1983. Anri and Junko Yagami serenade the nation through its affordable and high-quality cassette decks. Japanese exports (cars, electronics, anime, porn) have suddenly conquered an unsuspecting foreign market. The yen is high, and unemployment is low. For those with disposable income, life has never been more convenient, indulgent, or luxurious.

And for those without,—well—

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By day they're cashiers and waitresses. Sons and daughters. Students. Earning and spending, earning and spending. Just like everyone else. But by night, the shadows shudder with the roar of their engines, and the din of battle floods their quiet, suburban streets. They don the colors and unfurl the flag.

And violence reigns.

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Because empty consumerism is at an all-time high in Japan, so too is the natural backlash: a restless discontent and lack of belonging which Émile Durkheim called [i]anomie[/i]. Where society has given them no purpose, over 45,000 teenagers of Japan have decided to create their own, wearing uniforms, shouting slogans, and waging wars all of their own design, each with its own meaning. Territory and conquest, loyalty and brotherhood, customization of a loud, fast machine into a piece of personal expression—[i]these[/i] give them purpose where in plastic commodities and brainless pop music they find none.

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You are one of the 45,000: a teenager between the ages of 14 and 19; [i]probably[/i] working-class; a bully; a reject; in other words, perfect fodder for the [i]bōsōzoku[/i]. You've worked hard to get where you are, appeasing bullshit initiation rites and the capricious wants and wishes of your gang seniors. Now you're finally one of them, and the world will suffer in your boredom. Vandalism, assault, theft; how else can you punish the suit-and-tie slaves, the other gangs, and the cops who all want to see you on your knees?

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You will fight to claim new turf and defend your own. You will forge alliances and answer betrayal with blood. You'll escape the police, your teachers, your parents. You might attempt to keep your grades up or find a job and a girlfriend along the way. And maybe, maybe, for all your commitment and zeal, this little family will prove tighter than the ones you're so desperate to escape.

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The world belongs to you, young-blood ... but only if you have the balls to take it. To fight for what you deserve. So grease your pompadours, roll your R's, stow your bokkens and baseball bats, and get ready to RIDE.