You know my name, not my story.
You know what we've built, not our beginnings.
Let me take you back... to where this all started...
Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan. Sometime after midnight, around a year and a half ago. Come to think of it, that night was probably the worst thunderstorm Fukowoka-Cho has had in years. It didn't make hopping the fence into the railroad station any easier. The sound of trains in the distance, rain pouring down on the decommissioned train cars, and my shoes on wet gravel crunching as I sprinted towards my usual spot were all that ringed in my ears. Honestly, I couldn't be more thankful for it to be raining. Usually, making it here would've been a headache with all the guards around. Good thing they're more concerned about catching a cold than nabbing trespassers. Trespassing. What a stupid word. This section of the railroad station hasn't been used in, like, a decade. What is that? 100 years? Whatever the case, no one else but me visits the old "den". The city isn't gonna do anything about it. If they gave two shits, I'd find myself standing in a park or hospital. So I wouldn't call it "trespassing" if no one uses it. Besides, nobody cares for it, 'cept me.
If I wasn't "borrowing" spray cans from the hardware store, or being chased by old man Hasashi's dog on the way back from skipping school, you would find me here. In this forgotten train repair station. But it was more than that. It was a hall of fame! Where the greats made their mark on a world that couldn't care less about their dreams or aspirations. They stuck it to the masses by tagging nearly every square inch of this place. The floor, littered with almost an unbelievable amount of empty aerosol cans, pales in comparison to the sheer amount of pieces, wild styles, and tags that went from each wall to the roof. It was a Rudie's Sistine Chapel. A Sistine Chapel if Daryl McCray, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Funky Uncle had a week with an unlimited supply of cans at their disposal. What I'm trying to get at is that this was my heaven. My sanctuary. The only place where I could escape and be who I truly was.
Walking through the doors made me feel similar to a wet dog, ready to shake my fur of the water that drenched my hair and jacket. I shivered a bit as I took off my body bag. Unzipping it revealed my two best friends. A newly licked can and a not-so-new CD player. It had some pretty shoddy Sharpie work, but we don't talk about it. I was a bit scared that water had made its way into the internals of my player, but after turning it on, my worries were laid to rest.
As "Start the Commotion" blasted in my ears, I was helpless to the funk and groove overtaking my senses. Grabbing the spray can, I went to work. You see, no one told me if what I was doing was right or wrong. I really couldn't care. I had no rules. No restrictions. Just being able to let my paint run wild while perfecting the piece I've been working on for months. The local 'Rudies', or 'street punks' to the common man, were all about tag bombing inside train cars or the public men's stalls. All 'Toys' if you ask me. The Kings and Queens that used to rule around these parts now all have jobs and families to look after. It's safe to say their graffiti days are over. Not mine though, I'm just getting started, and no one was gonna step between me and the can in my hand. I wrapped up my session and right before I was aboutta put the finishing touches...
"Freeze, ya punk! Don't even think of runnin' off!"
Here was the guy who was gonna step between me and the can in my hand. A guy whose short fuse was just as minuscule as the man himself. Wanna know how to spot him? Be sure to check for a square chiseled chin adorned with a constant 5 o'clock shadow, a beige trench coat that smells of an ashtray, and long black hair that swoops in front of his face similar to an eagle's beak. The Capitan Zenigata to my Lupin, my biggest fan, and the even bigger pain in my ass. Sergeant Onishima. Even though his flashlight was blinding me, not even he can mask his creepy n' raspy voice. It was animalistic. Akin to a wolf on the hunt, hell I bet he was salivating like one, now that he had me in his sights.
Letting out a sigh, the only thing that came out of my mouth at that moment was a defeated "Damn." It's not as if this was the first time I've run into the law. Usually, a good lie, a tragic story with some tears, and a swift getaway solves my issues. But not with this sadist. The dude knows. Every scheme, any lie, all of my possible alibi's. It's scary. So all I can pray for is that somehow along the way he slips up. Ever so slowly, I start creeping away from Onishima. Having no other option, I try smooth-talking with the guy. "Oh! Sergeant Onishima! Is that you? You looked so tall, I hardly recognized you! Have you been hitting the gym? Maybe you're wearing platform boots?"
"Shut your trap!" his voice echoed throughout the warehouse. He wasn't having it. Better yet, seeing me back up made him more than happy to take off his gun's safety. "Do you know how long I've waited for this moment? I finally get a chance to slap the cuffs on the damn shitass who's been causing me months of headaches." The shady fuck laughed a bit. "I knew it was you who gift-wrapped the front of my house last Christmas!"
"I was short on cash that year!"
"You made the letter saying I was cast in my favorite show, 'Power Office Girls'!"
"Aw, man... you didn't get the part of 'Handsome Officer 1'? But you were so happy that day."
"And most heinous of all... you put Vaseline on my squad car handles!"
"Really? That was the worst?"
"I WAS LATE FOR A WEEK! I'VE NEVER BEEN LATE, NOT ONE DAY ON THE FORCE!"
"I'm sure your days must be real busy if eating curry rice in your car and harassing me is the only thing on your schedule."
"All that doesn't matter now. I have you right where I want you. 'Criminal trespassing', 'vandalism', and hell, maybe I'll throw in 'theft' seeing as all of these spray cans are most likely stolen." He shrugged and leaned back a bit as if his next point was some sort of stupid revelation. "But hey, it's your life, right? I'm just the swift hand of authority here to take you in. Besides, you're no better than all the other filth in the streets." Onishima tightened the grip of both of his hands. "And we both know you ain't talkin' yourself outta this."
"Officer, I just have one question..."
"And what's that?"
"How fast can you run?" without even thinking, I threw my can at the trigger-happy S.O.B and booked it for my life. The only thing moving faster than my feet trying hard not to slip towards the emergency exit were my thoughts.
There's no way this guy is gonna shoot a sixteen-year-old! They're probably sending a fucking helicopter right now! Shit, I can't run from a chopper!
Whatever came to mind, I thought of and dreaded. A wall of rain crashed into me the second I busted through that door. All I was thinking of was the fence. It was right there! I've hopped over it plenty of times. I got closer and closer, but I wasn't the only one running. No, it wasn't just me on the track. Trains don't traverse here anymore, so where's that light coming from? Turning back only showed me that Onishima was riding my tail with his hand reaching out!
"Ya can't get away, kid! Just for that, I'm adding 'assaulting an officer'!" he was scary close, but the lil guy was panting the way a damn dog would. Maybe it has something to do with short legs? Whatever the case, I climbed that fence like an American free climber. But the second I landed, I ate shit. That didn't stop me from running, though! I'll take a face plant over being in cuffs any day!
He snatched his radio and made the call. "This is Sergeant Onishima! I need backup at the Rail District! We have a suspect on the run!"
I didn't stick around long enough to see the Captain rendezvousing with his troop, battalion, or whatever farm wagon these pigs arrive in. After slithering through some shortcuts and back alleys I knew the chase was off. Reclining against a dumpster, I had to catch my breath. "Did--- Did I lose him? I must've... there's no way that creep could've caught up with me... I gotta head home before they do."
Abandoning my go-to route, I gambled and took a bit of a risky detour. My gut told me to crash at a local bus station or bench, but I had to take that chance... I knew I should've listened because sure enough, 'here comes all the king's horses and all the king's men'. Screeching their tires, blaring their sirens, and coating the block with red. All for lil ol' me.
"Freeze!" his megaphoned voice echoed throughout the neighborhood. So, putting my hands up, I knew right then and there. I was screwed.
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