perfume on it. I grabbed the backpack, ran to the opposite end of the roof, and jumped. I almost lost hold of the backpack, which would have been problematic, but I pulled it close and slipped my arms into the straps. I tugged on a cord and felt my nuts flap in the wind as wings deployed from the sides of the backpack.
The sudden stop felt like I was about to go into the building I’d just left, but soon I flew over Tokyo, dodging buildings and humming the Moonlight Densetsu. Quite the serendipitous music choice. I landed on the building of a Burrito Bell where a quintet of teenage girls were pelting a couple of other girls with burritos and pouring wasabi salsa on their hair. They all turned and looked at me silhouetted in the moonlight. I turned around and bent down at the waist, looking at them from between my legs. “In the name of the moon, I will punish you!”
They gawked and most of the crowd backed up behind one girl in particular. I jumped down and landed in front of her on one knee. When I stood, I turned on the laser in my eye enough to show it off, but not kill anyone. I spoke with an Austrian accent, but in bad Japanese as I told her, “Give me your clothes.”
After their leader was stripped down, the bunch didn’t stick around. They skedaddled while I slipped into my new sailor outfit. Their friends were grateful…at first. They blushed, bowed, and kept bowing until I got a little closer. Then they realized what level their heads were at, skirt or no skirt. I picked a burrito out of one of them’s hair and took a bite. Blech. Octopus. I tossed it aside. That reminded me of Moai, so I checked in on him.
“Moai, are you there?” I asked, finger to my ear to indicate to the two girls that I was just talking to someone. Not that it would have mattered if they thought I was crazy, all things considered. No answer. Damn.
“Beep.” Ah, a button press. Clever girl.
“One for yes, two for no, three for hell no, and the rest in Morse code, I guess?”
One and a half beeps. Dammit!
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Morse. Let’s see. “You. Didn’t. Say. Anything. About. Maybe.”
“Fuck maybe. Maybe can suck a donkey’s nipples. Did you get away?”
“You get some transport?”
“Can you come pick me up?”
“I’m at the…” I paused to pull up the GPS and give my address. “Now, you might have trouble finding me. I’m blending in real well. I have a disguise and everything.
“Yes, I do. It’s very convincing.”
“Yes it is! I am a beautiful young lady and you will not steal my formative teenage years away from me!” I slammed my palm against my ear, hanging up angrily and hurting myself in the process.
Have I mentioned ear attacks before? They hurt like hell if you hit them hard enough. It’s a distracting blow, though. If you do it as a clap, it might burst an eardrum, but it’s not an attack that’ll take someone out of the fight. And especially don’t believe that bullshit about how it can kill someone instantly by causing internal bleeding in the brain. You’re thinking about if you shoved knives through a person’s ears. Which, by the way, can take a bit of force. It’s hard to forcibly penetrate a skull. That’s also why you should never believe anybody when they tell you they’re going to skullfuck you.
Seriously. The most they could do is fuck your orbital or auditory cavities. And that takes a really small penis.
My new friends really hated hearing all that while we waited. They kept trying to walk away, too. And struggle against my grip. And try to get down. And call the cops. Whoooooa, especially couldn’t let that one happen. Uh uh. I hadn’t set up another fun escape. Maybe something with bananas next time. Or pipes.
Don’t worry, I let the girls go when Moai pulled up in a bus. I didn’t need all their bad octopus burrito vibes, especially in my new outfit. I kinda liked it. Made me feel pretty.
We had a small surprise when we got to the charming little theme hotel. I figured that the last place anyone would check is a painfully pink room with some anime name on the wall in bright rainbow colors and female characters all over the pillows and curtains.
I was wrong. Someone left a card in my room, on my pillow. I suspect the Yakuza, but they kept it anonymous. “Tokyo enjoys tourism, but please check in with local authorities. You are invited to make yourself known at the Izakaya Yomi. 4649.”
The place name seemed formal, though the translation sounded suitably ominous for either an ambush or a villain hangout. Not sure about the numbers. Passcode, maybe?
I turned to Moai. “See? We got ninjas going through our underwear. This is why we should have gone with the Hello Kitty room.”