HOME | DD

Description
Ambient Air
Chapter 1: Burakkueakon

I strolled silently down an infamous block, out in the fog-after-shower after a bounteous night of partying at the local club, Slate. High off of rave music and smoke fumes, I walked with my head down and my hands jabbed into my pockets. I ditched my buddies that were either too strung out to leave, or having their brains fucked out by one of the regs. My name's Mikael (half-Swedish, half-American) by the way, but my friends call me Max. I don't know where that nickname came from, but it kinda stuck with me, you know?

Anyway, I'm nineteen years old. I attend a pricey college like a good kid, and I have a career set, too. Ta-dah! A troublemaker that actually has a future! Does my appearance show it? No way. I was dressed in tight, cotton jeans sliced in almost every possible crease without exposing my goodies, a cropped black tank with parts of the chest cut out, and a taut, black and silver, stripped body suit undershirt that matched with the kicks I had on my feet. My black and streaked blue hair was held back by a braid on either side of my head and hung down to my mid-back. I was a target to the wrong gender tonight. I was approached by more guys that girls, and I didn't like that. I was a babe-magnet. I don't ever play the bat.

After I finally neared the corner of my dorm, I brushed against a broad person by accident. "Sorry." I apologized, looking up to the face. The man was totally scary. He had to be Asian. He had nice, narrow eyes, thin lips, and long, silky hair. Like the pin-up Asian girls in my roommate's magazines. He wore thin frames and his eyes gazed down at me in acrimony. What did I just do? I stared up at the guy; too scared to move, and flinched when he turned to face me. He stared icily and crushed the paper cup in his hand. Then, I noticed the problem. Whatever the contents of that cup were, was now all over his lavish business suit. "Oh, Sir! I'm really sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Do you reside in this area?" The man asked, bluntly. I gulped and nodded, impetuously. He had no accent at all, but I had a gut feeling he was Japanese. "Where, exactly?" He responded, his scowl never softening.

"Umm... R-Redwood Quarter, Sir. I-I-I'm in college." Hopefully he won't ask me to pay for his suit. I would die before I ever finished covering it. It could have been custom-made.

"I need you to come with me." He said, quietly. He grabbed my arm and began pulling me across the street.

"Hey, wait a minute! I apologized! Let me go! Ngh!" The man gave me another fierce glare and stopped in the center of the street. "Uh... I-I mean... Um..." The man turned and commenced to rushing me in the opposite direction of my home. He threw me in a dark, shiny Nissan Maxima that wasn't even sold in America yet. This guy must be bathing in cash!

"Back to my hotel, and hurry. I've been followed." I froze, immediately. What the hell did I just get into? Who the hell was this guy and why was he being followed? Suddenly, the man looked down at my face. I grew nauseated with fear. "Do not mess up my car. I will kill you if you do." Holy shit! I am so dead!

"Mitsuru-san. Kore wa, kuraianto o anata no tame ni hoteru ni modotte matte iru hyōji sa remasu. Dō shitara yoi nodeshou ka?1" The driver said in a thick, Osaka accent. I've viewed enough anime to recognize Japanese dialect when I hear it.

"Watashi o ie made tsurete tte... Watashi wa sono tame no jikan o motte inai.2" The man replied. I'm assuming he's Mitsuru-san, and something important must have happened for him to switch the language on me. "What is your name, boy? And how old are you?" He then, asked, suddenly. He was close enough for me to smell a nice, sweet scent on him.

"M-Mikael and I'm nineteen, Sir."

"What are you? Swedish?"

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"It's Ryota, okay? I'm only twenty-four."

"Ah! Sorry... Where are you taking me?"

"My place."

"What happened to the hotel?"

"If I let you out, there, you'll be shot to death."

"W-W-Why?"

"I can't explain right, now."

That was all Ryota said for the rest of the ride. He never looked at me, so I had to believe he was serious. Ryota's driver pulled into a garage beside a monstrous mansion and the door slowly came down behind us. "Stay here for a moment. Don't do anything you might regret." Ryota warned as he and his driver got out of the car. They went through a door inside of the garage and everything fell silent. I sat there for two seconds before noticing a shadow moving on the left side of the car. I covered my mouth to silence a gasp, and watched as the figure crept around the car, rose to look in, and slid under the garage door, before it completely closed behind him.

I sighed and slouched down in the leather seat. What the hell...? I was just trying to go home after a party! What is all this? A new sitcom in town?

Suddenly, the right side door swung open. I screamed in fright before noticing Ryota wincing in annoyance. Quickly, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his home. I was amazed by the common looks of it. It wasn't at all flashy like I expected. This guy must like to save money.

"Have a drink. I know you must be paranoid. This could have been avoided if you were a more cautious person." I grimaced at his remark and grabbed the glass cup he offered to me. I gulped it down in one hit and cringed at the sharp burn of liquor. I assumed the clear substance was water...

"Uh-oh... *hic* Ryota, I wishhh you would have warned me." I sighed, already feeling sluggish. Ryota glared at me in disgust without saying a word. "I have no t-t-... tolerance for alcohol." I blurted out, grabbing my head. I looked around for a seat and spotted a deep couch; the width of a twin-sized bed. I ran over and reclined as soon as I got off my feet.

"I apologize. Would you like to retire there? I will ask my maid to bring you appropriate material." Ryota said, in a low tone.

"That's alright. I'll be... you know. Goodnight."

I passed out after that. I have no idea what happened between that time, but I know when I awoke again, I was in a bedroom, on a bed. I jumped up and grabbed my head as a pain pierced the back of my skull. "Easy, Mikael. You don't want to hurt yourself." A voice whispered near by. I looked around, and the first thing that hit me was the back of a wet, firm, naked body, standing beside the bed.

"W-W-What the-?" I cried, covering my eyes.

"Relax. You've got a hangover." Ryota replied, calmly. I heard him move in the room and the sound of silky fabric. He must have gotten dressed. When I looked up again, Ryota wore, white sleepwear bottoms, but faced me with his strong, bare chest. There were symbolic characters tattooed on the left side of his navel that looked like beautiful calligraphy.

"Ryota, who are you?" He didn't answer right away, but I could tell he really had to think about his words.

"I run a very private business-"

"A gang?"

"...You could call it that. The Burakkueakon Yakuza. You would know nothing of it."

"So, let me guess, I'm a possession, now? If I'm seen with you, I'm gonna be killed?"

"That's about right. Maybe you should stay out of the party scene. It must be affecting your vision."

"Okay, man. Damn... You've got glasses. You should have saw me coming."

Ryota grew silent, staring at me with an uncanny glare in his glasses. "Excuse my attitude. I'm just a little... scared..." Ryota climbed up his bed and approached me with a wicked grin.

"You're going to pay for that. I hate rude people."

Description
Ambient Air
Chapter 1: Burakkueakon

I strolled silently down an infamous block, out in the fog-after-shower after a bounteous night of partying at the local club, Slate. High off of rave music and smoke fumes, I walked with my head down and my hands jabbed into my pockets. I ditched my buddies that were either too strung out to leave, or having their brains fucked out by one of the regs. My name's Mikael (half-Swedish, half-American) by the way, but my friends call me Max. I don't know where that nickname came from, but it kinda stuck with me, you know?

Anyway, I'm nineteen years old. I attend a pricey college like a good kid, and I have a career set, too. Ta-dah! A troublemaker that actually has a future! Does my appearance show it? No way. I was dressed in tight, cotton jeans sliced in almost every possible crease without exposing my goodies, a cropped black tank with parts of the chest cut out, and a taut, black and silver, stripped body suit undershirt that matched with the kicks I had on my feet. My black and streaked blue hair was held back by a braid on either side of my head and hung down to my mid-back. I was a target to the wrong gender tonight. I was approached by more guys that girls, and I didn't like that. I was a babe-magnet. I don't ever play the bat.

After I finally neared the corner of my dorm, I brushed against a broad person by accident. "Sorry." I apologized, looking up to the face. The man was totally scary. He had to be Asian. He had nice, narrow eyes, thin lips, and long, silky hair. Like the pin-up Asian girls in my roommate's magazines. He wore thin frames and his eyes gazed down at me in acrimony. What did I just do? I stared up at the guy; too scared to move, and flinched when he turned to face me. He stared icily and crushed the paper cup in his hand. Then, I noticed the problem. Whatever the contents of that cup were, was now all over his lavish business suit. "Oh, Sir! I'm really sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Do you reside in this area?" The man asked, bluntly. I gulped and nodded, impetuously. He had no accent at all, but I had a gut feeling he was Japanese. "Where, exactly?" He responded, his scowl never softening.

"Umm... R-Redwood Quarter, Sir. I-I-I'm in college." Hopefully he won't ask me to pay for his suit. I would die before I ever finished covering it. It could have been custom-made.

"I need you to come with me." He said, quietly. He grabbed my arm and began pulling me across the street.

"Hey, wait a minute! I apologized! Let me go! Ngh!" The man gave me another fierce glare and stopped in the center of the street. "Uh... I-I mean... Um..." The man turned and commenced to rushing me in the opposite direction of my home. He threw me in a dark, shiny Nissan Maxima that wasn't even sold in America yet. This guy must be bathing in cash!

"Back to my hotel, and hurry. I've been followed." I froze, immediately. What the hell did I just get into? Who the hell was this guy and why was he being followed? Suddenly, the man looked down at my face. I grew nauseated with fear. "Do not mess up my car. I will kill you if you do." Holy shit! I am so dead!

"Mitsuru-san. Kore wa, kuraianto o anata no tame ni hoteru ni modotte matte iru hyōji sa remasu. Dō shitara yoi nodeshou ka?1" The driver said in a thick, Osaka accent. I've viewed enough anime to recognize Japanese dialect when I hear it.

"Watashi o ie made tsurete tte... Watashi wa sono tame no jikan o motte inai.2" The man replied. I'm assuming he's Mitsuru-san, and something important must have happened for him to switch the language on me. "What is your name, boy? And how old are you?" He then, asked, suddenly. He was close enough for me to smell a nice, sweet scent on him.

"M-Mikael and I'm nineteen, Sir."

"What are you? Swedish?"

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"It's Ryota, okay? I'm only twenty-four."

"Ah! Sorry... Where are you taking me?"

"My place."

"What happened to the hotel?"

"If I let you out, there, you'll be shot to death."

"W-W-Why?"

"I can't explain right, now."

That was all Ryota said for the rest of the ride. He never looked at me, so I had to believe he was serious. Ryota's driver pulled into a garage beside a monstrous mansion and the door slowly came down behind us. "Stay here for a moment. Don't do anything you might regret." Ryota warned as he and his driver got out of the car. They went through a door inside of the garage and everything fell silent. I sat there for two seconds before noticing a shadow moving on the left side of the car. I covered my mouth to silence a gasp, and watched as the figure crept around the car, rose to look in, and slid under the garage door, before it completely closed behind him.

I sighed and slouched down in the leather seat. What the hell...? I was just trying to go home after a party! What is all this? A new sitcom in town?

Suddenly, the right side door swung open. I screamed in fright before noticing Ryota wincing in annoyance. Quickly, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his home. I was amazed by the common looks of it. It wasn't at all flashy like I expected. This guy must like to save money.

"Have a drink. I know you must be paranoid. This could have been avoided if you were a more cautious person." I grimaced at his remark and grabbed the glass cup he offered to me. I gulped it down in one hit and cringed at the sharp burn of liquor. I assumed the clear substance was water...

"Uh-oh... *hic* Ryota, I wishhh you would have warned me." I sighed, already feeling sluggish. Ryota glared at me in disgust without saying a word. "I have no t-t-... tolerance for alcohol." I blurted out, grabbing my head. I looked around for a seat and spotted a deep couch; the width of a twin-sized bed. I ran over and reclined as soon as I got off my feet.

"I apologize. Would you like to retire there? I will ask my maid to bring you appropriate material." Ryota said, in a low tone.

"That's alright. I'll be... you know. Goodnight."

I passed out after that. I have no idea what happened between that time, but I know when I awoke again, I was in a bedroom, on a bed. I jumped up and grabbed my head as a pain pierced the back of my skull. "Easy, Mikael. You don't want to hurt yourself." A voice whispered near by. I looked around, and the first thing that hit me was the back of a wet, firm, naked body, standing beside the bed.

"W-W-What the-?" I cried, covering my eyes.

"Relax. You've got a hangover." Ryota replied, calmly. I heard him move in the room and the sound of silky fabric. He must have gotten dressed. When I looked up again, Ryota wore, white sleepwear bottoms, but faced me with his strong, bare chest. There were symbolic characters tattooed on the left side of his navel that looked like beautiful calligraphy.

"Ryota, who are you?" He didn't answer right away, but I could tell he really had to think about his words.

"I run a very private business-"

"A gang?"

"...You could call it that. The Burakkueakon Yakuza. You would know nothing of it."

"So, let me guess, I'm a possession, now? If I'm seen with you, I'm gonna be killed?"

"That's about right. Maybe you should stay out of the party scene. It must be affecting your vision."

"Okay, man. Damn... You've got glasses. You should have saw me coming."

Ryota grew silent, staring at me with an uncanny glare in his glasses. "Excuse my attitude. I'm just a little... scared..." Ryota climbed up his bed and approached me with a wicked grin.

"You're going to pay for that. I hate rude people."