Thread by @H4NDKINK

But he has to find them, and he figures there’s no better place to look than in the bowels in the city, a place that even the uptight politicians and government officials turn a blind eye to.

They’ve already buried this place as best they can, built a second floor on top of the

old city—the /original/ city— and stacked a new, clean city on top of it so they never have to look at the /unsightly/ things beneath their notice ever again.

The buildings in the old city used to stretch up toward the sky, their tops gilded by sunlight—

But no longer. The

only things that live in the old city now are the forgotten, the poor, the undesirable and the /criminals/.

Chuuya tucks his jacket around him more closely, the sounds of old Yokohama drowning out the sound of his steps. It’s not cold down here— it’s actually /devastatingly/

muggy, the steam and exhaust of a working city clinging to every surface without a fresh breeze for a /century/ to whisk it away— but there’s eyes everywhere.

He can feel them on him, even if he can’t see them past the whirling LED lights and neon signs. People are watching him,

this stranger from the outlands, looking so out of place with his clean skin and his nice-by-comparison clothing.

Idly, he wonders if anyone will try to rob him before the night is over.

The address the pink-haired girl gave him nearly takes him all the way to ground-level.

It's practically an ancient relic by now, the fossilized remains holding the memories of a civilization that was bound to the ground long ago. Humans took to the skies long ago, always building higher and higher, burying their mistakes underneath them--

And those who couldn't

afford to /fly/, stayed here, climbing the metal racks somewhere between the true ground and the artificial one built above it, watching as Chuuya steadily makes his way down.

He knows when he's found the building he's looking for, not by the look of it and not by any sort of

sign or lights.

He recognizes it by the pulsating, /throbbing/ beat that spills from the door when it's opened, a girl with shining rose-gold hair looking both ways before sliding inside.

Parties aren't /exactly/ forbidden--

But a lot of the things that happen in the shadows

of a busy club-- drugs, illegal trade, smuggling, /trafficking/-- /are/. That's exactly why Chuuya came here tonight, so far beneath his apartment in New Yokohama.

He needs something that he can't buy at a /store/. He needs something he can only get from someone who doesn't live

by the /rules/.

He needs the /Fox/. Criminal extraordinaire, if the stories are right, and rumored to be able to get whatever a person may want. Drugs, money, weapons, illegal tech-mods.

There's even a story that he can get /fresh water/ without having to use rations. Chuuya

doesn't believe that one, it's too far fetched. It hasn't rained naturally in Japan in /months/, and every drop of water that falls from the sky is collected before it can even hit ground. Even the rich are on rations for water and food, have been for years.

Still, even if the

stories are /slightly/ exaggerated, it's still the best place for Chuuya to look.

He steps to the door, checking over both shoulders at the sprawling web of catwalks that network over and through Old Yokohoma. When he sees no one suspicious in sight, he tugs open the door and

enters.

The sheer amount of noise and sights and /people/ is enough to nearly stun him only a few inches inside the door. Music, much louder inside than it seems outside, throbs through the sprawling room with enough bass to make his heart feel like it's squeezing in his chest.

There's flashing neon lights in every color of the rainbow and several /other/ colors that his regular-vision can't make out but make his eyes hurt nonetheless. Flying androids buzz over the crowd dancing in the middle, carrying black lights that turn everything in their path a