2025, on the other side of the world, surrounded by water, into a city called Tokyo, and a section called Dogenzaka Hill, a lone teenager lived toughing out the streets that he had quickly learned to call home at a young age. Escaping from cops and spreading his signature on walls of buildings was what he did best since he had dropped out of school. His cold disposition and tough guy attitude warded off others rapidly, keeping him an urchin of the streets. Anyone who knew him was sure that nothing could ever change him, and the dangers that lurked around him scared them, forcing them to call the police to keep guard.
On the bottom floor of an old apartment building, lay sleeping a boy of seventeen years in age. It didn't bother him that the only things in this room were two old couches, a radio that was on top of a stool and a few magazines. The only other rooms in the rundown apartment was a bathroom, which only kept the things that were necessary such as a toothbrush and toothpaste, hair gel, a towel, a brush and cologne, along with the toilet, sink and shower, and a small room which was meant for a kitchen. That room was basically empty except for Chinese food boxes lying about from his late dinner the other day and a small cooler which held soda cans and beer.
The teen shifted in his sleep, waking himself up. He sat up, the blanket falling off the couch he had been sleeping on, and went to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror, observing his own face. He looked so much different than the last time he had taken the time to see himself. He had a strong jaw, structured build, and soft brown eyes that held a mystery behind them. He had a very expressional face, which could easy let someone know if they were annoying him or entertaining him, which hardly ever happened. He slowly ran his fingers over a scar on the left side of his chest, remembering the incident. It was when a man had been chasing a random kid of the streets. It was when bullets went zooming through the air, straight at innocent people. It was the last time the boy saw his parents alive.
Not a very easily emotional person, the teen clenched his teeth and balled the hand that had been touching the scar into a tight fist. He would never forgive or forget that day, when they sheeted up his parents' bodies and drove them away before he had passed out, taking him into a separate van to the hospital. The man responsible didn't look regretful as he crossed his arms over his chest, proud that he had killed the boy who he was trying to originally chase down. He flashed his badge and disappeared into a patrol car, ready to reward himself for his deed.
After realizing at age eight that he was never going to see his parents again, the boy took his place in the streets, planning revenge against the man who caused him so much pain and a dead future. The boy had been alone since his parent's deaths, and he would complete his mission the same way. He removed what he had on and stepped into the shower, turning on the water and letting it run over him. The only thing that worked in the building was cold water, and he was thankful for that. He only had to watch out for the cold when it came, but it never bothered him that much.
Stealing had become a natural talent for him, which was how he had anything that hadn't been there before he had come to live there. He made a mental note for himself that he needed some soap next time he went out. Still, a shower was better than no shower. He turned the water off, dripping as he stepped out of the tub and onto the floor, grabbing his towel and drying himself with it. He tied it around himself and squeezed some toothpaste out onto his toothbrush, cleaning his teeth evenly. He made sure he didn't use too much, knowing he would have to go steal more.
Taking his brush, he dunked it into the tub of gel, combing his hair into place neatly. Just because he didn't have much cash didn't mean he couldn't look good. He hand washed his clothes every other day and fixed his sneakers whenever he needed to. That wasn't necessary though, for he usually wore his roller blades. They were about the most expensive thing he owned, next to his headphones which played any radio station he wanted them to, but he only listened to the one worth hearing. Jet Set Radio.
Pulling off some lint and straightening it out, he pulled on his yellow shirt that had round spikes on the shoulders where it was black. He had a few designs on his shirt that spelled out Beat, which he had come to call himself. After pulling up his black jeans, he buckled his belt and sprayed himself with cologne, leaving the bathroom. His stomach growled, but he ignored this, knowing he never ate breakfast. As long as he could eat once a day, he was fine. Beat picked up the blanket and rolled it into a ball, placing it back on the couch and bending over to look under.
Hidden was his disguise whenever he would go to steal. His large headphones with antennas sticking out on the sides, large blue tinted goggles that covered most of the top of his head, and of course, his gloves and black and green blades. Suiting up, he sighed, wishing he knew when he was ever going to have a chance to do something about the police force. Not that there was a big chance that an uneducated teen from the streets could do anything about it, but he would never give up. The day his parents died he promised he never would.
Grabbing the old empty cartons from his dinner before, he opened the door, the sunlight greeting him a happy morning as he felt it was a miserable one. He added his garbage to the pile that was in front of the building next to his and skated around, stretching himself out. Hearing a police siren, he quickly ducked back into the alley from which he had come, waiting for the car to pass. "Someday…" he growled, glaring from behind his goggles.
He skated out and down the street, heading to where everyone else went for shopping. A large crowd entered into a small gift shop, with Beat right behind them. Sneaking in with them, he quickly skated into an aisle, at first grabbing a black backpack for visitors to buy when they went to amusement parks. He glanced around snatching deodorant, razors, shaving cream, soap, a very small travel size bottle of shampoo, toothpaste, some more gel and packs of chips. While he did this, he tore off the price tags so they wouldn't ring when he would leave. Not wanting to look too suspicious, he grabbed a bottle of soda that he could finish quickly and brought it to the counter, buying it with some of the money he actually had. With the bag on his back and looking nothing more than a tourist, he skated out of the place without a worry.
He usually chose the cheaper places to steal from, the ones that couldn't afford cameras or ringers in the front. This was his living. Opening the soda, he took a sip, refreshing the morning and satisfying his stomach. He sat at a table in front of a café, sitting under the shade of the umbrella that was attached to the table. It was going to be an extremely hot day. Even early in the morning, he could still observe the girls that would walk around, some dressed ridiculously, others entertainingly. Either way, it was something for him to do as he planned in his head how he would get back at that policeman who killed off his life.
In a flash, his table was knocked over as a boy sped right by him, falling down with the table. Beat glanced over the fallen table, watching the other trying to get up quickly, as soon as he did, he continued his way in a panic, disappearing into the distance. Beat arched an eyebrow, wondering what the other boy could be running from. Picking up the table and about the place the umbrella back on, sirens caught Beat's attention. He observed as three police cars zoomed right passed him in the same direction as the boy had been running. Beat shook his head and skated off, "Run kid…run."
Author's Note: It hasn't been a while since I posted a JSRF fic. (looks guilty) Well, I've been writing other fics, but this will be good! I promise!