Hacking the Sun [Old Version]

Chapter 4.1 Yin-Yang Girl

Exiting from the first-floor plaza's M.C. Remy fashion boutique, which rested opposite a virtual reality boutique, Valerie and Jessica heard a loud thud. Looking back, they caught a man in a black leotard laying beside a three-sixty treadmill.

Due east on the sidewalk, past the commercial vicinity of Trixie Plaza, the sun peaked. A series of intersections colored their view of the outer city. Chavez and Seventh: Fruit and art vendors, paintings and meticulously crafted fruit cups carried bananas, apples, and oranges. Holly and Seventh: Rap battles between chefs. A man in a beret relayed lyrical rhymes as he grilled the perfect burger in record time, against a man sporting a Korean flag bandana, patient for the moment he would drop his tortillas and chicken on the portable grill top.

"I'm like Jack in the crack with my lyrical smack, pushin' the limits of my craft, stackin' patties and schoolin' baddies..."

Every lyric came with an overexcited hypeman in the background. "AAAAAWWWWW SHIEEEEEEEEEET!" Entire villages stood in attendance, huddling around talented rapper-chefs who fed lines while dropping rhymes.

"I can never do that," said Valerie as they reached signs for Akira and 7th.

"I would look like an idiot," Jess replied. "Shannon, on the other hand..."

"Okay, Shannon doesn't count. She's a fuggen art smith, mmkay? If Botticelli and Walt Whitman had a love child, and Confucius and Buddha had a love child, and their children had a love child, and then Ezra Pound and Frederick Douglas had a love child, and Virginia Woolf and Will Smith had a love child, and their children had a love child, and both descendants of every random name I've pulled out of my ass had a love child, you'd get Shannon."

Jess blinked slowly. "That's a very elaborate and surprisingly informed list of people. You don't think you're exaggerating, even a little bit?"

"It's the truth!"

New Sumer's Tokyo Town fell on the fringe of future sprawl, where superstructure surrendered to old-fashioned brick. It began where 7th Street met Akira, then ran a few blocks of flea markets, mini-markets, and restaurants until Akiba: a neon lane filled with storefront after storefront of manga, anime, arcade, and hobby stores. White brick, bright signs, and every color of the rainbow lined the shelves and exterior windows.

Only recycle bots and utility implements, like hydrants and public transportation vehicles, bore some resemblance to the rest of the city. Densely packed shops and thin corridors of pedestrians carried more urban intimacy than the majority of New Sumer.

Beep. Beep. The girls checked their messengers. "Directions to a place called Yaoi Yuri Joy Joy," said Jess. "Ever been there?"

"Nope, but it sounds hilarious. Vamonos."

Then they saw red lamps hooked along the overhead canopy of curvaceous rooftops. They were oriental and antiquated, the kind of adornments typically found nowhere but their place of origin. Even unlit, their distinct shade of red illuminated like spitfire rails over Tokyo Town.

"Scary, isn't it?" remarked Valerie. "You have a home, you call it yours, somebody shows you a different part of it—all of a sudden, it's like you never really knew it."

Jessica had to steer from her trance. "Hmm?"

"You're distracted af."

"What? I haven't been here, either! Well, maybe one time. It was just in passing, but I've been all over the city. Most of it doesn't look this retro, is all."

They immersed themselves in a lack of chaos, trodding down the color palette of shoppers: parents, children, singles, and so forth—every ethnicity retrieving their piece of Japanese art, entertainment, or Ramen. Polychromatic coats, kimonos, suits, and shorts filled every corner as Jessica and Valerie crossed the narrow tarmac. Eventually, they found their destination at a new storefront. Complete awkwardness and morbid confusion curved their lips as they beheld the sign and window displays. Red Kanji followed the big yellow letters Yaoi Yuri Joy Joy.