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Joined: 25 Sep 2003
Posts: 3770
Location: Iddheim

PostPosted: Sun Jul 16, 2006 10:12 pm    Post subject: ECH:> "INFORMANT" Reply with quote

from the


I can spot a Yakuza from 100 yards. It's the way that they carry themselves; that superior 'don't mess with me' kind of swagger that most of them have; even the femme Yaks do it, which is a bit of a waste really because tough girls aren't my bag. In many ways the girls are nastier than the guys. It's as if, because they're women, that they have to go that little bit further than just Mean in order to stand out and be clocked. I really don't know why this comes as a surprise.

Anyway, this Yak goon, yeah. He said that he was 'a friend of a friend' and that he was only looking out for the Redblades as he didn't want to see any rivals, particularly the Hammers, get one over on us…


It was a damp evening in the Wilds of Tokyo city; not quite raining, more a kind of 'fat fog', the kind of weather that keeps people indoors unless they really have to venture out. Probably for the best.

The man stood in the half-light between the end of the alley and the evening street lamps. He had attracted the attention of the Redblades Bozosoku by slowly waving a lit cigarette, using the red glow as a kind of beacon.

The biker walked closer to the little red glow, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkened light conditions. Hmmn, meeting in a dark alley – original. The biker had left his Horke Roadmaster, his hog, parked up on the other side of the road with the turbine left on warm standby - just in case. Before leaving the lockup earlier tonight to come and meet with this stranger he also made sure that his Saturday Night Special machine pistol was stowed in the left side panion - also, just in case.

"I have some information that you might find interesting."

"Yeah? Well, whose tellin' it?" the biker asked, standing 5 meters short of the messenger.

"I'm a friend of a friend. I know what happened to the two guys your gang lost the other day. I know where they are."

Yeah right, pal. 'Friend of a friend,' you say. I know what you are.


Three nights ago, some of the gang were out settling a dispute by racing on the Ultraway in the usual way; first to reach Junction 66 is telling the truth - it's a primitive method of justice but it works. Thing is, we didn't know that we were being followed by a couple of unmarked hogs and a fast van. Just as the guys with the dispute shot off down the 12-lane Ultraway at over 400kph the van moved past the rest of us, eased in front, then started to belch out a kind of smoke screen from the open side doors. We couldn't see s&$t and most of us pulled over, a couple kissed the road. Most of our hogs had the auto-drive turned off; it's illegal to drive on the Ultraway without it running, but laws are meant to be broken aren't they - keeps the cops in employment. Ironically, if we'd been running with the auto-drive the smoke wouldn't have had any effect as the Chauffeur [slang term for the Central Traffic Control Hub] would have been in control, and that thing can keep all vehicles running nose-to-tail at over 200kph when you can't even see the front of your hog for the rain!

Not sure what happened next but some of the guys reckoned that the two unmarked hogs flanked the fast van and all three sped off down the Ultraway, probably in pursuit of the two racers, and almost certainly running with auto-drive disabled by the way they were weaving in between the other vehicles.

The two guys never returned to the lock-up that night and the next day we found most of one of their bikes in a chop-shop. The owner said he salvaged the machine from a ditch at one of the southside highway lay-bys. The frame looked like it had been involved in a seriously high speed impact. The handle bars were bent forward as well - common in head-on impacts as the rider holds on to the bike as they're propelled over the bars. Can be well nasty, I tell yer.


The guy then told me about how he saw two Bozosoku in Redblades colours, tied up, and being bundled into the back of a truck by gangers in Hammers colours. He said that the truck was being driven to a wrecking yard somewhere in the Wilds where the two captives were to be held. Apparently, the Hammers intended to ransom the guys back to us. This struck me as being pretty weird as the Hammers aren't known for kidnapping and extortion - their methods, much like most of the rest of us if I'm telling the truth, tend to be just a bit more primal. The stranger also gave me very specific details about where and when we could attempt to rescue the hostages.


"So, what's in this for you then? Why are you giving us this info? What's to stop this being a fix up, eh?" asked the biker, not buying into the stranger's story.

"Personal reasons," he replied. "The Hammers owe me and if I can make them pay I will, any way that I can. If you don't believe me, just case the place for a while. It's a built up area, plenty u' places to hide. You'll see I'm right."

The two men stood in the rain, as if waiting for the other to make some kind of move … but nothing happened. Eventually, the informant sucked the last out of his cigarette and crushed the stub into the wet ground with his boot. He looked up at the biker for a few, long seconds, said, "we're done here, it's up to you now," turned, and walked away into the narrow alley.


The unmarked truck pulled out of the main gate to the Obo Wrecking Yard and proceeded on its way along the access road on into the high-density housing zone; the gate behind closed and chained from the inside by a grossly over-weight man wearing a week's worth of fast food and sweat on his dirty-grey vest.

"Was that the truck?" asked one of the two Redblade bikers that had been observing comings and goings from the yard all morning from a corner in the road, using the high fence of the yard as cover from the entrance gate.

"Yep, that's the one. Seemed to be riding higher on its suspension than when it went in. They've dropped off somethin' fairly heavy ain't they. Just like the Yak said they would last night."

"Jeesh, man. What the f@%k have the Yak got involved in this for. Yer know, I'm half tempted to screw this and just ride outta here. You should too." The biker kicked at the dirt and start to fiddle with a punch-blade. He was clearly nervous about getting involved with Yakuza activities, and rightly so. If the Yakuza are known for one thing above all else its their disproportionate desire to protect their privacy. "This stinks."

"Yeah, I know, but we're here now and the guys are making their way round the back. We just have to sit tight here and keep and eye out for anything unusu … "

Both bikers stood and watched in amazement as a huge Public Sanitation industrial waste collection heavy plant carefully heaved its way down the narrow residential street, barely leaving inches between the sides of the machine and the doors of the buildings, gathering up and pushing forward general detritus from both sides of the road with its solid metal impact protection collars. This kind of C-road was clearly not meant for such an appliance, but there it was nonetheless. The 30 ton monster, yellow warning beacons flashing along both sides, came to a halt some 300 meters in front of the start of the wrecking yard compound fence; the high pitched whine of its massive turbine engine wound down to a low, idling frequency. A side door slide open and a couple of sanitation engineers stepped out into the sunlight and started to walk along the high corrugated metal fence towards the chained gate.

"What the f@%k is that doing here?"

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