The darkness of the night was piercing through my heart as I was opening a pack of Eight Stars cigarettes. I have been in this city for the past few weeks, and I still couldn't get used to it. I barely made any progress in my search. It seems I have somewhat miscalculated two things in this plan: Firstly, it seems that the name Shinji Nakamura is not as rare as I thought, and thus it took quite a bit of my time until now, sadly to no avail. Second, my japanese knowledge is less than questionable, so it made my search even harder. Even though the locals seem to speak a little bit of english, it still isn't on a conversational level.
The air is quite chilly now, in late October. We also seem to get quite a bit of rain around these parts. Just for context, I live in a small condo-like building, and the locals - for some reason I have absolutely no intention of understanding - call this sort of building a "mansion." I assume it's because they have never even seen one. I might be complaining, but I am not this negative usually towards them, it must be my inner brit talking. Amusing people, these japanese are. They like to bow down so low, they sometimes have to get on their knees, and then hit their head on the floor, to show utter respect. They also seem to show way too much respect towards people they don't even know. For me, that's unthinkable. I won't show respect to people who don't earn it. Never in a thousand years.
I turned a corner, and walked down the path I've been taking every single day, ever since I came here. No, not home. I'm going to a local bar, both for unwinding, and to gather intel in a non-conspicuous way. After all, is there a better source of information, then half-drunk middle-aged men? Yeah, I don't think so.
As I entered the bar, the familiar scent of stale beer and wet tobacco slipped into my nose. Can't blame them, I'm one of those who made this place so. I spotted a single empty barstool, right in between a balding fat dude, probably in his mid thirties, wearing sweatpants with a slightly dirty white T-shirt. On the other side of the stool, was a man wearing suit pants, and a white badly-ironed shirt, pulled together by a fairly light brown tie. He seemed to be a bit hot, so he had his suit jacket on his right shoulder, to help down that pint of wheat beer. I quickly made my way to this singular empty stool, and somehow managed to slip by the big guy to my right. I raised my hand, and with my broken japanese knowledge, I ordered a pint. Apparently, they call draft beer "nama" here, which supposedly means "raw," which to be entirely honest, does not leave a good impression. I'd say the beer here is fairly tolerable, not quite the level of german beer, sadly.
While I was waiting for my beer, I opened the fresh pack of cigarettes I just bought, warmed up the end of it with my lighter, just for good measure, and started puffing at this horrendous, yet somehow amazing cigarette. I swear, if I continue smoking this, I'll get asthma. While thinking about this, the big guy decided I looked interesting, which I can't blame him for. You rarely see a dark blonde guy in his mid twenties, wearing a trench coat, and khakis, with a stubby beard, just roll into your local bar. At least not around here. Well, sadly for him, I couldn't care less, also, I can't speak your language, idiot.
"Are you a foreigner like me?" he asked with a wobbly, yet deep voice.
"Excuse me?" I replied really surprised.
Now that he looked at me, I realised that I was judging him too fast. His face didn't look the part. No, not at all. Rather, he didn't even look like a human, as a matter of fact. Okay, I'll try my best, but bear with me: imagine the mixture of a human, a baboon, and a mole. That's literally what his face looks like. His bald head ended up in a sort of cocoon shape, he was sorta clean shaved, small eyes, a rather huge nose, and - this was the biggest surprise - ridiculously long teeth. Like the teeth of a rodent, sort of.
"Me knew it!" he clenched his fist in victory, "Me've been so alone here, y'know? Me can't talk to no one, no one likes me," he said rather sadly. I could almost make out a small teardrop in his eyes.
"Uhm, did you try to talk to them in japanese?" I asked, although I don't think he'd be so stupid to forget, that barely anyone speaks english here.
"Japanese?" he asked.
"Yeah, you know, the language of the locals," what's happening?
"They don't speak english?" he looked rather puzzled by my statement. Is he like a total idiot?
"Nope, they don't. Well, they usually don't." He then proceeded to have a sip from his beer. I followed fashion. The bartender glanced over in our direction, he seemed both discomforted, puzzled, and somewhat disgusted. Can't blame the fellow, the Big Guy's sorta weird. I wonder if he's a regular here.
"You come here often?" I finally asked him. Dependent on his response, I proceed with my usual intrigue.
"Dunno. Bar's the same here." he said genuinely. I can't tell if he's actually dumb, or if he plays dumb.
"You got me with that one." I agreed hesitantly. They kind of look similar. I'm unsure whether it's the atmosphere, the design, or the general gloomy attitude of the patrons, but one thing's for sure: happy people don't go out drinking in these parts.
The bar I'm currently in, is in a small neighbourhood downtown Naniwa, called Boston Town, mainly consisting of bars, clubs, and general drug-dealers. Not the nicest parts, but all the information gathers in areas like this one. That's more or less my reason for hanging out here. It's also pretty close to other major towns, such as Nampa, Suitonbori with it's famous river and shops-galore, and the electric jungle, which is Mushi-Cho. Nampa and Boston Town are the only ones I'm really interested in, but I do tend to go to the other two on occasion. Really, Suitonbori and Mushi-Cho are for shopping, most of the time.
"Why did you come to Naniwa, friend?" asked Big Guy rather bluntly. I didn't know whether this was a warning, a threat, or just genuine interest.
"I'm looking for someone," I answered plainly. Why did I say the truth, you may ask? For some reason, even though his appearance might be shocking, he seemed like a trustworthy man. Probably too dumb to tell the wrong people. "What's your name, Big Guy?" I added.
"Me's name is Joe Molesworth. You?" I can't believe he's called Molesworth. Like he literally looks like a mole. If this was like a book, I wouldn't be surprised, but man, this is reality. Don't give me a shitty fake name. Ah well, he probably has his reasons, if it is fake.
"Will Dublin. Nice to meet you," I ended up giving him an alibi too. Wouldn't want to alert the wrong people. If this Nakamura's so hard to find, there probably are people out there looking for him, other than me that is. Either case, I'm not gonna give my name out to some random mole-boy. I took a puff out of my cigarette, inhaled it deep, until it touched my core. And as I was slowly exhaling it, and the smoke left my mouth, it took the form of a ship, then an airplane, and then finally, an urn. An exact replica of the one in the story, I thought to myself. I was getting better at doing this. I still don't quite understand it, but I've had this sort of gift, for a long time. At first, I noticed it while I was making smoke circles, you know, the ones that everyone and their mom learns at that one party, at a friends house, that you don't really like, but you wanna hang out with others, and have some sort of social life? Yeah, that one. Albeit, it quickly dawned on me, that this "technique" is not just me having a talent for some sort of weird party trick, but rather one, that was with me ever since I was born. I can remember times, where I would look at the neighbour's chimney, look intently at the smoke coming out, and I swear I could see, and feel it change shape. Although at that time I thought it was just a child's imagination.
"Woah," I heard the people around me in unison. Guess that happens, when you just do this sort of stuff out of habit. I looked around nervously, downed my beer, decided not to show my face here anymore, and I just up and left. Stormed out of the door, slammed it behind me, and I started walking with a rather fast pace. I wasn't running though. That would've made me look way more suspicious than I needed to be.
I turned corners like three times, before I realised, that I'm probably far enough, and that I don't need to worry. Weirdos in society don't really have a place. I deliberately didn't want to become one of them. I wouldn't be able to be a hero, with just this much power, so I didn't want to stand out. Even though it's been sixty-something years since they started to appear, powers weren't really a "mainstream" thing, so to speak. It really was a rarity. And then suddenly - TAP.
Just as fast as I felt a hand with a size equaling a primate's, I turned around, moving my arm to my "attacker's," only to face a gorilla - Haram..!
"Joe Molesworth, was it?" I greeted the Big Guy. It was almost frightening how fast he caught up with me, although I think it's better to leave at least a few questions unanswered.
"Why did you run? We are the same!" he said, with a peculiarly happy voice. Is he…?
"What, you're a smoker too?" I tried to joke, only to ease my unease. Could he really be another power-user? If so, what is his power? Being able to do what a mole does, just better?
"Smoker? No, no, no! You have power, me have power!" he claimed. As I feared. He is one of the few.
"Okay, Big Guy, what can you do then?" I asked.
"My tooth grow fast," he said. He said. What?
"How is that a power? It just sounds like a pain to me," I don't mean to be rude, but this is utterly ridiculous. Fast. Growing. Teeth.
"Yeah! Me has to chew stuff. It is pain," he rubs his mouth, almost to a point, where I could barely understand his semi-unintelligible english. That was an expression mate, an expression. I didn't mean it literally. Oh well, I guess I'll have to figure out more.
"Come on buddy, let's walk," I invited him along. He might be an idiot, but I could really use someone like him. A brute bodyguard, that is.
With that, I started walking into the direction I was going in anyway, and for better or worse, he didn't seem to question me, and thus followed. As we were walking down the long and dark alleyways of the city, I was constantly surveilling the area, for both potential spots to visit later, and to make sure we weren't being followed.
"Where we going?" he asked.
"Just follow," I told him in a calm manner, although I was slightly on edge. He seemed to comply, albeit slightly hesitant, which led me to believe that he was too on edge. You never know what could happen in an unfamiliar place.
After about ten minutes of going down alley after alley, I thought we might be safe, and popped another cig. I crouched down, with both my heels touching the ground. I guess my russian blood is relevant to this day.
"Are you with any groups?" I asked him. I thought that there's a chance he might be a lackey for someone, but asking is better than assuming.
"What group? Me used to be in the ballet club in elementary, that count?" he replied, with a slightly confused look on his already deformed face.
"No, it doesn't," I guess I was anxious for no reason. He's just a real dunce. "I meant like a gang, mafia, anything like that," I added.
"Oh, bad guys! Me's not a bad guy!" He raised his voice. I guess that managed to tick him off, not my intention really.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."
" 'S okay. Me thunk you hate me," he said with a slight sadness in his voice. I guess he was just afraid to lose a friend, maybe?
"Aight, Big Guy. Here's the deal. Do you wanna be my partner? I need some muscles," I told him. I do actually need someone with some heavy lifting capabilities, I was just unsure until now, but his lack of mental abilities, and quite the moral compass told me that I could benefit from his company. Nothing sentimental, I just need someone like him.
"Me and You! Partners!" he seemed to agree, although I don't quite know if that was agreeing or not.
"There you go. So, how much you want?" I asked him.
"How much what?" he asked back, confused.
"Money, Big Guy, money," I said while facepalming.
"Why?" he asked rather bluntly.
"What do you mean, why? I'm trying to employ you here, Big Guy. Read between the lines, for crying out loud." At this point I really didn't know what he didn't understand. I was also starting to get slightly aggravated by the lack of cooperating he showed.
"But we friend. Me don't need money from friend." He slightly tilted his head to the side, as to show his confusion. This guy is an idiot. For sure.
"Yeah, yeah. We are just that. I'd still want to pay you, to make sure you won't say the wrong things to the wrong people," I tried to explain it to him. I knew he still wouldn't budge though. For some reason, he was as dense as a forest. Did some of his teeth grow into his head as a baby, or something?
"What things to what people? Me not gonna tell people what you won't tell people," I could see how he was stumbling to say that sentence. But I get it now. He really thinks we are friends, and as friends, he wouldn't snitch on me. Got it. He's dumb.
"Okay, Big Guy. That's what we're gonna do then," I said, "Why don't we go out and grab some food then? I'll treat you." At least this way I can buy him.
And with that, I made a new "friend." Probably my first, and quite possibly my last, in this forsaken land. Even with a bodyguard in my pocket, I'm still not all that much closer to my ultimate goal, but at least now I have a safety net. Someone to call in, when things get, well, hairy. Let's hope, even though his appearance and power indicates it, that he's not an actual mole.