Makasuwakitakehisho Tsumoyuki pulled on his Tokio Hotel Scream hoodie and glanced at his skinny, though non-skeletal, reflection in the mirror on his bedroom door. Other than his hoodie, he wore skinny blue jeans with a chain. His shirt was the newest Good Charlotte tee, and he’d just bought it on-line. It had come the day before in the mail, and he hadn’t been able to resist putting it on the next day. When his cell phone buzzed, he flipped it open and held it to his ear.
“Tokio speaking.” he said into it.
“Got a job for you, Tokio. One grand for this one. I want you to come by and pick up the file, okay?” said the voice on the other end.
“I’ll be over in a few, thanks, Trisha.”
He packed his large black and red duffel bag with a couple of changes of clothes- three shirts, three pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, three pairs of boxers- a toothbrush, his comb, his make-up, and his weapons. He loaded a pistol, a shotgun, a silver dagger, silver bullets for both his guns as well as rock salt rounds for his shotgun, a dozen wooden stakes, and two machetes. He then zipped up the duffel bag and took it out to his car.
His car was a solid black ‘56 Cadillac he’d received from his grandpa via the man’s will in 2002. The upholstery, fine leather, was as black as the outside of the vehicle, which was pitch dark. Tokio’d customized the car by attaching a CD player to the dash. He opened the trunk and deposited his duffel in the chasm at the rear of his car.
Tokio climbed into the driver’s side and buckled in. Turning the ignition, he inserted the CD his hoodie advertised into the CD player on the dash, blaring the music at full volume. He drove away in the direction of the Human Safety Agency: Paranormal Division (HSA: PD) building. Tokio worked for the DC division of the HAS: PD, and lived less than twenty minutes away from their building.
Makasuwakitakehisho was born in Tokyo, Japan, but his parents had been killed in a tsunami right after his birth. Luckily, he was then adopted by an American couple who were on vacation at the time. Go figure. They brought him back to the states with them, calling him “Takehisho.” As a result, he has an American accent.
When he went to college at age 19, everyone there called him “Tokyo” with a “y”, like the city, because he was born there. More recently, he’d gotten into the band Tokio Hotel, and changed it to an “i” because he thought it looked cooler that way. And anyway, people just tended to assume that it was spelled that way on account of his hoodie, so- why not?
Upon his arrival at the HSA: PD building, Trisha, the dispatcher of sorts for the Paranormal Division, met him outside the main door with a manila file folder in hand. He walked over to her, looking down to avoid seeing the bright sunlight. Trisha was a tall blond with long, gorgeous hair, or so the horndogs Tokio worked with said. Tokio just thought she was nice. The other guys also said that she was babe-liscious. Tokio pretended to agree, though he was not attracted to girls. He was afraid the other PD guys would beat him up if they knew he was gay.