In the days leading up to my meeting, I put that note through the most rigorous testing known to a man who has absolutely no forensic tools at his disposal. I soon determined that whoever wrote the note knew how to write in Japanese. They also knew I could understand Japanese. That’s interesting. Most people wouldn’t expect me to know other languages on this Earth. Nobody expects me to be a cunning linguist.
They found my room, too. I gave the concierge at the desk quite the tip to get convince her to show me the footage. “You are deranged in the membrane to record what happens here,” I told her.
“This is everything we have. Is that all?” she asked, eager to be rid of me.
“Yes,” I told her and pulled the tip of my shoe out of her asshole. She slumped over gratefully and massaged her butt cheeks as if that could relieve the pain. I reached over and gave her a hand with that. She brightened up like a strawberry and looked back at me.
“Are you paying for this?” she asked.
Little did she know that when a man refuses to wear a condom, he always pays for it thanks to the specter of…STDs! That’s right, young supervillains. You wouldn’t leave a captured hero unguarded in your dungeons, would you? No, you must slide a layer of protection around the dungeons, like guards or a forcefield, to keep those pesky heroes from bursting free and penetrating deep into the heart of your secret base. Once inside, they could blow everything to hell by doing permanent damage, even taking away your freedom.
And that’s terrible.
Don’t let your evil plots get foiled by Captain Penis, aka Dick Johnson. Secure the package and keep it under wraps with Dr. Soviet’s Spermicidal Kid Preventatives. Dr. Soviet’s: don’t get MAD, get even.
For y’all’s information, I did not have sexual relations with that woman. All I did was violate her ass. Huge difference. Petite, but cute, ass. This message was approved by Bill Clinton.
The footage didn’t give me much. A trio of men in black suits. They could have been anyone: Pinkertons, Yakuza, businessmen. There’s a lot of overlap between the latter two around here.
The nice lady gracious changed my room over and even gave me a complementary night. She didn’t even call the cops. It’s a different place around here. Or maybe that trio specifically told her not to call the police on me.
Before I went anywhere near the Yomi Izakaya, I had a few things to do. Like inform Carl that he needed to look over this former mechanics garage and let me know what he thought about it. It’d be useful for some assembly until we got a hold of an old car factory or some other big, heavy industrial place like that. I also needed to take Moai shopping. I had to get him all dolled up and presentable. Flamethrowers count as formal wear, right?
I walked into a toy store full of anime characters and Pokemon. I had Moai bar the door at first. When no one panicked or tried to run away, though, I had told him to just come give me a hand so I could get him suited up.
A taxi delivered me to the place in question. The Izakaya place sat between a net cafe and a little candy store. The entrance of the Izakaya looked like a big red face. The door sat in the middle of its open mouth. I left Moai out front of the net cafe as a new mascot. He stood there in a green jungle camo vest and pants, with a red bandanna tied around his head. He’s got quite the wardrobe by now.
For some reason, I didn’t trust a bunch of people who broke into my room and stepped into the place dressed in full armor. It looked nice. They had those mats on the floor. I think they’re called tatami. Instead of being shown to a seat, there was an inner lobby area where several cameras watched the door. A huge boulder blocked the inner entrance.
A tablet stood on a podium to the side. Kanji appeared on it stating, “Identify yourself for Izanami-no-Mikoto.”
“Hail, Isamommy Yes Motorola! Wassup, playa? It is I, the conqueror of nightmares, nemesis of Venus, America’s Sixth Most Wanted, the lord of the dance, el gato de la noche, the prince of pain, the master of really evil things, the tag team champions of the world, second runner-up of the Miss Ozark pageant, a guy who is really good at making up titles…I am the one, the only, Psychopomp Gecko. And I’ve come for your soul.”
Never ask a supervillain to introduce themselves. Better yet, make two villains have an introduce-off.
The boulder slid aside. Huh. It was part of the door. An extremely pale hostess showed me in. “You are expected.”
She led me past a bar area. Men and women in costumes glanced my way as she showed me to a room to a private side room with a short table. “Sit here. Your party will arrive shortly.”
Prior to that, I wondered if the person waiting on me would sit around for days on end. The menu consisted of a lot of things on the walls. It was pretty good. They weren’t all that quick about bringing it, but soon I had sake and chicken nuggets. Surprisingly, they didn’t have any rice on the menu.
I was getting fat and happy when a man stepped into the room. Just a plain, ordinary man. But not just any ordinary plain ordinary man! A man in black tights with blue rings around the wrists. He wore a black domino mask over his face with white lenses over his eyes.
I snatched on my helmet from the table, jumped up, and threw a nugget at him, yelling, “You’ll never take me alive!”
He caught it in his mouth. Clever son of of a bitch. That’s the one fatal weakness of using chicken nuggets as weapons. “Please, we do not come to fight.”
“Who is we? Huh? We who? Who we?”
“You had a lot to drink,” the man said. He stepped to the side, except he didn’t. A copy of him stepped to the side. Ah, a multiple man. I wonder about his limits. There didn’t appear to be teleportation involved.
“I’m not as drunk as you drunk I drunk, you…” I stood there, pointing my finger at him, then pretended to nod off. I like drinking as much as the next person, but I also knew I was there to meet someone. I would never do anything so irresponsible as get drunk when someone might be about to kill me. I shook my head and continued speaking, “…hey man, got some weed?”
The man didn’t smile. The bastards. Whoever sent him here removed his sense of humor! “Please sit. We have to discuss your position here.”
I sat down cross-legged. He sat on the opposite side of the table. “Personally, I favor this position, though I’m open to suggestions.” I emphasized the point by sticking one of my ankles behind my head. “Is this really necessary?”
The double of the man stepped outside the door and closed it. “Conventional crime is governed by conventional criminals. You have met the Yakuza. You are intruding on our happy home.”
“Well they can go eat a dick,” I said, looking longingly at the remaining cock on my own plate. However, I kept my helmet on. Human lives are cheap. Chicken nuggets are wonderful. I value my own life far more than the former, and a little more than the latter. After all, I can always get more nuggets later. It’s tough to get a life.
I gotta collect, like, a hundred coins or something.
“They do not govern superhumans on the island. The Underworld makes these decisions. We provide order so that villains’ actions never cross paths. We provide a system to keep new villains from embarrassing themselves on targets suitable for senior villains.”
“You take a large cut of the money and give out fancy trophies at the end of the year,” I added. “I bet you even have a special trophy for the meanest person. Is there a Biggest Dick Cup?”
He didn’t react. I couldn’t even read his eyes behind the white lenses of his mask. Shame. The eyes tell you the most about a person’s face.
“The Underworld vouched for you. A war between the Yakuza and Psycho Gecko helps no one. In exchange for this service, and for your arrival unannounced, the Underworld would like you to perform a job for us.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of paper.
“I’m not in town to do services. I have one or two specific things in mind to do. You all can take this job and shove it.”
“You would like to control sea creatures?”
I nodded enthusiastically, shaking my ankle off from behind my head. “You drive a hard bargain, but you convinced me. Where can I pick up my shark launcher?”
“No sharks.” He slid the paper across to me. Printed on it was an image of a conch shell and information about an artifact capable of controlling whales when blown.
The depths some artifacts will sink to! Guys will say a lot of things to get blown, ladies, but you probably shouldn’t believe most of them.
“Magical or scientific in nature? Where is it at? What is it going to be used for?” I asked, getting the basic questions out of the way. Only one was really important, but I felt curious.
“It does not matter, we do not know, you do not need to know. This is a test,” he answered. “Have you memorized it?”
“Yes,” I said. He poked a finger forward and shot a line of flames at it that quickly reduced it to a pile of ash on a flaming table. Before the fire alarms could start, his doppelganger stepped inside and fired water from his finger like a super soaker to put it out. Seems I didn’t prepare Moai for these guys after all.
The man stood up and beckoned me to rise as well. Upon standing, he bowed, waiting for me. I stuck my hand down by his head, grabbed his nose, and shook on it. “Ok, I will look for this. You found me on a good day for you.”
The man stood up, stoic and expressionless. His double told me, “I can tell you archaeologists uncovered it at a site from the Second World War. The Underworld is eager to see how you find and acquire it. Thank you for all that you have not done for us yet. Excuse us for leaving first.”
The fire double stepped into the water double, who then melted into a mist that flowed out of the building.
Wait a second…that bastard ate one of my nuggets and stuck me with the check! That cost me a bunch of coins. I’ll never get a life this way!