"The Perfect Bust"

As the entire R.L. District rest sheltered against the darkness of oncoming eve by the perennial, resplendent glow of the street’s kaleidoscope-mimicking light setup, activity never seemed to slow down at all. Nearly the entirety of each street stood littered, filled to the brim, even, with people who wouldn’t be caught in public were they anywhere else in the city (or the forests, for that matter). Wanted for everything from small-time thievery or smuggling, to kidnapping and statutory rape, the contents of the district were, arguably, on par with the aforementioned forests in terms of dangerous individuals. The R.L.D was the place to go if you were looking for trouble, and even if you weren’t, simply by venturing to its lively streets would trouble find you.
Interestingly, most people in the Red Light District were not there because they wanted to, but because it was the one place with any semblance of safety in the city’s entirety for such a cast of characters. However despite all such things to be irreversibly true, there was one denizen who had, of her own will, entered the dangerous vicinity, shuffled her way through with seemingly nary a scratch, and, in a matter of questionable sanity, ascended a stairwell leading to what was one of few pockets of physical darkness within the district’s shield of luminescent red and purple hues. Within such darkness, there would be one small, flickering overhead light, shimming from side to side, bouncing with each accidental knock of the figure’s head. It was not that he stood extremely tall; no, only mildly tall, but it was due to how low from the ceiling the lamp hung. As it was a storage room, the ceiling itself was rather high, and due to the poor nature of most buildings in the neglected Lower District (especially after the recent… ‘problems’ the city faced), the adjustable light had broken somewhere along the line and fell to its absolute minimum height.
Boxes, crates, lockers, and all manner of containers stacked upon one another as they reached their peak against the roof. It would be hard to make out with such little to illuminate the room, but the rank smell and leaking green tinted, vile liquids emanating throughout the room gave little question as to where their origins would be. As such, it would be best not to wonder about just what surprises the containers held. Yet these would not be sufficient barriers to the young woman’s voice, as while it may have been shaky and somewhat quiet, the man underneath the light would have no problem distinguishing it from the normal hustle and bustle of the streets, the first testament to his status as a creature of the other worlds. Turning from the lone lit table in the entire room, a faint smile would wrap itself around his pale face. His voice came, quiet, yet assured. “Ahh, yes? You’re the one from before, aren’t you? The one here for the….” At this point, his face contorted to a degree, the smile shifting to a small grin and his glasses flashing to hide the intent in his eyes. “…Experiment?”

Hidden by the shine spread across his spectacles, the human-formed oni casts his gaze freely up and down the exposed portions of his patron’s body. A lecherous grin, born both of physical desires from the woman’s obvious beauty and of the thought of his scientific blank-slate finally standing in front of him, wrapped itself around its face to such a magnitude that it would indeed scare small children. While managing to avoid giving into temptation so far as to visibly lick his chops, he would instead step forward toward the rather intimidated young female. He would brush off the comment about the rank smell, as he too had thought similarly at first, but had adjusted to it over time. “What’s the rush? Are you that eager to get away from here?... Away from me? Am I that scary?” Like several oni, he had a taste for fear. Young women’s fear was reportedly especially delightful. “Oh, well, I guess I can understand. Bad neighborhood, and all that… it’s best if a pretty little thing like you stays away. To get to the point, then…” speaks the man, as he turns and heads back to the table he was at just prior. His fingers gracefully slide across the rim of a round, clear miniature cauldron, lifting it with relative ease. Inside, a turquoise-colored liquid sloshed around; closer inspection would hint at tiny particles accompanying for the ride in the man’s hands. “I need a few more… raw materials, before I am ready. Naturally, as a scientist, I do not have the means to so easily access these things, but I’m sure a competent young one like yourself will be found to be more than capable. Do you think you can handle that?”

The outward severity seemed to somewhat shock the scientist, as his smirk quickly faded to a small gape of the mouth. Or, at least, momentarily. Soon after it appeared, it was gone with a smaller grin than what once adorned itself on his face. He did rather love fear, but spunk was like a delicious topping with which fear goes oh so well. “Yes; yes, you certainly are here, aren’t you? I suppose it was silly of me to ask you something like that. My sincerest apologies, madam.” Putting down the container, his hands effortlessly floated to the opposite end of the table, ripping a piece of empty paper (stained fresh with whatever the contents of the aforementioned jar were) from his notes, and picking up the same pencil with which those notes were written. He took a moment’s time to write something down, before immediately jutting the piece of paper out toward the young woman. “This is the first address.” was all he offered at first. There would be a pause for which she would find enough time to both take the sheet from him and look over the contents. “I’ve already placed an order, but I dislike doing pickups from the place. It can get a little… messy.”

When the femme fatale would ask for more information, the aging oni would only shake his head. “No, no, it’s just as simple as that. Pick it up, and get back here. I’m only sending you because I never know what’s going on around there, and I don’t feel like losing my…” he stops, preferring not to say something which may cause her to give second thought to this. “Anyway, just get it and come back here.”


With the woman’s departure and her reading of the address, she’d find that (if she knew any of the local addresses without having to stop and ask a local) the place was somewhat close by. It was would only be three short blocks down the street; a short, one story building which seemed to be reinforced around the corners. Oddly enough, it looked more like a bunker of sorts. Lights flickered on and off from the inside, and a various stream of voices leaked through the cracked windows. It would sound like some sort of… rave, was going on inside. By the front door, a tall, muscular, and rather physically imposing man stood watch, black shades hiding his eyes to give him that professional look. He would likely be the first challenge the pretty young thing would have to face down in order to get the package. Hopefully for her sake, it would also be the only one.

The man, stoic and ever vigilant in his duty as doorkeeper stood tall and unflinching. If he stood atop a building, he’d probably be mistaken for a human-shaped gargoyle statue. The woman’s cleavage, however, instantly brought about the attention of all others passing by the street. If she had a rack like that, why did she need the help of this demon anyway?! Others had tried, apparently, to reason with the man as well, judging just by the sheer number of people hanging around the outside of the bunker-esque building. Regardless, and rather unfortunately, the man had seemingly no reaction. Perhaps the only thing he would respond to would be a request for his business card, which, if one were to read it, would find his alias written down as ‘Big Gay Bubba’. Charming, I know. But, with a name like that, it would be quite obvious as to why the woman’s attempt at seduction had no apparent effect. Now, perhaps if she were to try and find some young male idol to seduce him with? Well, that would likely take too long, so it seems it’s up to her to try and find another approach…

Despite the young bombshell adding fuel to the fire, the reckless crowd of overactive young males and dolled up hussies did nothing to fatigue the man’s sense of duty. Truly a guard worthy of the fabled, precious position of ‘THE Doorman’, he merely ignored the cat calls and exclamations of love and sexual desire, yet never once did he lower his guard to it in any way. He would always make sure they were in no threatening position, and was definitely in need of a raise. Long hours of being literally left out of the party were, unfortunately, rather underpaid. Like being the designated driver, being the watchman for a club was the most necessary yet unrewarding job of all.
The woman’s enticing catwalk, though, did catch someone’s attention: while not the doorman, it was the scrawny, sharply dressed yet easily missed comrade of his: the list-checker. It was a hard job to keep out those who do not belong; such a hard job, that someone else was needed to check who actually DID belong. His eyes never left her voluptuous figure for a moment, despite the calls of the other females who were waiting in line, demanding they be attended to promptly, and that one of ‘their beauty level’ (i.e., concentration of make-up and street-whore-like-qualities) be allowed in instantaneously. Ignoring them, he nudged the larger, bulky wall of a man, and to the surprise of some, he actually moved. Slightly. His body lowered just enough to offer his ear to his compadre, and a slight exchange followed, probably something along the lines of, ‘Let her in. I think she’s on the list’, which really meant ‘Let her in so-I-can-say-it-was-I-who-pulled-some-strings-and-made-it-possible-for-her-to get-in-and-maybe-I’ll-get-lucky-or-some-shit-like-that.’ Nodding, and remaining ever trustworthy of his companion’s sense of justice (despite it being rather convoluted with selfishness), he would step aside, still ignoring the calls of the hussies and whores, as well as the new chants of the men trying to get the young cop-like-chick in, and speak in a loud, Frank Guarrera-deep voice, “You’re in. Sorry for the trouble.”

As the pretty young thing strutted herself through the joint, eyes were naturally raised at her presence. Someone with her figure would naturally compliment the scene well, but not all were so interested in her looks. Suspicious glances were cast from figures at the top of the stairwell, with an unidentified man obscured in the classic-anime-hue of black, blocking out his visage from anyone, viewer included. Suffice to say, when someone like that is around, it’s usually bad times for the protagonist. However, no such bad times would be had just yet, as the lady behind the bar would prove to be very capable of being useful, though she was seemingly skeptical at first. Leaning forward, her husky barfly voice would lower in tone even more. “Just what kind of package are we talking about here…? Are you a cop? I don’t want any… trouble.” By her reaction, it was clear that at least one package was entrusted to her, or at least she knew where this one would need to go to find such a thing as a package, so the young errand girl was definitely on the right track.

The woman’s face would silently transform into a mask of comprehension, veiling her true confusion. “An Oni? What the hell is she talking about…? Is she on drugs? Stuff must be good…” she thinks, but doesn’t show. Regardless of the scum she may be or work for, at least she was well trained. To, err, some degree, at least. Bending over, she would begin to rummage through the small grey and brown boxes when the order for a drink would come up. Waving her hand for one of the cute, innocent (i.e not-yet-broken-in) assistants to come and help her. They would readily, though still somewhat sloppily fix the concoction to the customer’s liking in a way that would be rather impressive for one so inexperienced, yet was by no means exceptional.
Unfortunately, the words coming from the package runner’s fine lips would soon shift from normal conversation, to a sentence that changed nearly the entire situation. The, “he’s a doctor” line causes the lady to freeze up almost instantly, and this time, true shock is shown on her face. For this reason, she does not lift her head up from below the counter, and instead waits for a moment to regain herself. She immediately knows just what to do, and, with a serious expression, reaches down for a brown box, taped very securely so as not to spill the contents. It was completely normal and like every other box that was behind the counter, yet, it had some grotesque filmy fluid dripping off of it. Disgusted by nearly touching it, she would hastily push it across to the woman who by now would have been served her beverage. “Ohh, a doctor, hmm? You should have said that in the first place!” She speaks, feigning kindness. “Well, that’s it there, then. I would suggest leaving now! Don’t want to keep your good doctor client waiting, now, right?”

As the woman departs, the bartender would watch her the entire way, not allowing her to leave her sight for even a short moment. Once she was officially out of sight, she would signal over one of the apprentices and give them a slip of paper, and tell them it was to be delivered to a man known only by the fear-inducing name of, ‘DA BOSS’. Color flushed out of the to-be-messenger girl’s face, but with a reassuring pat, the barfly assured her it would be alright (which, for her, it wouldn’t -- best not to talk about what happens to people who go to DA BOSS’s room when they aren’t even important enough to be named characters).
At the HQ of the mad scientist, some of the boxes from before would have been opened and their contents spread sloppily over the table. Excitement would overtake his eyes as his piece of fresh experimental meat walked through the door. “Ahhh… excellent! You’ve got the… package? Wait…” Her mention of a leak seems to strike fear in him to a degree. “…A leak?! What?!” He shrieks, snatching the box from her. Upon inspection, his suspicions would be assured, and he would swallow down his fear hard. A moment’s silence would over take him, before addressing the woman’s question. “…Nothing’s next. This has all the things I need… but, I do need your help with this. And,” he starts, with no lack of seriousness in his face. “I’ll need to get this done fast!”

The contents of the box, spilled haphazardly over the desk, were quickly mixed and set aside for later use by the doctor’s dexterous fingers. No movement was wasted; even if he was a despicable lecher and evil oni, it was only right to admit it was impressive how efficient he was. The woman’s readiness was well appreciated, and as such, was responded to in a kind manner. “Strip down to your underwear!” He said in a demanding way, which, considering the situation, WAS one of the kinder options. He hadn’t even checked yet if she was already in them, and he didn’t even think what kind she was wearing. The happysextime he had thought of deriving a plan for would have to be put off – much like his, err, desires – to a much later date. Secretly he was trying to find a reason to call her back after this whole ordeal was over, but, as the current matter was one of life and/or death, it wasn’t exactly his top priority.
With much of the contents from the box mixed together with those he had prepared prior to this by now, it was time for the woman’s portion of the tasks to take place. “What’s your bust size? Blood type? Astrological sign? Do you like boxers, or br… ahh, wrong question!” his words were all run together and let out very rapidly as he lit the heater built into the wobbly table in front of him. “You’re not allergic to things like peanut butter, dust, coffee, or any anabolic steroids, are you?!”