Date: March 28, 2017
Art: Juujishou (@vosteium)
Beta: @synoshian, @sequencefairy, @duckiesteasmiles
Chapters: 3 (unfinished)
Word Count: ≈17,800
Rating: M (likely future E)
Genres: romance, thriller, action, crime, drama
Warnings: blood, violence, angst, trauma
Summary: United States Air Force A1C Ichigo Kurosaki wanted to get away. Against all odds he’s assigned to Security Forces at Yokota Air Base, under an hour from home. Seirei-gumi Yakuza family “Older Sister” Rukia Kuchiki wanted to fit in. Dispatched to Karakura, she discovers a plot to overturn Japan’s criminal underworld. Their chance meeting is anything but, and they’ll only survive the web of lies cast over Tokyo’s concrete jungle by sticking together.
Notes: This is the start of a (long) retelling of the series within a realistic (non-fantasy/supernatural) setting. You can read the notes if you’d like (1, 2, 3) although you’re warned that there are spoilers of upcoming events and some of the information is out of date. Big shout out to my artist and beta readers, you’ve all been lovely and I couldn’t have done it without you guys! And thank you to IRBB chat for the positive encouragement!
- The Black Angels - Young Men Dead
- Megadrive - Night Prowl
- Tokyo Rose - Last Run
- Lucy in Disguise - Velvet Dream
Chapter 1: Neon Rain
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Neon rain fell in sporadic sheets, always hot. Asphalt steamed, glowing with rippling prismatic bands. Every color of the rainbow coruscated, glinting off umbrellas—mostly clear plastic—that hurried to and fro.
A white and lilac wagasa parasol advanced steadily through the bustle. It bore an unseasonable lunar crescent of snowflakes and was lit from below by carefully concealed soft white LEDs.
Rukia strode beneath it with poise and grace, immune to the heat and humidity. Civilians flowed by her on instinct, like schools of fish about a predator. She wore a Western-style two-piece suit—a black jacket and slacks—and the collar of her white blouse rested open above the former’s lapels.
To all appearances she made for a plausible—if rather short—office lady, yet her bearing alone suggested something was off. If one looked carefully, her dress shoes hinted at the story. However, the wagasa, and especially the oversized pink pair of almost-oval shades she had on, really advertised what she was—the street was lit up, but the sun had set almost two hours before.
It wasn’t long before she passed yet another nondescript alleyway leading off the thoroughfare. Her shoes splashed in a puddle that echoed in optical riot as she halted. She turned and trekked into the gloom, taking off her sunglasses and letting her parasol light the way. It was soon the only source of illumination, silhouetting her as she disappeared around a corner and vanished from the night.