[color=A9A9A9][h2]Northern District[/h2][/color][indent]
Exhausting.

That marathon had been [i]exhausting[/i].

Couldn’t complain though, she got more donations and more subs than she ever had.

Couldn’t complain, but god, her head hurt. It sounded like someone was pounding a hammer inside her skull. 

Wait, was there someone actually at the door? Tsurushi forgot the sign? God, she didn’t need the owner walking in on this mess. Rolling off her bed, Zaketa awkwardly disentangled herself from the sheets, pulling an oversized hoodie over the much more skin-baring outfit she wore for her streams, before stepping on a half-full bag of chips and cringing over the mess. Definitely a problem...but that’s what vacuum cleaners were for.

Biting back a yawn, Zaketa tip-toed over the mess of a motel room, before unlocking the door and creaking it open.

[b]“H-”[/b]
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[color=A9A9A9][h2]Northwestern District[/h2][/color][indent]
The doors had barely slid open before a young man with wild, platinum blond hair and an ostentatious tigerprint jacket slid through, his hands reaching out to both doors to force them open faster. His eyes burned yellow, while his chest rose up and down. Hands clutching his sides, he strode up right towards Mana, slamming both hands on the table.

Around the convenience store, other, less vibrantly delinquent-esque customers looked on in slight concern, before judging that a robbery wasn’t actually going to happen like this. They turned away, some of them back to reading magazines off the shelves.

Asahi, with slight concern, stood up taller and spoke up. [b]“Welcome, dear customer. Ho-”[/b]

[b]“Mana!”[/b] the delinquent practically shouted, his hands slamming down on the counter again, [b]“Hanami! You’ve seen her?!”[/b]
[/indent]
[color=A9A9A9][h2]Central District[/h2][/color][indent]
It was a lazy Sunday morning. Retrospectively, it may be a ‘wasted’ Sunday morning, but for Miyane, rich beyond the commoner’s imagination and practically having retired in her early thirties, there was nothing to be discontent with. Her mattress alone could pay off a lesser person’s rent, after all.

Seeping into the down, she dozed off again. The shuttered windows allowed in only slivers of light to remind her of the time, and the soundproofing was as excellent as ever, blissful, crushing silence permitting only the occasional vibrations of her phone to disrupt her half-conscious rest.

Which was why it was strange, when a strange thumping noise sounded above her. Erratic, sprodiac. Sometimes in singular beats. Other times bursting all at once.

Curious.

…

[i]Click.[/i]

The security bolt snapped shut, followed by three other clicks.

The thumping persisted.
[/indent]
[color=A9A9A9][h2]Southwestern District[/h2][/color][indent]
As businessmen stumbled homewards, suffering from the consequences of being a bunch of unfaithful womanizers who have to pay for the attention of women well out of their league, the more usual business of the seediest district in Tenoroshi had begun, hawkers shelling out their wares while groups of hostesses and hosts headed out to grab a bite to eat before crashing into their beds. In one corner, a dessicated man leaned against the wall of an alleyway, his fist clenched over his bills, crumpling the Emperor’s face. Elsewhere, bouncers sat on overturned crates, sharing cigarettes and stories of the night before. For all the vibrance of the neon night, Tenoroshi’s gray mornings stabilized the raucous red-light district easily enough, leaving everyone free to feel tired, to space out.

Well, at least they were able to do so till a dozen bikers obnoxiously slammed their horns, causing people to jump out of their seats and look at their direction. At their helm, riding with his arms crossed over his chest, was Kamigami Isokaze, the baddest biker in Tenoroshi, if his boasts were to be believed. Immediately, the bikers parked their steeds illegally on on the sidewalk, before going up to individuals in groups of two to three, shoving some piece of paper in their faces and shouting indiscriminately.

Definitely seemed they were on a job.

Also looked like they were just doing it so they could push people around though.
[/indent]
[color=A9A9A9][h2]Southeastern District[/h2][/color][indent]
The surf rolled in on the sandy, damp beach. April wasn’t ideal for having fun in the sand and the sea, but the salty sting of the wind was still refreshing. On the boardwalk, couples strode up and down, idly away and laughing at each other’s bad jokes. It may be close to the sketchiest parts of Tenoroshi, but it was also one of the town’s more significant tourist spots, and policemen regularly patrolled the area, while yakuza selling grilled squid ensured that young thugs didn’t cause any trouble. Sometimes, they may be at odds, but this time, both police and yakuza cooperated to ensure the safety of Tenoroshi’s beachside properties, especially now that movie companies were working near the area. Beach houses were inspected for food safety, volunteers regularly picked the trash out of the sands, and troublemakers were quickly dealt with.

And for those who started shit up where the yakuza and the police couldn’t cover, there was a third ‘peacekeeping’ force in the area.

Dressed in an expensive three-piece suit and wearing Dolce & Gabbana tinted shades, the Somalian man cut an intimidating figure, his broad shoulders and his tribal tattoos giving off a different feeling compared to the irezumi of the yakuza. More curious (and the reason why so many people stop by for selfies with him) was his cart full of freshly caught fish and his majestically deep voice, like dark chocolate syrup. ‘Captain Belo’ was written in English and katakana upon his embellished wooden cart, and his product truly was a marriage of passion and technique.

The Tsukiji fish market may have wonderful tuna, but they [i]didn’t[/i] have the Captain. And that made all the difference.

Once again, to the amusement of those walking by, the dark-skinned man sang, his voice wafting through the sea breeze as he tempted passersby with slices of sashimi.

And in his presence, no one wanted to start shit up.
[/indent]
[color=A9A9A9][h2]Southern District[/h2][/color][indent]
Yasuo was already waiting for her beside the unassuming storefront of Galaxy, practicing kickflips over the guardrails separating sidewalk from road. As Marina approached, he waved, a toothy smile hidden behind his high-fashion handkerchief.

[b]“Huomente, Mari,”[/b] he called, jogging over to meet up with her. [b]“There’s an entrance at the back, but when I got there, a van was already there, so, y’know. Ain’t gonna catch the dude before the performance begins, unless you wanna do some Rainbow Six shit?”[/b]

He tilted his body over, catching a glimpse of the thick Sudoku books she had on her.

[b]“Or do you just wanna sudoku and chill till the show starts?”[/b]

Probably not, knowing how serious this whole thing was. He was basically accessory to murder at this point, huh? But suspension bridges made people do weird things, and Marina…

[b]“It’s starting in a couple hours. Already got tickets for it, but if you want front row seats, well...there aren’t seats anyways, so it’d be good to queue up sooner rather than later.”[/b]
[/indent]