Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 12: Bad Girls Can’t Win
Part 3: Gangster in a Strange Land (Revision 2)
Part 3: Gangster in a Strange Land (Revision 2)
29 september 2014.
Nenene’s apartment. You are Koji Mizoguchi. You used to be a badass gangster back in Japan, the son of a Yakuza boss. Then the Yakuza took over Japan and set up a badass race dictatorship for the nationalists, and where are you but in a run-down apartment on the other side of the ocean, trapped in a foreign city with the world’s most evil kogal. Nenene Sasakawa is a bitch and a half. She beats you up if you ever bother to do anything. Then she beats you up for not doing anything. You’re convinced she beats you up just because. You desperately want to escape. But every time you escape, Nenene tracks you down, drags you back to her filthy lair, and beats you up again. She left Japan for a foreign land ruled by a rival master race just so she can continue to control you. You and that sweet little loli of hers, Ai-chan.
You remember another loli. Aya Shibata was your obsession. You could not take your eyes off her. Obsessively you watched Aya-chan’s Little Love Hotel on Darknet channels the merciless American pedo hunters could not reach. At the end of every episode, she said the same thing, always in a tone of voice that hinted she was hiding something secret and special.
“Rabu rabu neeee!”
Eventually your obsession reached such intensity that you knew you had to have Aya Shibata for yourself. You sent your father’s mob soldiers to track her down, to find out where she lived and where she made those videos that became your obsession. You stalked her and you captured her and you made her your own. The Law would have chewed you up and spat you out for this. But you were Yakuza. You spat in the Law’s ugly bitch face.
Aya-chan was a mutant. Even at only nine years of age, she was insatiable. Three years of exploiting the Lolita complex for profit made her a sexual expert. She could not stop. She was the ultimate drug; you could not get enough of her, ever. She exhausted you. You could not handle her.
You started to get insanely jealous. Aya-chan was a free spirit and would not tolerate your possessiveness. Before she left you, she beat you up. You were seventeen then; she was only ten. But you were Yakuza; you spat in the face of reason. But little Aya-chan spat in the faces of Yakuza, and still they came back for more.
Four years later, she came back. This time she claimed to be an exchange student from America and that her name was Mirai Shiratori. You groaned at her pretentiousness when you heard her new name. “Mirai” is Japanese for “Nefertiti,” which in turn means “the beautiful one cometh” in ancient Egyptian. Nefertiti was the name of a great queen of Egypt. Aya-chan was no longer the sweet, perverted little vidgirl of your dreams. Now at seventeen (or was it fourteen? you never were able to tell), Mirai-chan was a woman, and she looked as regal as the name she chose. Currently she was making millions of yen selling her body to salarymen in love hotels.
Mirai, of course, is also the Japanese word for “future.” “I’m the future,” Mirai-chan once told you, ”but you’re just a piece of trash buried at the bottom of the Dumpster of history.”
You had already fallen under Nenene’s spell. She too was different then. She was eighteen but had the aura of an innocent yet strong-willed princess. The goth loli style she preferred then was white and lacy. She was a video dancer, beautiful and evil. You could not resist her. But Aya Shibata was the goddess of loli, so when she returned in the now womanly form of Mirai Shiratori, Nenene became insanely jealous. She knew the absolute power Aya-chan had had over you. She would not allow Mirai-chan to regain the power she once held.
But Mirai-chan had other plans for you. She lured you to your favorite love hotel, where you had spent many a satisfying one-night stand seducing sailor-suited schoolgirls and then making them cry. She knew you had become obsessed with fantasies of being an innocent and large-breasted young girl, raped by Yakuza such as you, just like in the hentai manga you were so addicted to. She laughed at you, strapped on an evil-looking black dildo, slammed you face first against a wall, and raped you with the kind of wicked glee possible only to the evil seme of yaoi manga. You were Yakuza, but she was badass beyond the impossible. You could not get enough. You begged her to rape you again.
When Nenene found out, she challenged Mirai Shiratori to a Style War in a fit of irrational rage. Her mistake proved fatal.
No goth loli kogal could have withstood Mirai-chan’s Wild Style. She looked psychedelic. She mixed and matched colors and styles that deliberately clashed with each other and assaulted your eyes. She bared whatever she could get away with. Mirai was a sleek and flamboyant cat, and Nenene was the mouse she preyed on; she even called her “Ne-chan,” meaning “little mousie,” “like Koji-kun’s penis,” she said. Nenene was so enraged that she challenged Mirai-chan to a dance-off on Japanese national TV. She had been the video dance champion of all Japan the year before, but Mirai-chan so outdanced her, danced so wildly and beautifully, that she dealt Nenene a crushing public defeat. She shouted out to the whole world that she was the future in the flesh.
Nenene never recovered. She mourned her defeat ever after by wearing nothing but black, deliberately ripping and dirtying her dresses, slathering on that hideous makeup, and kicking you into a whimpering mass of self-pity with her new high-heeled, steel-toed leather boots. By the time Mirai-chan returned to America, Nenene had become completely insane. She kidnapped sweet little Ai-chan, then fled with her and you across the ocean to America, indifferent to the glorious empire of the Yamato Race being restored by your own Yakuza. She wanted to beat you up and make nonconsensual love to Ai-chan as much as possible, and she didn’t want any interruption from the eugenics police even if they were Japanese.
Nenene was a bitch squared. But she was no Yakuza. She spat in your face, not Fate’s.
Little did Nenene know that the cat had lured the mouse into her lair. In her native Seattle, Aya-chan’s real name was Shira Thomas, and “Shira” is (among other things, she explained) Persian for “tigress.” Suddenly you realized that she was the feminine manifestation of Shere Khan, the king of tigers. In the videogame palaces of Seattle, she fought and danced under the name of Aya Shibata. And you found out that just as Mirai Shiratori was simply “Shira Miranda Thomas” partly respelled, Aya Shibata was just another name behind which the infamous Rebel Styles hid.
One day Ai-chan saw Mirai-chan on pirate TV. Mirai-chan had made love to Ai-chan once back in Japan; Ai-chan worshipped her ever since. Now she found out that her adored Mirai-chan was here! She found out Mirai-chan lived with her mother in a cute little ferry town across the water under the name of Shira Thomas; she stole from Nenene several thousand dollars, today worth no more than a yen each, and bought herself a ferry ride to Bremerton to be with Mirai-chan. Now Ai-chan is free.
But you’re still a slave.
You are Koji Mizoguchi. You were once Yakuza. You used to spit in the face of all human decency. Now you are merely a hikikomori trapped in the corner of the spare closet in Nenene’s filthy apartment far away from home, doing nothing but play games on your Nintendo 3DS-X when she’s not beating you up for every reason and no reason. Little does she know that you managed to install the Google Maps app on your 3DS-X without her knowing it. You know where Shira Thomas, the tigress, your lifelong obsession, lives. You installed the Foursquare app; she loves to tweet her location when she’s on the prowl, so you know where she’ll be on a Saturday night. You plan to meet her. You plot your escape.
You vow to be Shira Thomas’ sex slave forever. But first you have to get free of Nenene’s claws.
You lean against the corner of the closet and gradually work your way up to standing position. You open the closet door. You force your feet to move one after the other until you leave the closet. The bedroom door is open. You hear no one.
“Nenene-san?” you ask. No answer comes back. “Nenene-san?” Again, no answer. Nenene’s gone. You guess that she’s taken the ferry to Bremerton to harass Shira and try to take Ai-chan back from her.
You run into Nenene’s room to steal some money and a suitcase. You return to your own bedroom and hastily cram clothes and games into it, then force it shut. You know how Nenene takes her time, so you rush into the shower for the first time in a week and a half. You dry off, slap on some jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and leather laceless shoes without socks, drop your Nokia into your shirt pocket, and rush out the door.
Soon you’re on the ferry to Bremerton, where Shira lives. You don’t know that Nenene is on the ferry passing by on the way back to Seattle, but you’d be overjoyed if you did. Nenene will not be happy when she finds out you left. But you don’t care anymore. Nenene is nothing to you now. You pray to the Yakuza demon gods whose terrifying images were painfully tattooed onto your skin that Shira Thomas will spank you and rape you again and again and again.
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