Inspired by the 2000s cult classic game Jet Set Radio, Stories From Tokyo-To is an electrifying prelude that takes you deep into the origins of Beat, the iconic street punk. Follow his journey as he fights for a better life in the chaotic streets of...
Benisu's scream reverberated as we slid down the tunnel's twists and turns until a chute dropped us into a dumpster. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what we landed on. It wasn't a rough landing. It was as if the drop was cushioned by fluff or foam. After getting my bearings, I tried looking around the pitch darkness.
"Kid, ya there?"
Benisu rummaged through our landing zone, getting himself upright. "Yeah... are you alright, Tab?"
"Yea, I am..."
"What did we land on? And just where the hell are we-"
Floodlights flashed our vision as we were helpless to cover our eyes in time. Blinded, I stood tall in the pile of fluff as Benisu tried to find his footing. "GYAAAAAH! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING, TAB?!".
"State your name!". A tall figure stood against the white. I squinted between the two sun-like industrial lights to catch a glimpse of them. Having no other option, I replied: "Tab!"
"State your business!"
"Really? C'mon, I'm not sayin' it..."
"STATE YOUR BUSINESS OR ELSE!"
Benisu yelled from his crouching position in the dumpster, his eyes filled with panic when they didn't need to be. "Tab! JUST SAY IT!".
Pissed off over the encounter, I put my frustration aside and gave the jackass what he wanted. "I need help..."
"From who?"
"You, Slate..."
The lights turned off, and the mysterious figure appeared before us. Slate. A six-foot-tall pain in the ass when you need a favor. We go way back, and luckily for us, he's one of the few people who isn't actively trying to kill me in this town. This dork thinks he's "mysterious" when he zips his high-collar jacket to cover his mouth. Maybe it would work if it weren't for that oblong nose of his. On top of that, the guy would be practically bald if the three braids sticking out of his head were snipped off. His brown striped pants weren't doing him any favors either. The fuck looked like a retired clown.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Tab. My favorite and rarest customer! It looks like you have a guest? That's new."
"Slate. Ya changed the landing method. What happuned to tha mattresses?"
"Eh, upkeep was a headache, and results varied from client to client. I figured a dumpster full of asbestos and fiberglass insulation would do better."
Benisu jumped up and tripped out of the dumpster, landing on his chest. "WHAT?! GAHHHHH! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!". Slate couldn't help but snicker.
"He's jokin', Benisu." I climbed out and dusted myself off from the pillows and foam blocks we made our landing on.
"THAT'S A SICK, TWISTED EXCUSE FOR A JOKE!". Benisu huffed and puffed as Slate ushered us away from the dumpsters.
