

Lancelot Graves

In:

The Curse of Tokyo

By David X. Reiver

Lancelot Graves and The Curse of Tokyo is book one of an ongoing series of travel fiction.

Copyright © 2018 by David X. Reiver  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof  
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever  
without the express written permission of the publisher  
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 9781981066568

All characters and events contained herein are fabricated and fictional. Any resemblance to living persons or actual events is purely coincidental. Except the floating head part, that really happened to me.

Published with the help of Minus 68 Productions (defunct Twitter: @minus_68, why not surprise us by getting us a half billion followers between now and whenever we next check our page, in 2027)

Photographs courtesy of famed international Instagram darling @parttimeinteresting

To keep up to date, to chat, and to share travel advice visit: facebook.com/LancelotGraves

If you really like the concept of travel-based pulp fiction and would like to maybe get murdered in an upcoming edition: patreon.com/LancelotGraves

If you're one of the five people who don't have an AirBnB account, here's my referral code, for some reason. Using this could help me check out new cities. Maybe yours? That depends; where do you live? Let me know in the comments below: tinyurl.com/LancelotGraves

For Isabella

Dedicated to the wonderful people of Japan

The Big Daddy of Airports

5/5

"Maybe it's just the eighteen hour schlep through the underbelly of taxi fraud that was my layover in Shanghai speaking, but this is by far the most well designed airports I have had the pleasure of entering. I entered just wanting to get through, to go lie down somewhere, but was met by an intimidating crowd of weary travelers all wanting the same. Even as I joined the terrifying giant of a line at Immigration, I noticed extra employees pouring out of some unseen room to ensure people were granted entry as quickly as possible; I myself was invited into a side medical room where they printed out a neat little stamp for my passport, and I was legally in Japan in less than twenty minutes. Where else does this happen? I mean, where else do people get through immigration this quickly, obviously – you not going to get through an airport in Bolivia and wind up in Japan after twenty minutes. At least I hope not. When you leave that area, there is a direct line to the train system and ATMs, and a group of young women greet everyone they see with offers to help. Again, where else does this happen? No solicitations for taxis from the drivers of unmarked SUVs who will no doubt hold you hostage for six hours until you pay them five times the going rate, no group of twenty Germans forcing their way to the front of a line, nothing but good vibes and a welcoming atmosphere. A very good introduction to a wonderful city." L Graves, Solo

Lancelot sunk down into an empty chair on the spotless and bright Keikyu-Kuko train and tried keep his eyes closed. The directions to the apartment said he had a while before reaching Shinagawa station, and even if he didn't, he had all the time in the world riding along the tracks to just sit there, half awake, and look at the expansive city change fluidly moment from moment. What else was he going to do? There were no obligations on his part beyond showing up to an empty apartment at some time in the next five days. The foreseeable future was nothing but id. If he wanted to, he could hop from train to train for weeks, although based on stories his uncle Jack used to tell him, perhaps that wasn't the best idea. Still, it was always liberating to have options available.

Blearily looking up at the luminescent station information board above the doors, he tried not to dwell too hard on how he had managed to wind up in Japan. Usually, when the investigation into a known sex ring results in the deaths of a number of government officials, you don't get a job offer that amounts to "Go travel the world. If we need you, we'll call you, but keep the fuck away from America for a while, yeah?" Usually, someone puts a black bag on your head and you disappear, or, even worse, a shadowy branch of the government offs you and then portrays you as a mentally ill loner with a dark past. Somehow, Lancelot had beat the odds, just as he had beaten one governor's jowly face repeatedly into a toilet bowl – an event the media would describe as "accidentally and continually slipping into toilet seven times in quick succession." He couldn't complain: he had done the right thing Stateside and now he had time to sit back, relax, and stay out of trouble.

The hours in the sky had ebbed away at his energy, and the time he'd spent transferring from Pudong to Hongqiao in Shanghai had involved accidentally being kidnapped by a tiny married Chinese couple, being dropped off by the cackling duo at a five star hotel after negotiating a release only to realize that it wasn't even the right hotel, and then having to walk two miles down a dark, unmarked road in a country that had essentially disabled access to his navigation devices. Once inside the actual hotel, thinking he was finally safe, he was charged three times for his one night stay, and then collapsed on his oversized hotel bed only to be greeted by the nightmarish display of a man in a ghoulish Jack Sparrow mask singing on a giant stage, played interminably on loop on a television Lancelot couldn't find the energy to turn off. It had been an excruciating day, and the experience of pretending to be a dumb tourist in a city where any scrutiny directed at him would result in immediate and dire consequences had drained him completely. Now, finally at his destination, he just wanted to watch the futuristic Tokyo skyline pass him by until he could will himself back to his rented apartment where he would undoubtedly sleep for several days.

Just as he was about to give in and fall asleep, he reached the transfer station. It felt good to be outside in the fresh air for the first time in days. The station was lined with vending machines selling all sorts of goods, and he quickly plunked 100 yen into a hot coffee machine. Hot coffee by the can, he thought, one of the best ideas ever. Soon he was on the Yamanote line, where he enjoyed his perfectly heated-but-bitter drink, wondering if perhaps there was a reason he was the only person drinking on the train. His worries about train etiquette were short lived as he reached Meguro station in a matter of minutes and made his way to the apartment.

Figuring out the best way to reach the building had proven quite difficult at first; the streets were like cobwebs and navigating them at times proved counter-intuitive, but once Lancelot calmed down, he realized that getting to the apartment building was simple. He felt guilty entering an apartment in a building he'd never seen before, worried the neighbors might wonder why an angry looking gaijin was creeping around their building. A large poster at the front of the complex had images of suitcases followed by an AirBnB; it was probably a coincidence. He entered his temporary abode without any hassle; the apartment complex appeared to be empty, conspicuously so. His home for the duration was a small studio that appeared to have been pieced together with 3D printed blocks. It felt vaguely futuristic despite the traditional shoe removal zone by the front door, like the sterile officer's quarters of a Space Federation vessel. The green faux-grass carpet had "Welcome Home Lancelot" written into it, the small table by the pulled out futon had a little welcoming pack and some instructions. Most importantly, the bed was wide and appeared to be comfortable.

Robert, the host, had left some train passes and a pocket WiFi. "Welcome to Tokyo! You're going to need this, have a great time. Robert," was written on a note nearby. Smiling, Lancelot admired his modest home for the week before charging his phone. He had wanted to visit Tokyo since his older friends introduced him to mid-nineties Manga (the good stuff).

While the phone charged, Lancelot walked to one of the nearby corner stores. According to his in depth research (read: thirty minutes on WikiTravel) the 7-Elevens were some of the best places to get food on the cheap. Even in his sleep deprived state, it was easy to navigate around the aisles of prepared meal items, all priced reasonably, with the only real issue was mistaking a bag of butter flavored chips for his preferred salt and vinegar. He found some prepared rice balls and some other carb-dense food and the warm coffee section. Not the best first meal in a new country, by any means, but all he had the energy to forage. "あなたは本当にこれを食べたいですか?" the man behind the counter said. Lancelot had been confident in his ability to converse in Japanese right up until that moment, and then found that his brain had decided to do what it always does in those situations: sputter out some bastardized combination of French and Spanish before shrugging, tossing what felt like exact change onto the counter, and retreating from the interaction as quickly as possible. Back at the apartment, Lancelot wolfed down the tepid rice balls and drank two more cans of hot coffee. The canned coffee, he could already tell, was going to be a problem and a major source of calories until he was situated.

It being the first day in Japan, Lancelot wanted to get out and about, but he also didn't want to rush to see the big locations when he was still struggling to stay awake. He planned out a walking route through the western side of the city, picking locales he could admire briefly, without having to worry about sensory overload or too much interaction. Once he was a little more well rested, he would get more ambitious with his exploring.
Finally, Parasites I Haven't Dated

4/5

"This is a free and interesting, albeit small, museum devoted to parasites, as I'm sure you picked up on by reading the name. Not a primary destination per se, but a good starting off point, especially if you haven't slept in two days, and a good way to mix things up if you find yourself burnt out on temples and bright shiny things. The gift shop has some interesting things available. Unfortunately, was not able to buy the giant tape worm. Maybe next time." L Graves, Solo Travel

Lancelot's first stop was the Parasitological Museum. Not what many would consider being a viable contender for "first thing you must see in Tokyo," but given that he was jet lagged and mentally drained, it seemed like a good idea to cross the smaller destinations off his hit list on what would otherwise be a decompression day. It wasn't as if his brain was capable of remembering much in its current condition, so he wanted to focus instead on acclimatization and a lack of stimuli. The Pokemon Store could wait. Being drained mentally, there was also the chance that the parasites on display would feel like walking through a Cronenberg film.

Lancelot was first surprised by how small the building was. So surprised, in fact, that he almost considered simply not going inside at all, convinced he'd stumbled onto the wrong location. He was glad he forced himself through the door, though, as the inside was crammed with a variety of jarred parasites. Two floors of feeling itchy and fascinated as he looked at the kind of body-horror that would go right into the sci-fi trilogy he was going to work on eventually. After thirty minutes of looking at the preserved and pickled creatures, he was confident he had seen everything there was to see and decided to buy a satchel.

While it hadn't occurred to him as he tried to locate the most disgusting parasite, once he was ready to spend money he realized that he was alone in the building. Even the small gift shop on the second floor was unmanned, and he had to press a buzzer to see someone. After a few minutes, a small scientist entered through a secured door, working perhaps the strangest double-duty gig imaginable. Lancelot paid for the satchel and started to leave.

"Wait, mister," said the doctor/store clerk, "I have a favor to ask."

Sighing, Lancelot returned to the counter. "Oh yeah?"

The doctor nodded gratefully and retrieved a small Plexiglas lockbox that contained a single vial inside."I don't expect you to believe me, but this vial is of the utmost importance and must be delivered quickly to a nearby research facility. The building is being watched, and if we delivered it ourselves, we wouldn't make it down the street. Please, sir, you must help us, people could die."

"Nope," said Lancelot. He hadn't left The States to get pulled into intrigue on his first day in a new country. They'd find someone else, more well rested and thirsty for adventure. Perhaps a young and clumsy man who would have to bluff his way through a series of increasingly dangerous events and somehow wind up with a new girlfriend, learn a valuable lesson about himself, and finally gain the respect of his distant father in the process.

"I understand it is dangerous, but if this vial falls into the wrong hands, there could be disastrous repercussions!"

"Nope, nope, nope, sorry, good luck, but nope," said Lancelot, slowly backing away, walking backwards down to the ground floor, and out of the building, "Nooooope."

He then walked north. The city was busy but oddly silent. After several minutes, it occurred to him that he had yet to hear a car horn. The foot traffic, too, was self-regulating and mechanical. Lancelot noticed that he was the one person on the street not carrying an umbrella. It didn't look like rain was on the forecast. Did they know something?

Soon enough he found a large train station. On the other side of the road was a steep set of stairs he imagined led up to a temple, mainly because each side of the steps was guarded by a stone lion. An unplanned pilgrimage, for sure, but Lancelot wanted to visit as many temples as possible while he could, and there was no telling if he could find the same place again on purpose. So he climbed the stairs. Several small trails led away from the steps and he did his best to ignore his impulses to check them all, promising to check them out on the way back down.

Reaching the top was easy enough. It was a simple and spread out temple, dark wood buildings, square slabs of stone for the floor, bright red ornaments, a small, trickling water garden. No one was there, so he enjoyed the eerie atmosphere while he looked around, not really understanding the significance of one thing or another. A series of red logs, jutting out the ground like doorways, caught his attention, and he followed them down to a small hexagonal hut at the cusp of the hill. There were several billboards nearby, but since it was all in Japanese, he had a hard time figuring anything out. Translating with his phone revealed information like "I closed the gate" despite there being no gate around, and vague fragments such as "Except when the New Year period," and "In the afternoon, five o'clock." It seemed to make sense when pieced together, it was some sort of shrine to good fortune people would visit at the start of the year. It being late October, Lancelot started to leave.

"Ah hah!" an old voice croaked from behind him. "Legend foretold of your arrival today! Tell me, friend, did you stray from the path on your ascent?" An ancient gray man in intricately detailed robes had materialized next to the hexagonal building. A door that wasn't there moments ago emitted a strange pulsing sound.

Lancelot stood dumbfounded for a moment. "Uh, no."

"Splendid! It is as the stories foretold. Very well, my friend, may I ask that you come to this door and see if you might open it?"

"Uh..." Lancelot didn't want to get involved with anything. "Listen, buddy, I appreciate the offer, but I am going to just go, I think. Check out Shibuya, you know?"

"But the prophecy!"

"Yeah, I mean, no offense, or anything, and I really, I mean, wow, thanks for thinking of me, but I have to get going, OK?"

Lancelot jogged away as the old man yelled behind him. He wasn't getting roped into anything supernatural on his trip. He continued to jog, perhaps because he had yet to turn down a coffee vending machine, until he came to the Shibuya station. Hectic, crowded, signage everywhere, this was the Tokyo Lancelot had grown up imagining. All that was missing was the tank police and biobooster armor. He walked slowly, in awe of the atmosphere and hustle of the place, but also because he couldn't escape the current of busy people all walking slowly toward the same destination.

Without even realizing it, he had reached the Shibuya Crossing. "Is this it?" he mumbled, a little let down. It was a big crossing, for what it was, but that didn't seem like a good enough reason to be world famous, it was just masses of people crisscrossing a large road. After walking back and forth a few times in different directions, he started to see the appeal, but his newfound enjoyment of crossing the street was stopped abrupt when six highly modified sports cars pulled into the center of the street. One car, black with crimson accents, red lights and smoke emitting from underneath, tinted windows, an engine the purred like a predatory tiger, pulled up next to Lancelot. The passenger, a tattooed young man with a half-shaved head, exited the vehicle and ran toward a nearby record store.

"You!" Yelled the drive, "American? Speak English?"

Here we go, thought Lancelot. Leaning in, he nodded, "What's up, guys?"

"My assistant just now can't handle this job, and we need someone like you to help us pull this off. How'd you like to earn ten million Yen right quick?"

"I mean, it's tempting."

"C'mon, we're in a rush."

Lancelot weight up his options. "Maybe next time, man."

"I under... shit!" Police sirens broke the driver's attention, and suddenly the pack of racing cars took off in unison, timing their exit impeccably, missing the pedestrians by nanoseconds.

Shaking his head and doing his best to ignore the passenger who had returned, confused, from the record store, Lancelot continued to walk north. He was in some kind of shopping district, with giant worldwide brands offering their wares in huge glass buildings. The long stretch of massive stores, many of which were Anglocentric in origin, continued for several blocks before sputtering out, with the buildings slowly diminishing in size until he was on Cat Street, a more spread out and fashion-oriented street. He felt calm, and little envious of the young fashionistas who were flitting in and out of the stores. There was no way he was going to be able to buy any clothes in Japan. The mannequins were half his size, and after briefly entering one boutique, it became obvious that even large t-shirts would tear apart the moment they touched his body.

Reaching the end of the street, one shop seemed a little out of place. It was a small, windowless place that the general public seemed to want to avoid. Lancelot, not one to be scared easily, entered the building anyway. It must have been some sort of art installation, because all that there was inside was a static-emitting old television in the center of the room and a dripping bathtub in the corner. Let down, Lancelot turned to leave, only to discover that the door was missing. It was at this point that the walls begin to drip with blood, and a dark haired young woman slowly rose from the bathtub. The screen of the television briefly went black and then began to show a garbled montage of eyeballs and screaming mouths. It was a little unsettling, but Lancelot wasn't interested in the exhibition.

"Yeah, I just want to go check out another temple, if that's fine with you guys, OK?" he said, walking to where the door had been.

The dark haired woman scuttled crab like toward him, wailing some nonsense in Japanese. "助けて!竹内まりやのレコードが欲しい!" Whatever that meant.

"I can't understand. Sorry."

The dark haired woman stood up straight and reached out for Lancelot, who wasn't remotely in the mood and, even if he was, couldn't out think his own instinct. Even as he tried to form a basic Japanese sentence with his mouth, his hand, of it's own accord, had already begun its rapid acceleration toward the creepy woman's face. So by the time he had found the words to say "興味ありません" his fist was already twitching from solid impact, and the dark haired woman was rolling on the floor, slowly fading out of existence.

Lancelot shook his hand about freely, letting the pain subside, and then left the building. When he was outside, the building had gone. The Japanese and their marketing ploys, he thought, as he continued up the street.

A Relaxing Park Worth Getting Lost In

5/5

"I didn't get to spend as much time as I wanted in this park, but I enjoyed the walk and the nature. Seemed like I was stepping back in history. Definitely worth a day trip. Take advantage of the private spots you can enter for a small amount of money. A must for nature enthusiasts." L Graces, Solo Travel

The shops and glass buildings and road ended abruptly, and Lancelot was met with the entrance of Yoyogi Park, a place with dense forest and incredibly wide footpaths. He followed the flow of other people and gradually came up to the Meiji Jingu temple complex, a bustling and beautiful structure with plenty of offerings for sale and a roaming gang of monks overseeing the not insignificant number of tourists. Before he could enter the complex proper, Lancelot was sure to stop at the cleaning station, where he followed printed directions and used a ladle to wash his left then right hand, his mouth, and then his right hand again. It took a whole thirty seconds to respect another country's practices, and who was he to begrudge them of that?

It always felt weird paying your respect at temples, at least for Lancelot, who hadn't really thought much about spirituality at all in several years. Still, when staring into the main chamber of a holy place while trying to remember a deceptively intricate sequence of cash offerings, clapping, and bowing, it was easy to feel self-conscious. He pretended to meditate for several moments until he'd watched enough locals pay their respects to know how it was done, then enjoyed walking slowly around the structure. He wished such places existed in other parts of the world. If they had shrines and temples in some of the countries he had lived, there would be all kinds of fees attached, with conniving holy men hiding behind doors, waiting to sell you salvation when you least expected it. But this temple was simply a quiet place for introspection and respect. There most definitely was some money making elements, as he looked toward a shack that was selling offerings ranging from a hundred to thousands of yen, and the hard to figure out fortune telling table was also most definitely designed to take a few coins, but there was no pressure, no pleading hucksters or wandering mascots, no threats of eternal damnation.

When he was no longer interested in walking around the temple he started to leave only to glimpse signage for a garden. He paid the cursory fee and entered, enjoying the maze of paths that seemed to have haphazardly been placed years earlier, before finding himself at a small lake. The foliage was predominantly green, with small snaps of pinks and whites scattered around. A general feeling of tranquility permeated the area, even as he queued to look at the remnants of an old well. He walked down a trail until he came to a large pond that seemed sequestered from the rest of the park.

Nearby was a group of men from all over the world dressed in gis of all colors standing in a circle, they were being led in some sort of initiation ceremony. A man in the center of the circle noticed Lancelot and walked toward him excitedly. Lancelot let out a sigh; even in the most relaxing of places he couldn't seem to get three minutes to himself.

"Ah, you have found the secret part of the gardens. Only the most strong of heart and mind make their way here. May I interest you in entering our tournament?" the sensei said, almost pleadingly.

"Tournament?"

"Every ten years, the greatest fighters on the planet are summoned here, some, like you, without realizing. Those whose souls hear the call are welcome to join us in this tournament, where the champion of the planet will be decided!"

Lancelot looked at the group of fighters, who were looking back expectantly. It was an eclectic mix of people from all over the world, with people ranging from giant Africans, to deceptively diminutive Ghurkas, to at least a handful of people Lancelot recognized from basic cable travel shows. An interesting medley of people, for sure, and the opportunity would have probably made for an exciting adventure back when he was in his twenties. Lancelot raised his hand politely to acknowledge them. "But, uh, you said welcome, right? As in, not mandatory?"

"We cannot force men to enter, even the strongest among us refuse the call."

"Ah. OK, well, um, I'm just here to look at the flowers. No offense or anything."

The sensei said nothing, simply walking over to a wiry Belgian wearing acid washed jeans and a decaying leather jacket who had just shown up, and began the same shtick with him. Waving apologetically once more to the waiting mob, Lancelot left the park and returned by train to his apartment, where he tried to enjoy Japanese television and leftover rice balls before falling asleep. It was 7PM.
A Must for Wrestle Fans

5/5

"If you're anything like me, first of all, I'm sorry and I feel your pain, but if you are, chances are you spent some of your youth putting your brother through makeshift wooden tables, practicing excruciating promos that were thankfully never committed to film, and finding the smallest people in school to gorilla press over and over on the rugby field. Toudoukan is like a shrine to those days, with wall to wall memorabilia in all price brackets. You can buy masks anywhere from 1000 to 100,000 yen. The t-shirt selection is something to be admired. This is somewhere to go if you want to nerd out and blow through your spending money on replica belts and an authentic La Parka mask. And who in their right mind would blame you? There's literally nothing else on god's green earth more worthy of your hard earned travel budget. Some communication issues with the staff if you've been lazy enough not to learn any Japanese. If you're more familiar with western automatic doors, be sure to actually TOUCH the door downstairs or it won't open and you'll spend several minutes outside looking like an absolute idiot. I heard. Didn't happen to me. You'd have to be some sort of chucklefuck to just keep walking back and forth in front of a glass door expecting it to open automatically without once actually touching it. For thirty minutes." L Graves, Solo travel

Lancelot woke up at the disorientingly unrealistic hour of 5AM and could not bring himself to stare blankly at his mostly pointless smartphone; a device at this point that served almost exclusively as a navigational device. He thumbed through the usual dating apps, not really even considering the possibility of meeting anyone, but enjoyed the many, many western women who had moved to Tokyo and were adamant about not being there as a tour guide. Not to knock them, obviously; the idea of these poor women settling into a new country, perhaps after spending their entire life dreaming about it, only to have some drooling idiot from their hometown show up and try to score a free guide around one of the largest cities in the world, was several kinds of depressing. He could only bare to look at so many women. Not only was it a pointless endeavor, but none of them were her. And they never would be.

Morbid curiosity got the better of him and he took to some of the more well known classified sites to see what sort of things people chose to advertise; it was the same as anywhere else: sex, rants, and poorly paying cash gigs. Very thinly concealed adverts for escorts were all tellingly in English, with rates starting in the thousands, and most offering an outdoor girlfriend experience to traveling businessmen. An enviable job, in a way: convince men to pay you to hang out with them and then pay for your shopping and food, knowing full well that was all that would happen. There was only so much he could idly look at without feeling like a creep, so he turned his phone off and promised himself he wouldn't look at those pages again until he was particularly bored.

The streets of Tokyo were alien in the early hours. Clean, brightly lit, empty, it was as if he was the only person alive in a post apocalyptic world. Knowing nothing would be open at that hour, he decided it would be the best time to walk from temple to temple. He observed the purifying routine at each place and admired how every shrine he visited had its own unique character, personifying their chosen deity. He quietly meditated by the offering boxes of each, and imagined he was on some sort of ancient pilgrimage, obtaining the blessings of each god before finally committing to battle.

But the temple he most wanted to visit was the Tokyo Dome, the massive location of NJPW shows. Nothing was scheduled while he was there, and as he walked around the outside, it became apparent that when there's not a wrestling spectacle inside an arena it's just a giant cement structure with little going on. The roller coaster and giant statues outside seemed like interesting additions, but with nothing going on it was just a large concrete ghost town, much like arenas around the world. Happily, however, right around the corner of the deserted Tokyo Dome was Toudoukan, a store dedicated to all things wrestling.

Back before Lancelot made a career doing whatever an international task force told him to do, he had dreams of being a wrestler. It was a silly teenage dream, but people who had followed through on that silly teenage dream were now performing in front of tens of thousands of people all across the globe. And what was Lancelot doing? Traveling the world with near-limitless funds and permission from an international network of spy agencies to work with full autonomy? Who'd want to do that when they could be going all out several times a week, basking in the adoration or absolute hatred of the audience.

After some issues getting into the building, Lancelot almost fainted when he saw the Tiger Mask selection. There were three aisles of masks, and he spent more time than he'd ever admit to walking down them, trying to pick one out. It was like when he was a child and only had enough money for one GI Joe, but they had the new Storm Shadow and old Zartan and there was only one of each available. Hard decisions indeed. Eventually, he picked out one of the cheaper Tiger Mask masks, as well as a La Parka and a Psychosis that were in a discount bin. He had to leave before he gave into the temptation of testing the limits of his government-sponsored credit card.

Fortunately, Toudoukan was directly across from a train station and was also near some other places worth visiting, so after he enjoyed the significantly smaller and less mask-filled NJPW store and some of the nearby arcades, he took the train to Akihabara. The Akihabara district was bright, and white, and Lancelot found himself wishing he had visited it first at night. The packed electronic stores and arcades felt like the fever dreams of his own childhood; the fully costumed living anime characters a different, slightly more embarrassing chapter in his burgeoning adolescence. Groups of weeaboos, cosplay enthusiasts, punters, Sailor Moon-themed salespeople, and otakus tried to intermingle to varying degrees of awkwardness as the moved from one store to the next. The real destination for him though was:
This Potato is Really Super!

5/5

"You know that scene in the third best Final Fantasy where you have to get Yuffie up the Pagoda to get her ultimate weapon? Yeah, Super Potato is like the Pagoda of gaming and, on the fifth level, you'll find a cramped room full of arcades and cigarettes and energy drink infused gamers. Each level is dedicated to a different era in the history of gaming, and I cannot even begin to decide if I prefer the PSX zone or the Sega planet. A must visit for anyone who has ever become impatient with their younger brother playing Kid Chameleon, said 'let me show you' and then commandeered the controller for several hours. If you're here with a nerdy lover who enjoys video games, I'm sorry for the impending argument about your budget. If you're running solo and you have the misfortune of dating someone like that back home, this is your chance to buy them so many cool things that they will never ever cheat on you." L Graves, Solo Traveler

The cramped staircase at the back of the building was unused. Each floor was full of visitors perusing the dense selection of gaming paraphernalia, but for some reason, Lancelot seemed to be the only person using the stairs. Only three of the floors involved gaming, so Lancelot felt a little disappointed in the first two levels. This was made up for the second he saw the PlayStation section. So many memories came back to him as he picked up the PS1 cases. He remembered the music as the console started up, that spooky jingle as the logo came on the screen. He could see all the hours he had spent on so many games he could barely recall. Visions of discovering the exploit with the console's open lid and pirated disks, of winning a cheat cartridge from a magazine and using it with limited success to modify the coding of glitch-riddled fighting games. So many hours poured into RPGs and Point and Click games, where he'd travel through strange and hyperreal worlds to solve crimes and stop baddies. That must have been where his sense of adventure was born. He got a bit emotional when he discovered the Sega Genesis cases, being whisked away to an even earlier part of his childhood where he would have said Sega Mega Drive instead.

The only trouble was he didn't know if it was worth buying anything. He wouldn't have a home for the foreseeable future, and who just carries around antiquated video games with them? A lunatic, that's who. At least with wrestling masks he could act out a little when he was feeling restricted, perhaps use them to become a vigilante or internet sensation if he felt so inclined. But games? He didn't even have a television. Still, he wanted to buy something just so he could give the store money.

As he hummed and hawed about what to buy, he noticed two men in suits escorting an androgynous teen in a wheelchair. The teen was even more overjoyed by the store than Lancelot, and was wide-eyed and gaping at every nook and cranny. The two escorts were quick to swat at the teen's hands whenever they reached out for any games. ToeJam & Earl, Golden Axe, Earthworm Jim, even Mutant League Hockey – the kid had taste.

"Egg," said the teen, gesturing at a pristine UK copy of Two Crude Dudes. The escorts chided the teen. Without really looking, one of the minders picked up some Yoshi themed playing cards instead and tried to convince the teen that they would make a better purchase. It was a tough sale.

Lancelot, oblivious to Japanese social convention, bought Two Crude Dudes quickly, while the men in suits made some compelling arguments toward a novelty card deck, and dropped it in the young adult's lap, noticing only then that the teen had no legs. The adolescent beamed gratefully, grasping the cartridge with both hands as if it were a presumed dead relative returned from the grave. "Egg!" They screamed in delight.

"No problem," said Lancelot. "I'm Lancelot."

"Egg!" said the teen.

The suited escorts glared at Lancelot and wheeled Egg out of that floor's store and into a waiting elevator. The other customers looked at Lancelot briefly, then went back to looking at games. Lancelot decided he should buy the Japanese version of FFVIII and mail it to himself. His budget for trinkets had been five thousand yen and he had surpassed that hours earlier. There was something about exceeding a budget that removed any sense of self-preservation in future purchases. Once you'd spent X on wrestling masks you may as well spend Y on twenty year old video games.

One thing Lancelot discovered while exploring Akihabara is that when you're playing a variety of insanely detailed fighting games in the arcades, staff typically don't like people taking photos of their environs. Lancelot spent some time in the upper levels of one gaming building, losing miserably on every fighting franchise he could find. Eventually, he realized the same short man in a blue shirt would march up to him from time to time. It was only when he ascertained the man in the blue shirt was angry about him snapping photos of the booths that things fell into place. The man never actually accosted him, but always seemed about three seconds away from tackling him to the ground.

Getting tired of games and people dressed up as thousand year old demons trapped inside thirteen year old girl's bodies, Lancelot took the train to Shinjuku. It was starting to get dark, and if anywhere was bound to look impressive in the dark, it was Shinjuku.

The main station in Shinjuku was a major artery of the city's extensive transit network and, like most arteries, was pumping out masses of bodies on a routine basis. The interactions Lancelot had already experienced in the country did not prepare him for the sheer mass of people all exiting through the same doors at once. He was outside before he knew what was happening and was almost led down a winding temporary street, with wooden partitions set up on either side. Small market stalls had popped up, offering just the right kind of gaudy clothing for low prices, but Lancelot was unable to get out of the mass of people in time to peruse the wares. A thousand yen counterfeit dragon Letterman jacket would have gone well with his new tiger mask. Soon, the flow of bodies stopped and they reached the main road of Shinjuku, with giant neon signs taking up the immediate skyline and an interstate-sized road cutting through the middle of it. Lancelot stood, transfixed; watching the city hum while the night grew darker was something to behold. Especially, he considered, given the 5AM start.

He wandered aimlessly, knowing that he could always find his way back to the major streets. He stumbled upon shopping centers and department stores, and took in the aromas of so many restaurants that his own hunger panicked with a surplus of options. Not too far from the major street, to the East, was a collection of small rectangular buildings, connected by a network of small alleyways. The alleys were filled with his fellow westerners and live bands. It felt alive, and Lancelot found himself wanting to take a seat in many of the overcrowded buildings and watch the people around him but knew that no seats were available. With no immediate plans and his stomach in the middle of a filibuster, he just enjoyed watching the intersections. Lancelot often found a feeling of comfort when watching strangers interacting with each other positively, it reminded him there was still good in the world. All too often, Lancelot had observed, people only interact when they want something. But in the back streets of Shinjuku, in this area at least, people were just out to have a good time.

Inevitably, he left and went back down the major street and into the massive department store, following a tall Dutch couple to the top floor food court. Unlike the food courts he had experienced in the Anglosphere, however, the floor was a collection of unrelated restaurants, all with their own feel. The walls of the corridors were lined with chairs as people waited to get into their restaurant of choice and for a second Lancelot was tempted to spend another night subsisting on rice balls and Beat Takeshi sponsored vending machine coffee, and then he came across a corner restaurant with no line, hidden partly by a small spice store. It was only when he sat down and was handed the menu that he realized why it was so easy to enter. Namely: it was pretty expensive for a food court restaurant and all the food was of minimalist vegetarian fare. Lancelot wasn't even convinced he was in a food court anymore, he was, however, ferociously hungry.

Fortunately, the food was delicious and the waitress who served him was perhaps the most attractive woman he had ever seen in real life. Lancelot was terrible at flirting in his own language, let alone one he didn't understand, and so was left only with the option of assuming that her radiant smile was proof that she was somehow interested in him. It was better to leave romance to the imagination and never ever talk to anyone ever, Lancelot had found; there were way fewer risks involved in simply daydreaming. Plus, that way he could walk out into the night thinking that a remarkably beautiful woman had a thing for him instead of facing the more realistic probability that she was just doing her job.

Full and 4000 yen poorer, Lancelot decided to explore the other side of the main street, hoping to find a similar experience to the alleyways from earlier. The sky was black, and the lights were bright, and he was ready to experience more of the city. The dazzling red lights, the pulsing noise of dance music, and the busy foot traffic promised another little area for excellent people watching.

"My friend, my friend," a short man, not remotely Japanese, said, blocking his efforts to walk down a quiet street.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Where you from?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Well my friend, I have just the place for you," said the stranger, getting uncomfortably close to Lancelot, attempting to shake his hand.

"I'm not interested." Lancelot had read about tourists being led into unmarked backstreet bars and fleeced of their money, sometimes even drugged. He wasn't sure of the severity of what he'd be walking into, but he knew that he didn't want to risk the experience. As fun as the story might be on his travel blog, it wasn't worth the sensation of being taken advantage of. The married couple in Shanghai had already filled Lancelot's quota for being ripped off.

"How can you turn down the place when you don't know what it is? It's just a bar down the street. Lots of specials for you, my friend."

"I don't drink."

"I don't care. Come let's..."

Lancelot didn't want to hear anymore. It was one thing to try to sell something to tourists, but to ignore a confession of sobriety so brusquely was a horse of another color. He walked around the salesman and continued down the street, turning left into a eccentrically lit fairground of a place. The streets were teeming with people from all over the world. Well dressed men and women stuck to the center of the sidewalks, ready to offer fliers and services to anyone who got too close. Many of the buildings had twelve foot posters depicting various attractive-but-uniformly-so men and women, some of whom stood by the entrances of their bars, trying their best to look enticing. The common trend with the men, whose presence was much more significant than the women, was bushy dyed hair and loose colorful suits, a sort of borderline cartoonish type of attractiveness like generic anime protagonists come to life. Offers of blowjobs, sexy massages, and free alcohol permeated the air like the emissions of an embarrassing wet dream. This was Kabukicho, a neighborhood Lancelot would have never left in a prior life.

During his various careers in the past, many of which remain classified, Lancelot Graves had been heavily in the shit. He had seen things that even the most grotesque snuff-porn horror films would refuse to film on the grounds of decency. People split in two by boring equipment, eyelids removed and reattached with staples, people you thought your were going to spend your life with hanged in their own living room, that sort of thing. And for a time, to handle this, Lancelot had developed something of a dependency on various substances to suppress the pain until he was mentally healthy enough to confront it and deal with it properly. It was these substances Lancelot missed, more than the fading memories of violence, so walking through the bright and seedy streets where every five seconds the offers of sex sponge baths, cheap drinks, and drugs were thrown at him with complete abandon, a deep sensation of dread and panic began to unravel within him. Part of him knew that giving in would liberate him a little, take the edge off, allow him to enjoy the entire experience of traveling. He picked up pace, not trying to focus on the swirling lights and the mobs of happy tourists chatting up barely dressed men and women.

Sweating and gasping, he found himself back on the main street he had admired earlier. He had made it. Every inch of his being had wanted to yield to the offers, to turn around, to surrender, but he had made it. He walked toward an English themed bar and entered.

Come for the Panic Attack, Stay for the Bar Food

4/5

"Didn't spend too much time in this bar, but it definitely caters to the gaijin among us who are perhaps suffering from a little culture shock. A prime location to regroup before heading out to the night, with so much to offer in all directions outside. Plus, if you're traveling alone, getting to watch Leeds United on a big screen while ordering wedges of potato and listening to a retired American talk loudly about multiculturalism might just help remind you that you're supposed to be enjoying a foreign culture." L Graves, Solo Traveler

The inside of the bar felt as if it had been removed from somewhere else entirely. The televisions played various English sports, the bar was set up like the local pubs Lancelot remembered from his earlier years in the UK, all cherry oak and beige paint, brown leather chairs and warped wooden tables. Every single customer was unrepentant in their loudness and European in origin. It was disorienting; Lancelot had already grown fond of the near silence that followed him wherever he went. Wanting to avoid the mass of fellow travelers who had congregated in the middle of the room, he found a quiet corner and sat down. He was still frazzled by the bizarre reaction he had had to the red light district, and just wanted to recollect his thoughts for a second. Ordering what was supposedly an energy drink and a plate of chips, he closed his eyes and tried to relax as best he could despite the constant din on inane conversation all around him.

"Ay, fella, anyone sittin' 'ere?" It was a stumpy, jolly looking man, his buzz-cut and light blue polo suggesting some sort of government past. Next to him, his tall, curly haired wife was watching a nearby screen that was showing the latest rugby results.

"Go ahead," said Lancelot, expecting them to take the chair elsewhere. But they joined him at the table and grabbed his menu.

"I'm Jock and this here's my wife Vera," Jock said, extending a hand. He had an upbeat aura to him that extended past his voice and jocular mannerisms.

"Lovely to meet you," said Vera, whose slight sneer seemed to counterbalance Jock's general pleasantness.

"Oh... Uh, Lancelot."

"Like the knight! Feckin' hell, Vera, we're sittin' wit' a knight!"

"Oh leave him alone Jock!"

"Oh he don't mind. Do ya, Lance?"

"Nah, it's all good."

Vera looked him up and down quizzically. "Are you English or American?"

"Yes," Lancelot laughed, before explaining. "From England, I just spent a decade in the US though."

"Oh, that makes sense, because y'sound funny," Vera explained.

Lancelot nodded; the implacable accent was almost by choice. The food arrived.

They talked for longer than Lancelot had prepared for. Lancelot revealing that he worked as a travel writer and had just landed in Tokyo the day before. Jock and Vera ran a textile business out of Thailand, a company that allowed them the luxury of visiting a new country every few weeks. They were wealthy but quietly protective about it; the sort of rich person who still bought BOGO shoes from department stores and haggled over bar tabs, but were focused on seeing as much of the world as possible, talking to as many strangers as they could on some midlife quest for deeper meaning . Lancelot welcomed the distraction, because the only alternative was returning outside to the siren call of Kobukicho.

When they left, Vera was quick to remind Jock to leave their business card, seeing some sort of reciprocal relationship in their future as world travelers. Lancelot put it in his wallet and smiled. It was good to meet nice people.

Unfortunately, it was now considerably later than Lancelot had anticipated being out, and he realized how tired he was and how far the trip back to his apartment would be. Fortunately, the English bar was connected to a capsule hotel. Lancelot had always wanted to visit such a place and didn't need much convincing to check in
A Must for Anyone, Regardless of Budget

5/5

"The Shinjuku capsule hotel is conveniently located and cheap, which is a combination you probably don't need to be told is a good deal. Five minutes away from virtually everything on this side of town, the check in process is painless and the beds are surprisingly comfortable. There is a communal floor with everything you could need to make yourself comfortable. The changing area is immense, but if you have tattoos as I do, you won't be able to use the hot tub area unless you bandage them up. Also, there is a karaoke bar nearby, so expect to hear singing reverberating through the walls while you try to sleep. Definitely worth experiencing at least once. Would return in a heartbeat." L Graves, Solo Travel

Barefoot and carrying a nightgown, Lancelot navigated a maze of sky blue lockers trying to find the right lock for the key he was given at the front desk. The check-in process had been just alien enough to hold back his growing drowsiness. He was able to finally confirm the long-held belief that traipsing around a multi-story hotel in a blue nightgown was deceptively fun. He considered the countries he had lived in, and whether or not he'd have any financial success opening up his own capsule hotels in a major city. He'd set them up in or near airports and busy bar streets and charge the bare minimum required to turn a basic profit. Then he started to imagine the amount of people who'd expect too many amenities for their tiny cells, and had to stop imagining his hypothetical business being ruined by hypothetical whiny business class-type tourists before he annoyed himself.

While he was getting undressed, a man appeared from around the corner, took one look at his tattoos, and backed away slowly. This occurred again when he tried to enter the hot tubs and cold showers attached to the urinals. He wasn't allowed in. There were catch-all rules about tattoos, and even small ones clearly from a past life as a mercenary or spy or something were out of bounds. He supposed it was like the dog whistle rules in the States about loose jeans in some clubs: the business was trying to keep a certain clientele away but couldn't openly come out and say it. Still, the combs, razors, and toothbrushes were available to all comers, so he was at least going to pamper himself a little.

Showering in one of the areas where tattoos were OK, Lancelot realized there was a group of men huddled nearby when he turned his water off. He remained in his cubicle, not wanting to impose on them.

"We get it tomorrow?" said one man.

"Yes, it will be delivered to Roppongi once we've acquired it. Shouldn't be any hassle at the shrine – nobody visits there anyway."

"I'm surprised they haven't built over it yet. Have you seen the place? Prime real estate."

"Yeah, well, not our problem. The sooner we get the job done the sooner we can get out of here."

"There's a club just down the street. Let's go blow off some steam."

"Yeah, I don't want tomorrow to be the only head I get!"

They laughed and left, Lancelot peaked out and saw that it was a group of four men with matching insignia tattoos. They were an eclectic crew he decided to name: Big Boy was a rotund giant who collected tribal tattoos; Mustache was lean and wore sunglasses even when he was naked and indoors; Mohawk was a slab of muscle with a Mohawk; the forth man was slender and short, and circle the rest of the crew like a chihuahua trying to join a gang of German Shepards, Lancelot decided to call him Twig. Were they soldiers on leave or a group of mercenaries? He briefly considered following them, but reminded himself that his vacation was strictly for relaxation. Whatever they were planning, he wasn't about to get roped in.

The cubicles on the fourth floor were just the right size of him. A vague din of karaoke not too far away and the shuffling of other cubicle dwellers didn't prevent him from feeling tired. The space had everything he could need: a pillow, two USB sockets for his phone and pocket WiFi, and a tiny shelf to keep his possessions on. He briefly flicked on the television, but someone had left it on the porn setting and, while it had been a while since he'd enjoyed any kind of release, he didn't much want to watch censored Japanese porn in a room full of at least a hundred other men

Fitting for an Emperor

5/5

"A serene and spacious park in the middle of the city. Enjoy the trails and trees. Climb up the ruins of an old castle near the massive and empty lawn and take it all in. No real chance of visiting the palace itself, at least when I was there, but after a few days of being shoulder-to-shoulder with a variety of strangers, I was happy to just sit there and look off into the distance. A welcome change of pace."

L Graves, Solo Traveler

Sitting at slight elevation, Lancelot spent the morning just looking out at the city. He had accidentally stumbled into the Imperial Palace grounds on his way to a temple and couldn't resist the opportunity to take in the history of the location. Giant old cube rocks were stacked in various locations, a reminder of an older structure. The wide, empty roads and walkways leading to gardens and miniature forests. Lancelot had found himself sitting alone at the top of the ruins, promising himself that he would research the history of the area when he got home. The park was surrounded by affluence, with skyscrapers advertising numerous prestige companies and trillion dollar corporations. He'd soon wander into them, where even his sponsored credit card would no doubt be declined in most of the stores. For the time being, though, he just sat.

The night before had ended abruptly, with him passing out almost instantly the second he turned off the half-blurred story of a school girl and a gang of irate teachers. The morning started as early as the one before. He realized as he was walking into the palace grounds that he was always rushing to keep his mind occupied. There was a lot in his mind to unpack, and there was an internal reluctance to dwell on the past too much. For a while, that morning, he allowed himself to focus on the memories that only crept into the forefront of his mind late at night. Lost lovers, betrayal, murderous turncoat friends, and an organization that barely wants you alive thanks to everything you've done starts to eat at your psyche. As was usually the case, simply turning to address your fears and regrets is sometimes enough to send them running. Back in a brief period of feeling suicidal, Lancelot had found that simply saying out loud why he wanted to die was enough to make the impulse disappear, same too with bad memories; they just seem ridiculous when out in the open, like naked politicians.

Forcing himself off the ground, he began to walk slowly toward the Sony Building. He walked reluctantly, half wanting to just sit and do nothing until the sun set. However, he knew that the future offered no guarantees, and so was resolved to take in as much as he could while he was still able.

One thing Lancelot had noticed while in Tokyo was that there was a reluctance to speak English in many situations. Not so much at hotels and restaurants, but the guards and gatekeepers of many of the places he had visited used sign language and calculators, if anything, to communicate with tourists. It was eye opening to him, as perhaps that's how non-English speakers felt in America and England, so he decided to put it in his empathy vault for a time when he'd otherwise wind up yelling at someone who couldn't speak his language. Plenty of blog posts he'd read had reeked of victim complexes, the self-involved and whining "holiday ruined because they didn't speak English" types who ruin travel for everyone, for Lancelot, though, there was always an opportunity to gain a little insight into life on the other side.

At the Sony Building, however, people were happy to speak English, not even trying to instigate the conversation in Japanese first. He appreciated it, and enjoyed looking at the new technology they were developing, even going as far as once again downloading Instagram to hashtag content for access to their free WiFi. Anything to save the battery power on his new favorite device. A future where he could sit still and control his entire home armed with tiny self-learning machinery and all the other frighteningly futuristic technology that was being developed, was appealing, if not far beyond the horizon.

He took a high-speed, Star Trek-esque elevator up to the sound auditorium on the top floor, expecting to see something exciting, but quickly noticed that A) he didn't understand anything, and B) he didn't personally like J-Pop, so the Japanese exhibit of upcoming young bands was completely lost on him. As he was going back to ground level, four men entered the elevator with him. Mustache, Twig, Big Boy, and Mohawk, fully dressed in matching black suits and stern expressions. Unlike the night before where they had been hyping each other up for a night in the red light district like overeager college bros, they seemed hyperfocused, mean, and on the clock. Lancelot noticed that they all had top-range earpieces as if they were protecting a major politician or minor recording artist. He decided to get off on the second floor and take the stairs down.

While he was in the area, he really wanted to go to the Taira no Masakado shrine. Although the ludicrously pricey cars and hi-tech equipment were fun to look at and fantasize about owning, he had heard about the shrine many times before and wanted to visit. The story went that Taira no Masakado was decapitated after a failed coup, but his head refused to die and eventually flew to what became Tokyo where even a thousand years later it was treated with the respect and reverence reserved for demigods. Angry ghosts, curses, and dead samurai, that's what he wanted to see.

Retracing his steps northward, he realized he had been close to the shrine earlier. It was surrounded by construction. Superstition held that damaging the shrine would lead to national disaster, so even though it was prime real estate, it was contained within an untouchable tract of land and while everything around it frequently yielded to the shifting whims of progress it remained untouched. And, wait, he paused and thought back to the men he knew were probably mercenaries, of their late night conversations about heads. As he was about to pass off their conversation as coincidence, he saw them once again, walking into the shrine with power tools. Lancelot hid behind a tree, knowing that if anything were to happen, a direct confrontation would not be in his favor.

Halfheartedly checking the perimeter, the four men were confident they were alone and proceeded to quickly remove a bizarrely pristine decapitated head from its grave. Despite its age, the head hadn't decomposed in the slightest, its long, flowing mane in particular was enviable. Mustache held onto it and nodded. There was still a slight chance that they were just very weird tourists who did not understand boundaries, but Lancelot decided he had to act. Running out of his hiding place, he shoulder barged Big Boy into Twig and Mohawk and snatched the head from Mustache's hand. Realizing he had no plan, Lancelot sprinted down the street for several blocks before he felt a strange writhing in his hands.

"Oh hey, what the fuck is going on?!" said the disembodied head.

"Blah!" said Lancelot, coming to an abrupt stop, unsure if it would be safer to let go of the head or keep a grip on it. Like holding a venomous snake or pissed off cat.

"C'mon, big guy, why am I outside my tomb? What the fuck are you up to?"

Lancelot was about to explain when the men caught up with him. He felt the zap of a stun gun and felt himself losing consciousness.

"Great, pass out why don't you. Pathetic, absolutely fucking pathetic."
As top secret facilities go, this one is terrible

2/5

"I was recently captured by mercenaries while attempting to rescue an ancient samurai's head. The rooms are big, but the glass walls eliminate any privacy. Not sure why I'm even here. The food is surprisingly good and is the only reason this place gets two stars. In future, I will try not to get captured by a shadowy organization." L Grave, Solo Travel

Lancelot woke up in what appeared to be a glass cube. He had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been unconscious. For a second, his immediate worry was that Robert from AirBnB would take all his stuff and charge him a bunch of extra fees. That concern was quickly replaced by a strong sense of dread as he slowly began to acknowledge that he was indeed locked up in a glass cube in a large, dark room.

In the corner of the cube was a small foam mattress, with a trickle of warm water running from it to a drain in the center of the floor. Above him was a small vent that pumped in tepid air. He was fully dressed except for his shoes, his left arm had been bandaged around his elbow suggesting he had been injected with something, and his wrist was tagged with an ink barcode. As he looked around, he saw that his possessions had been bundled together on a chrome shelf just outside the cube. The room in which his cell was stored resembled a warehouse, with no ceiling in sight, hidden by darkness, each cube lit just barely by a soft blue hue. There were more glass cubes in every direction, a six-by-six collection of tiny transparent cells, most of them empty but a few contained confused salarymen who paced their boxed impatiently, drunkenly wondering if maybe they'd got on the wrong train.

Someone was behind him.

"English?" He turned. A woman in a white suit dress was looking at him. "English?" she repeated.

Lancelot stood up and walked toward her. "Uh, yeah, Lancelot Graves. What am I doing here?"

"You got in the way of something you shouldn't have. Don't worry. We'll be letting you out soon. You won't remember the past 24 hours. We just had some questions to ask before we cut you loose."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I commend you for trying to do the right thing, but we need that head."

"Masakado's head? Why do you need some old remains?" Then he remembered. "Hey, you know that thing talks, yeah?"

"What are you talking about?" said the woman. "It's a decapitated head."

"It was talking to me."

"Interesting." She started to walk away. "We're sorry you were in the wrong place, mister. Someone will come soon, so please don't try anything stupid. Hopefully you wake up some place warm in a few hours."

"And what if I don't?"

She didn't respond.

"What if I don't?"

Lancelot sat there for some time. Occasionally two men in black uniforms would come in with electric knockout rods and visit one of the confused drunks in a neighboring cube, dragging their limp body out of the facility. Other times, they would bring in an unconscious figure and dump them into an empty cell. Both tasks were carried out efficiently, unemotionally, like they were keeping a produce section well maintained. Eventually, the two men found their way to Lancelot's box. He remembered the woman and the way she talked, and had the feeling that they assumed he was a typical tourist. Fighting four trained men would've been a mistake, but two robotic drones who didn't know what he was capable of? He could handle that. He hoped.

He remained sitting until they entered the cell. In so doing they had made several tactical errors. One was standing directly in front of the other, and they had left the door open. The first man reached down with his prod and was about to knock Lancelot out when Lancelot reached up and quickly snapped the attacker's arm back, forcing it into the groin of the second man. A jolt of electricity later, and there was one man writhing on the floor grasping his groin and a second man with a broken arm. Lancelot grabbed one of their ID cards and shut the door behind him as he slowly collected his belongings and crept to the warehouse exit, not fully sure what to do next.

As it turned out, escape was not going to be as easy as he imagined. Outside the storage facility was a long, dark corridor with tinted glass walls. Through a window, Lancelot was able to look outside and could see that he was sixty floors above ground level. His phone had the area marked as Roppongi, not too far from his apartment. If he could make it out of the building, he would be able to rush back to the apartment before anyone could catch him, maybe. It was unlikely that he was in a government facility, at least, which is bad news when you're captured, but great news when you're escaping.

He was amazed by the ease with which he could walk through the building. The floor he was on clearly belonged to some shadow company, with many doorways and corridors leading to completely vacant rooms, no insignia or identifiable information anywhere. The thing about such organizations is that they're reluctant to hire too many people. The more people you hire, the greater the risk of exposure and infiltration. Based on prior experience working for/against shady clandestine forces, Lancelot estimated that there were probably twenty people working in the building, and only a handful would have a legitimate idea about what they were doing there. The two most well trained combatants in the entire building were probably locked in his cube, he thought, breaking out into a fast stride as his confidence grew.

As he made it to the elevators, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Two Crude Dudes being played at full volume from behind a glass door. Peering in, Lancelot could see the androgynous gamer from Super Potato playing through the levels at an impossible pace, their reaction times exceeded that of a top level fighter pilot. Also in the sterile entertainment room were the two minders from the store and a seven foot tall matte-white robot. Lancelot backed away from the door.

"Hey!" yelled someone behind him. Lancelot turned. It was Twig, looking nonplussed and unprepared. Panicked, he rushed Lancelot, only to be met with a leaping knee to the bridge of his nose. He collapsed, crumpled on the floor, mewling like a hungry puppy. Lancelot stood victorious yet hesitant, his stealthy escape was not going as, well, he couldn't exactly say "as planned" but it certainly wasn't going smoothly. Suddenly, the door to Egg's room opened and the two minders ran to Lancelot, tackling him to the ground. He fought them off, scrambling to his feet as he parried their strikes, but found himself unable to find an opening of his own as they slowly edged him to the windows. Slowly their advantage got the better of Lancelot, and he found himself on his knees, shook from blows, ready be kicked through the glass.

The minders paused for a second, as if trying to decide which of them would have the honor of killing Lancelot. This debate was short lived as the seven foot robot abruptly burst through the wall and grabbed both men their necks and tossing them both violently into the reinforced glass, which barely held against the impact. Lancelot stared up at the mechanical beast and was resigned to his immediate death when, instead, the robot extended one of its pincers and gestured toward Egg's room.

Lancelot and the robot returned to Egg, who was now wearing a VR set, grinning excitedly as they maneuvered their controls.

"Egg!" said Egg, beaming at Lancelot.

"Let us get out of here post haste," said the robot.

"Um, what?"

"Egg!"

"We don't have much time," The Robot explained. "My vocabulary is limited. Smashy San here will distract the guards while we escape. Come, put me on your back. Carry me out of here. Take me to the theme park."

Without waiting, Egg clambered onto Lancelot's back and held on tight. Lancelot had a lot of questions, but he was also on the sixtieth floor of a building full of trained fighters, gigantic robots, and storage containers full of drunk locals, so the questions could wait.

They exited the room just in time to see one of the battered suits reach for the alarm. It was time to escape. Lancelot ran to the fire exit, carrying Egg who was struggling to simultaneously control Smashy San and hold onto Lancelot's neck.

"Your friend. Downstairs."

"Friend!?" Lancelot screamed over the sirens, as at least fifty men armed with prods appeared on either side of the corridor. It was at this moment that Lancelot considered that maybe he had grossly underestimated the size of the organization he was escaping from.

"I will hold them off. Meet you at the bottom."

The fire exit stopped at the level below, which must have been against all manner of fire regulations, and Lancelot was forced to enter another corridor. This one was black and empty, with a beam of light emitting from an open door in the distance. Lancelot grabbed onto Egg firmly and ran into the room. It was a small research laboratory which had recently had most of its contents smashed against the floor. In the center of the room was Masakado's head, yelling at the woman from earlier. She was pinned against a corner, as if she was trying to will her atoms through the wall to escape. Two doctors lay sprawled and unconscious on the floor, their faces were bruised and bloody as if a something head-sized and hard had repeatedly crashed into them. The floating head turned and nodded approvingly as best as floating head can do, it's slick long hair waving as it did so.

"Oh, this numskull again! What took you so long?"

"Sorry?" Lancelot asked.

"I've been waiting for you for hours."

"We made a huge mistake bringing this here," said the woman. "I'll submit my report to my supervisors. Just take the head and get out of here!"

"I don't want the head!"

"Egg!"

"If you don't get me out of here I will destroy Japan!"

The woman gingerly picked up the head and offered it to Lancelot. "We didn't think the myths were true; we just wanted to harness warrior DNA. Take this thing and get out of here before they catch you."

"I..." Lancelot had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself involved in. "But if you know this is a mistake, why are they still chasing me?"

"Protocol," the woman said, handing Masakado over to Lancelot like a germophobe returning a used pacifier to a sickly child. "Once I clear it through the bosses, things will be OK. But it's typical office bureaucracy. You know how it is."

"I didn't know office bureaucracy involved kidnap and grave robbing."

"Use this pod right here," said the woman, thumbing in an elaborate code into a keypad that revealed a small cylindrical elevator, "Take the elevator to the second floor, and you will be able to get out through a karaoke bar. The front is guarded and they will be looking for you. That's all I can do for you right now." She paused, and looked at Egg. "Sayonara, Egg. Come back and visit, yes?"

Lancelot, carrying Masakado and Egg, took the emergency elevator down to the second floor where the found themselves in a red-lit corridor. A keyboard style rendition of an old song started to play nearby and the sound of someone singing in wheezing broken English started to echo through a speaker system.

"It never raining down in South California."

The karaoke rooms were windowless and partitioned with thin paper that looked crimson in the light. Behind the thin walls, the clanking of bottles, drunken staggering, and clapping could be heard. The corridor itself sparsely decorated, with thin white LED strips running along the floor and an overwhelming stench of bleach and liquor permeating from the shag carpet.

Lancelot began to make his way past the karaoke rooms when a group of guards from the upper levels appeared, ready to put him down. The first guard ran with complete abandon, at which point Masakado flew out of Lancelot's grip and began headbutting the attacker. Two more guards surged past the floating head and tried to apprehend Lancelot, but he was able to avoid their blows and land a spinning back kick to one of them, sending them flying through a wall into an adjoining karaoke room. A small group of salarymen stood up, nonplussed, but eager to get back to the singing, and swatted the fallen guard as if to tell him to hurry up and get out of their booth.

"It never rains, but girly they could warn you."

The second man swung wildly at Lancelot, and Lancelot found it hard to retaliate as Egg suddenly started to gyrate on his back. After taking two stiff shots to the chin, Lancelot staggered backward, feigning injury. The overconfident guard ran toward him, leaping into the air. Timing it just right, Lancelot landed a side kick to his opponent's chin and sent them tumbling to the floor.

Masakado was repeatedly slamming himself into his fallen opponent, yelling what could only be old Japanese swear words. Tired of beating the unconscious foe, he elevated back into Lancelot's arms.

"Let's get out of here."

Lancelot was beginning to wish he had just relapsed the night before when a dozen more guards appeared at the end of the corridor, ready to take the three amigos out. Nearby, people were applauding the karaoke singer, oblivious to the melee occurring.

"End of the line," said one of the new foes.

"My sentiments exactly," said Smashy, falling through the ceiling and taking out half of the guards in a single action. The remaining six tried prodding the giant bot with their tasers, only to be swatted down like flies. Smashy spun around, checking the casualties, before turning its attention to Lancelot. "My turn."

"Egg!"

The robot hurtled toward them, and before Lancelot could form a protest, picked them up with one deft move. Jumping through a window, Smashy launched itself onto the roof of a nearby building, where it landed with a thud. They stopped to catch their breath. It was dawn at the earliest. Lancelot had never felt so small as when the giant robot cradled him, Egg, and Masakado in it's cold Plexiglas arms.

"Hold on," Smashy said as it leapt into the air once more and casually bounded over the rooftops of Tokyo. Egg giggled through the VR headset, Masakado screamed in confusion, and Lancelot promised himself he would never tell anyone about the night a giant robot carried him ragdoll-style around a giant metropolis.

Not Sure How I Got Here, But a Fun Time

4/5

"More than just the giant Gundam statue outside, this complex is an interesting spot, filled with an abundance of shopping stores that are recognizable the world over. I personally enjoyed two things specifically: 1) Joypolis was a gaming theme park that drained a significant amount of my currency, a sacrifice I will gladly carry out as regularly as I can; 2) the third floor offered a bizarre combination of market stalls, themed restaurants and haunted house which was oddly fascinating, with me not knowing what I was going to see next (trinket stall or murder-themed restaurant and escape room?). Not sure I experienced the whole place, but if you can get to this little island, you will definitely find something to entertain you for a few hours, and undoubtedly lose some money, too."

L Graves, Group Visit

Smashy San came to an abrupt stop on the edge of Odaiba, an artificial island connected to the rest of the city by a bridge. Lancelot fell to the ground terrified, relieved, glad to be back in the good graces of Terra Firma. Masakado hovered silently, not sure what to make of the alien landscape. Egg smiled and hugged the giant robot.

"Powering down." The robot collapsed into itself, taking a shape of a large ball. Its legs, however, detached, and connected seamlessly to Egg's lower body. Egg strutted about the grass victoriously, miming a trumpet call and giggling.

Lancelot looked down at his jacket. The three masks he had purchased earlier were showing. How they'd made it this far was anyone's guess.

"What are those?" Masakado hovered inches away from Lancelot's pocket, eyeballing the masks.

"Wrestler masks. I bought them from..."

"I think I should have the tiger one. I will pretend to be a figurine."

"We should probably disguise ourselves for a bit, but that tiger mask is..."

"If I am not given the tiger mask I shall destroy the city."

The ground rumbled.

"Fine. You know, you speak English real well for a samurai's head."

"Of all the things happening, that's what you choose to focus on?"

"Well, I mean..."

"No, I get it. I have a lot of free time, so I listen to a lot of English movies. You'd be surprised what I can hear down there."

"Uh huh." It was a fruitless conversation. "We should get you back home, huh?"

"Not with those crooks still out there. We have to send a message." The head looked around. "Also, I've been underground for centuries. Couldn't hurt to look around, right?"

"Whatever you want, Masakado," Lancelot sighed, resigned to whatever was happening. Easier to go with the flow, as he was fond of saying on his travel blog, an opinion that had been proven erroneous as recently as his misadventure in Shanghai.

The head nodded thoughtfully and then struggled to put its new mask on, refusing Lancelot's assistance.

"Hey, Egg, you have somewhere to go? You were a prisoner in there, right?"

"Egg!"

Egg took Lancelot's phone and keyed in some directions. It was to an arcade a few minutes away. Lancelot didn't even know how to begin arguing and tossed the Psychosis mask at Egg. Egg grimaced and threw it back, pointing at the La Parka one.

"God damn..." sighed Lancelot.

The three of them arrived at Joypolis fully masked. Nobody said anything, politely ignoring their luchador costumes, and they spent three hours running from game to game, exhausting the possibilities inside. Masakado had to try very hard to keep quiet early on, but once it became evident that the few others there thought he was some sort of futuristic toy, he became comfortable yelling at the games, censoring himself when he got too enthralled. Egg had a preternatural connection with electronics as a whole, and broke several games by stressing out the CPU. Lancelot, for his part, was content because he felt like he was with family. A very peculiar family, but a family nonetheless.

After Egg reconfigured one too many games, they were politely asked to leave, and they spent much of the day figuring out their next step. Masakado was correct in wanting to eliminate the threat of the mercenaries sent to collect him. Egg just wanted to go to Kamakura to meet their uncle, apparently, based on hastily typed directions to someone called UNCLE!!! Egg had written into Lancelot's phone. Lancelot agreed reluctantly to help, partially because he was enjoying himself, but primarily because Masakado's constant allusions to destroying the city were just believable enough.

They returned to Smashy San's orb and were greeted by the woman from Roppongi. She stood alone and appeared nervous, like she wasn't supposed to be there.

"I'm not supposed to be here," she said.

"How many people are watching you?"

"None. I took care of our little misunderstanding and thought I'd come tell you personally. Hi Egg."

"Egg!"

"You mind explaining what's going on?" Lancelot asked.

"Not much. I work for a multinational bio-chem company and we're developing a new generation of warriors using the DNA of the greatest people in Japan. Masakado, Kenny Omega, Honda Tadakatsu, Satoru Iwata, and so on. Up until now we didn't run into any issues securing what we needed. We just didn't expect any supernatural elements to our research. Our apologies to you in particular, Masakado."

"Don't worry about it, lady, what's important is we're free to do as we please. Tell me or I will flood the city."

"Um, the mercenaries we hired to dig you up went rogue this morning – I think they're selling out data to the Russians – so you may have to deal with them if we can't get to them in time, otherwise what you do is of no concern to anyone in my organization. Our continued involvement with any of you does not appear to be cost effective."

"And where are the mercenaries now?"

"Not sure, but next on our list was the Temple of the 47 Ronin."

"I'll take care of that, then," Lancelot offered.

"Right," said the woman, "I'm going to take Egg to the Snoopy museum. Meet us there when you're done?"

Lancelot nodded.

"I'm coming too. Those busaotoko motherfuckers took me unawares last time. Made me look weak."

"Or you'll set the city on fire?"

"Now you get it!"

So Many Shrines, This is my Favorite

5/5

"Tucked away and harder to find than many of the shrines and temples in Tokyo, Sengaku-ji announces its enormity the moment you see the imposing gate leading up to the main structure. I have been to many temples on my pilgrimage to this city, but this one felt different. From the graves to the blood-stained tree to the buildings themselves, this is a peaceful place, where the noble actions of the 47 ronin permeates the air even to this day. I have been to some sacred places in my travels, but the atmosphere of reverence here is palpable." L Graves, Traveling with Friend

"I'm going to need you to be quiet while we figure things out, OK?"

"Ha! Or what? You'll cut off my head?"

"I'll take my tiger mask back."

"You wouldn't dare! I am the great and powerful Taira no Masakado, and you will not touch my tiger mask!"

"Jesus Christ, dude, just knock it off while we deal with these guys."

Masakado mumbled in agreement and remained quiet. They walked into the temple, under the giant black doorway that led into the temple area. It was calm, serene, a place of peace that even the animals seemed to respect.

"Get the fucking drill!" a plain voice yelled nearby. It was Mustache, he was standing over the graves of the fallen ronin and pointing at Mohawk and Big Boy who were resting against a nondescript white van. Big Boy grabbed a pneumatic drill and walked toward Mustache.

As Lancelot crept closer, he had to resist the urge to attack them. Desecrating graves was one of his least favorite activities, but he knew that rushing into combat with those three would be a tactical error. He would have to wait until they were distracted, hopefully stopping them before any serious damage was...

"Motherfuckers!"

Masakado flew out of Lancelot's grip and hurtled straight into Mohawk's face. The mercenary staggered backward, grasping his nose with one hand and trying frantically to pull onto Masakado with the other. Masakado flew wildly, unable to shake Mohawks grip. Big Boy dropped the drill and ran to assist his comrade. Together, they wrestled the head to the ground. Masakado shook violently, trying to escape, teeth gnashing at the fingers of his two opponents. Lancelot ran to help, but was stopped when Mustache aimed a revolver at him.

"Listen buddy," said Mustache. "I have no idea why you keep showing up, but just stop. OK? Get down on your knees."

Lancelot slowly relented, putting his hands behind his head. Masakado, too, seemed resigned for what was about to happen.

Mustache retrieved a shovel from the van and returned to one of the larger graves. If Lancelot's hours of reading about the 47 ronin was correct, he was about to begin digging up the burial spot of Oishi Kuranosuke.

"This is a bad idea."

"Shut the fuck up," said Mohawk, his nose trickling blood.

"All we want to do," said Mustache, moving a slab of rock from the resting place, "Is harness the power of the dead. That's it! Can't you just leave us alone?"

Mustache stabbed the shovel into the ground. A gong sounded. He paused, halfway convinced he had just made a mistake. The gong sounded again, follow by an ethereal drum beat that grew louder and louder. He panicked, looking at his comrades for assistance, but they were frozen in place, barely holding onto Masakado. Behind Mustache, 47 shadows materialized, and began to circle him.

"Oh shit!" Mustache screamed. He tried to pull the shovel from the ground, but it was stuck. He was stuck, his feet glued to the ground. All he could do was fire hopelessly into the figures as they engulfed him. The shadows grew closer and closer to him, until all anyone could see was an absence of light. A blood curdling scream let out briefly, and sputtered weakly to an abrupt end. The shadows dispersed and Mustache and the shovel were gone, replaced by a small black stain on the ground.

Seeing this, Big Boy and Mohawk let go of Masakado. Big Boy ran for the van, trying desperately to get inside. Mohawk had neither the time nor the patience for that, and sprinted out of the temple. The shadows reappeared, this time surrounding Big Boy, who did his best to ignore them. After some struggle, he was able to get inside the van. The shadows disappeared. Lancelot and Masakado regrouped, listening to Big Boy wrestle with the engine, trying to get it to start. Then the sounds of the engine stopped, replaced by the muffled sounds of screaming, while the van shook violently. Soon the whole van was swallowed by shadow and dematerialized. Lancelot and Masakado looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

The shadows vanished once more, replaced by a sole translucent warrior, he gestured accusingly at Lancelot.

"泥棒。私はあなたを殺すべきですか?" said the shadow. Lancelot shrugged.

Masakado coughed. "それはすべての良い、兄。彼は私と一緒です"

The shadow gestured in agreement and vanished to the sound of a lone gong strike. Silence returned to the temple.

"I've got your back, bro."

Lancelot smiled. It was nice to have the backing of a thousand year old head.

"I guess while we're here we could have a look around."

Masakado nodded in agreement, floating toward a nearby incense burner.
A Great Day Trip

5/5

"I was reluctant to leave Tokyo during my visit, but I'm glad I took the time to travel to Kamakura. It truly is a beautiful town, and for the price of a small meal you can get here in under an hour. Take your time, but know that there's a lot to see and do around here. Even the act of just walking from the train station to the beach is a worthy jaunt." L Grave, Group Trip

After paying their respects to the 47 ronin and stopping in at a Sega Club, Lancelot and Masakado found Egg in the Snoopy Museum. The woman, Akari, was relieved to see them, and offered further assurances that they were in the clear. Egg had been sequestered by the organization semi-willingly to help combat some rogue coding they had found in their databases, a task that had been completed. Masakado was an angry floating head, and nobody wanted to risk further jeopardizing the city by messing with him. Lancelot was an unemployed westerner who nobody knew or cared about, which stung him a little to hear, but he was grateful that he was going to be able to get back to traveling properly soon.

All that remained, Akari said, was for Lancelot to take Egg back home to Kamakura. Masakado wanted to tag along purely to see the ocean, and Lancelot couldn't begrudge him that.

The hour long trip to the coastal town was uneventful and the views limited. The train was crowded for the first half of the trip, but near empty when they reached the station. From the station they took a monorail into the center of the city. The monorail offered significantly better views of the hilly, green terrain.

They walked to an empty beach; the sand was gray, the wind cold, and ocean still. It was the kind of city Lancelot could see himself retiring to, a place for surfers, hostel bums, tsunami warning signs, and pious tourists. Obviously he'd need to learn Japanese and familiarize himself with property laws, but he could envision a future where he'd step out every morning onto the beach and take in the fresh air. "Facing the sea with his back to the mountains," as he vaguely remembered some poet opining.

Egg's uncle was apparently set to meet with them in a few hours, so they took the time to visit Kotoku-in, the large Buddha statue that Kamakura was famed for. Unlike many of the temples Lancelot had visited, this one was packed with tour buses and groups of amateur photographers, which took something away from the experience. A group of school children had banded together near the entrance and had taken to yelling "hello" at any foreigner who entered. They giggled every time, for reasons that were beyond Lancelot's scope of understanding.

For a small charge, Lancelot entered the Buddha and looked around for a minute, not sure what he was expecting to find inside a hollow statue. The three of them walked the grounds slowly, convinced they had missed something. The statue was, indeed, magnificent, but there was a vague sense that there was more to look at, like an airplane edit of an R-rated movie.

A short walk from the giant Buddha, and more Lancelot's speed, was Hase-dera, a multi-leveled temple compound built up along the side of a hill. It felt more modern than many of the places he had visited, with a modern museum and a restaurant being added to the grounds, but the views of the ocean and the trail leading off from the main structures up the side of the hill made up for that. Each of the tiers added something new to the experience, from the ponds and made-for-short-people caves of the first level to the palatial buildings and gardens up above. They climbed up the trail and sat quietly, uninterrupted by any other visitor, and looked out at the bay. It had cost 300 yen to enter, which for Lancelot was a steal.

On their way out, Lancelot bought a candle for each of them, to be lit during a new year ceremony, and wished he would be there to see it in person. As Egg nudged him, signaling it was time to leave, Lancelot turned and paused for a second, trying to take the beauty of Hase-dera in, to commit it to memory, so that he might return in his dreams. Or in a few years.
Delicious Food, Relaxing Place

5/5

"Kamakura 24sekki is an exquisite bakery tucked away on a side road. Though hard to find if you don't know what you're looking for, this place is well worth a visit. The chill vibe, the aromas, the delicious food, this place is as worthy of a pilgrimage as the nearby temples. Make it a point to visit here, and I promise you won't be disappointed." L Graves, Group Visit

It was only after they sat down that Lancelot realized that for all the places he had visited, he had yet to really allow himself the chance to eat, enjoying the vending machine coffee and easy access to convenience stores perhaps a little too much. So when they sat by the windows of a modest bakery, it was all he could do not to propose marriage to the owner of the establishment when the menu arrived. It was a crime, Lancelot thought, to visit new countries and to not try out their local restaurants – not a serious crime, like, say, grave robbing or murder, but a petty crime akin to littering or grievous bodily harm. He remembered depressing photos he had seen of the pyramids taken from nearby globalist chain restaurants, US fried chicken chains in historic South American plazas, burger joints immediately next to UNESCO protected ruins. He was ashamed that he had fallen into the same unadventurous, dull eating habits as so many before and vowed to try a bit harder to experiment once he was done chaperoning.

Egg and Lancelot ate their sandwiches impatiently, trying and failing to savor the tastes they were experiencing. They would get seconds, maybe thirds. Masakado lacked the necessary digestive system to fully enjoy soup and sandwiches, and had requested only to be placed facing the window.

"Egg!" came a voice from the entrance. It was a scruffy haired and bespectacled man who seemed happy to see them all. He looked briefly at Lancelot and hesitated before speaking. "It is good to see you again!"

"Egg!" exclaimed Egg.

Lancelot stood and shook the man's hand. "Pleasure to meet you..."

"Kojima, call me Kojima," said Kojima. "We were beginning to worry about my niece."

"You didn't know how to find... her?"

"No, her parents are very, how to say it, self-involved. Sometimes Egg helps people out with video games and forgets to check in."

"Egg!"

"Well she's been an absolute treat, Mister Kojima."

Kojima sat down and ordered another round of sandwiches. Lancelot had never been so happy. Free food, the great equalizer.

For the next few hours, Egg, Kojima, and Lancelot talked as best they could about Japan and video games. Kojima had a lot of interesting ideas, but had been held back repeatedly by former employers. Though Lancelot was at loathe to dole out motivational advice, he reassured Kojima that if he kept following his passions he would one day find success in the gaming industry. It was a world that needed big voices and new ideas, less of a focus on bilking the loyal players for money and more on telling provocative stories in a medium that offered so many possibilities. Kojima nodded politely, and Lancelot could tell he was getting through to him.

After they ate more sandwiches than any small group of people should consider reasonable, Kojima and Egg walked Lancelot and a snoring Masakado to the train station. Egg hugged Lancelot and Masakado tightly, and then ran off down the street. Kojima shook his head playfully then cantered away behind her.

It was a smaller station, one connected to the monorail, offering a view of open fields. The weather hadn't allowed for it earlier, but as they looked over the fields they could see the unmistakable peak of Mount Fuji. Lancelot hadn't thought seeing it was a possibility during his trip, let alone from a sleepy beach town miles away, but now that he could see it, he felt a sudden impulse to get closer.

"I want to go there."

"I have to get you back to your shrine."

"If you take me there, I will be forever grateful. I must pay my respects."

Noticing a lack of threats, Lancelot smiled. "I can't argue with that, Masakado. Let's do it."

Once again, Lancelot was amazed by how simple the train network was in Japan. He considered the improbabilities of going even from across state in some regions of the US, and the price attached to what few journeys were available. To get from Chicago to Los Angeles, for instance, it would cost a minimum of $150 and take almost two days to get there. In Japan, for virtually nothing, they could take a train to just about anywhere, at dizzyingly high speeds to boot. Lancelot opted for the scenic trip, hoping that it would allow Masakado the opportunity to see more of the country before he returned to the ground.

They first took a train to Odawara. The station was immense, with tourist kiosks and lockers, and plenty of suspiciously happy people at the information booth to help you get to where you wanted to go. While it seemed many people viewed Odawara as something of a transit hub rather than a destination in and of itself, Lancelot took the time to leave the station to visit the Odawara castle. A five storey white castle, it was something of a facsimile of the genuine article, but it more than made up for its dubious history with its majestic views on the top level. Luscious green rolling hills to the north, and an unobstructed view of the sea to the south, definitely worth the price of admission.

"I'm going to need a minute," Masakado whimpered as they looked out at the ocean.

"Sure, buddy."

Around the castle was a fairground, which felt a little out of place to Lancelot, but he was not one to question miniature train rides.

From there, Lancelot walked to the Hakone-Yumoto station. The plan was to catch a train up the mountain and catch a view of Fuji and Ashi Lake from there. This plan was undermined considerably by Lancelot miscalculating the walking distance from Odawara to Hakone, and they spent over an hour walking through increasingly anti-pedestrian streets. A small, boulder-strewn river to the left grew considerably in size as the roads widened and the sidewalks slowly disappeared. Often, he would see the red trains packed with an international array of tourists riding up toward the mountains and wish he hadn't decided to walk.

Eventually, though, they came to a wide concrete opening, surrounded by hills. The ever growing river cut through the valley, with hotels on one side and a train station on the other. Lancelot was pleased to finally have the chance to actually enjoy his holiday. He stood in a sprawling line of people who couldn't conceivably fit in one train, the conductors seemed to disagree.

"Someone's looking at us."

Someone was. Two people in fact. Mohawk and Twig were standing in the next line, their faces betraying a range of negative emotions that shifted every half second. Twig was still nursing an injured face and they had both seen better days. Lancelot put Masakado into his backpack to prevent a repeat of the 47 Ronin incident.

"Robbing more graves, guys?"

The two moved as if to confront him, but were stopped by a conductor, his white gloves waving politely in front of their faces.

"You're going to get yours," said Mohawk, "Just as soon as we're on this train."

Lancelot smiled. "Sure, buddy."

A rickety red train rolled up and the conductors ushered the long lines of waiting tourists to enter. It was more crowded than any Tokyo subway Lancelot had taken, more cramped and claustrophobic than a New York rush hour, tighter that a Brazilian Carnival. Pressed in against a multitude of strangers, Lancelot could hear Masakado grumbling from his backpack. Twig and Mohawk stood jammed together only ten people away, but were unable to move, let alone deliver on their earlier threats.

The train ride kept promising to end but went on for a considerable length of time. Climbing up the side of a mountain at what felt like a sixty degree angle, Lancelot couldn't help but look over the edge, which seemed dangerously close from his where he was standing. Roads and bridges and sheer drops made up the view down below. Every few minutes, the train would come to a halt, and the passengers would sigh, convinced they were about to get off, only for the train to reposition on the tracks and continue to climb upward. Some of the passengers were visibly suffering from mild vertigo, others were amused by the precarious positioning of the train track. Mohawk and Twig, for their part, were too focused on Lancelot to look at anything else.

When the train reached the Chokoku no Mori station, the penultimate stop, there was no sign of anyone getting off the train, so Lancelot took the opportunity to push through the nearest crowd at the last moment. It was tough getting out, especially since everyone but Lancelot was waiting to get off at the Gora station, but he managed, just, to slide between the bulging masses all around him. Twig and Mohawk weren't so lucky.

"Aw, come on dude," said Twig, his face immobile.

Lancelot shrugged and waved them off, then turned his attention to his surroundings. What a shame he would not be able to focus on the Hakone Open-Air Museum that was minutes away, a sprawling, sculpture-laden area with a variety of inspiring art to look at. Between Masakado clearly being ready to look at Fuji, and the sudden presence of two bereaved and angry mercenaries, Lancelot wasn't going to be able to focus much on the travel writing for the area. It was disappointing, he thought, as he followed whichever road led upward, because it felt like a region he would happily get lost in for a few days, just him and a notepad. The idea of resting in a hot spring, looking out at the world below, was appealing to say the least. But the downside of being a travel writer was that sometimes you had to ignore certain locales because a thousand year old head was stolen from his shrine and is threatening to wipe out Tokyo if he doesn't see Mount Fuji while simultaneously an armed and shadowy group of international murderers want revenge because their friends were murdered by samurai ghosts. It was a problem all world travelers encountered at least once, Lancelot hoped.

Feeling less and less certain he was walking in the right direction, what with the sidewalk disappearing, the occasional blast of car horn, and the increasingly dilapidated condition of the rare building he walked by, Lancelot was ready to walk back to where he started. There was a good chance that he was around the corner from good views, but panic came over him. Plus, Masakado was beginning to get impatient.

"Get me out of this backpack, man, this is taking far too long."

"I think we're almost there."

After some careful backtracking, Lancelot eventually found the Sounzan station, with cable cars leading down and a ropeway leading up. It was empty, barring a few employees, who sleepily waved him in. Where had everyone gone? The cable car leading up to the station had been suspended.

Twig and Mohawk appeared from around a corner and rushed toward Lancelot, who managed to get into a gondola before they got their hands on him. The three of them fought as they were carried upward. Lancelot had underestimated Twig who, while incapable of moving much of his upper body, was a proficient kicker, and his flurry of leg movement would've proven difficult to counter were they not inside a moving box. Mohawk was more dangerous, employing his elbows in the tight space with enough efficiency to knock Lancelot to the floor.

"Just give us the head," said Mohawk.

"Fine," Lancelot said, unzipping his backpack.

Masakado flew out and connected with Twig, the two of them careening out of the side of the gondola to the ground below. Mohawk watched on aghast, which gave Lancelot the opening he needed to land a hard hook to the side of his face. But Mohawk didn't go down; he was barely moved by hit, and replied with a spinning back kick which sent Lancelot staggering to the newly opened portion of the gondola.

"We were going to let you live, you know," said Mohawk, removing a large hunting knife from the side of his boot.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but there's no 'we' anymore," wheezed Lancelot, feeling his ribs.

"Yeah, but no ghosts or robots or floating heads to save you now. You're going to show me what I already know: you're just a tourist. Hope you enjoy the view, it's going to be hablargrub."

His sentence trailed off as he lunged at Lancelot, who was able to roll out of the gondola. Hanging onto the side, he pulled himself up to the top of the vehicle and for a moment, was amazed by his surroundings. Mohawk growled in frustration, and pulled himself up out of the carriage himself to meet Lancelot on the roof. The station on the other side of the ropeway was slowly creeping up. If Lancelot could just hold on.

Slowly, the two of them danced around the many wires and cables, trying to keep their footing on the narrow roof. Mohawk feigning strikes to find a moment to sink his knife into Lancelot, Lancelot trying to avoid exactly that from happening. They circled the roof with Mohawk testing for openings with precise thrusts of his blade.

Finally, he struck, slicing Lancelot's right shoulder. But Lancelot was able to grab onto Mohawks hand and the momentum sent the blade flying off the side of the gondola. Grasping at his opponent's wrist, Lancelot rolled backwards and pointed his feet upward as he landed, flipping Mohawk over the edge. Lancelot lay there for a second, he'd been lucky. The pain would come soon enough. He lowered himself into the carriage and waited for the station.

Leaving the damaged gondola, bleeding profusely from his arm and face, Lancelot brushed off the waiting attendants. "I think that's messed up," he pointed at the machine, battling a spell of dizziness as he left the station.

In a blur he maneuvered walking to a quiet view point, elevated and untouched by tourists. He could see the lake glistening below him and the peak of Fuji off in the distance. Then he lost consciousness for a moment.

"Hey, get up," Masakado said with a friendliness Lancelot had yet to hear.

Lancelot opened his eyes. His face felt damp, like it had been washed, and the knife wound had been cleaned and cauterized. Masakado rested next to him, tearfully admiring the beauty of Japanese nature.

"Who treated my wound?" said Lancelot, groggily.

"It was hard work. As you know, I don't have hands. Don't worry too much about that and just enjoy this view. "

Lancelot smiled and felt a cold gust of air blow against his sweaty forehead. The sounds of light wind, insect, and the distant hum of traffic all fused together for the kind of white noise ambiance usually only available of sleep apps. Mount Fuji truly did look spectacular off just beyond the lake. The sky was perfectly blue. It would've been a great time to bring a camera."Happy now?" Lancelot asked softly after some time.

"Oh very much yes. I've been in the ground for centuries. Sorry for being a dick earlier. It's nice to get to spend time with a fellow warrior. I guess I'll go home now, though. Come to my shrine next time you're in Japan, OK?"

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Masakado."

"Call me Taira. See you around."

At that, the head shot up into the sky, vanishing in the distance. Quite why he decided to hang around Lancelot when he could fly was a mystery. Perhaps he was lonely. When you fight for a living it's hard to sustain lasting friendships. Especially when you're a floating head.

It took several minutes before Lancelot realized Masakado had left with the mask.
Will Visit Again

5/5

"Tokyo is a heady mix of tradition and modernity that means it has something to offer for everyone. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. I felt safe at all hours and in every region I visited. Definitely worth a trip if you have the opportunity; just be sure not to stick too closely to an itinerary or you'll miss a whole world worth exploring. Adventures await around every corner."

L Graves, Solo Travel

Lancelot sat outside a Ginza noodle restaurant waiting for his food to arrive. He had made it back to Tokyo with few problems, primarily because he found an alternate route back. He had returned to his rented apartment with a day left on the agreed upon rental period, and found that Robert, or whoever, had carefully cleaned in his absence. Lancelot didn't realize how badly he had needed a shower until he looked down at the floor beneath him in the bathroom as hot water ran down his body, all rust colored and gritty.

After a day of declenching, he had moved to the Kaisu Hostel. It was an upbeat, trendy boutique hostel with a very friendly staff and an eclectic mix of fellow visitors. It would make a fine base of operations for the next week, now that he could actually get some tourism done. Maybe he'd check in on some of his new friends or finish his temple pilgrimage. Whatever he decided, there would be time.

The food arrived, warm and delicious, and Lancelot smiled. It was good to be a traveling warrior.

The End.
Lancelot's Tokyo Tips:

  1. Invest in a pocket WiFi. The streets are very seldom marked, and it's easy to get lost. It's also easy to retrace your steps, but the headache of doing so is easily avoidable. Plus, you don't want those roaming data charges, trust me.

  2. The subway system is daunting at first, so spend some time familiarizing yourself with it. Once you're a bit more comfortable, the system really opens itself up, and you'll discover that the entire country is just a ticket away.

  3. People typically keep to themselves on the streets, so on the rare occasion that an overly friendly person comes up to you, keep your senses in check. Don't accept any invitations to bars. This is common sense, but trust me, your checking account will thank you.

  4. Practice the hand cleaning ceremony when entering temples. Sure, you'll see brash tourists ignore this, but it takes a whopping ten seconds to show your respect.

  5. There's still a stigma about tattoos in certain areas, so don't get offended if you're asked to leave a spa after flashing your Theodore Roosevelt back tattoo.

  6. Super Potato and Toudoukan are musts if you have even the slightest proclivity toward nerdy stuff. Trust me.

  7. Super cheap day trips made easy thanks to high speed trains: Hakone, Kyoto, Mt. Fuji, Kamakura are my favorites, but you can get to most places quickly and cheaply.

  8. If you see a floating head in a tiger mask, tell him I said hi.

Lancelot's Favorite Tokyo Shrines

  1. The Meiji Shrine: A calming and expansive place to visit, surrounded by a fantastic park.

  2. The Zojoji Temple: In the middle of a bustling area, this wide open temple has a lot of hidden corners for you to visit while you pay your respects.

  3. The Sengakuji Temple: A place of historical importance with an almost paranormal silence to it. Well worth a few hours of your time.

  4. The Kanda Shrine: Come here early and you will have this large shrine almost entirely to yourself. One of the most beautiful places to visit.

  5. Senso-ji: I don't need to tell you about this place, but make sure to visit.

There are many more. The good thing about Tokyo is it's very easy to walk around, and often you'll find yourself outside some tremendous sacred places, so just keep your eyes open and let your feet to the thinking. I found a wonderful temple hidden in the middle of a sea of lilies this way and accidentally wandered into the war memorial. You'll be rewarded for your curiosity, I promise.

Stray Thoughts on Japan

David X. Reiver

What really started off my traveling (everything contained in these stories minus monsters, robots and mysterious agencies) was everyone's second favorite 2016 vote: Brexit. I had been sober for a few months, after a week long bender in Los Angeles, the details of which I won't get into primarily because my mother is my only guaranteed reader. The good thing about sobriety is that you suddenly have a lot of money, but for the first several months at least you still have that old drunken impulse control problem. When Brexit came along, there was a sudden drop in plane ticket prices and I found a <$500 ticket to Tokyo for the end of October. I thought "Huh, I can do that," so I did. The entire seventeen day trip cost around $1200 total. All thanks to half of my home country being scared of brown immigrants who weren't even members of the EU to begin with.

In a fairly sad twist, I also wound up being in Japan during the US election. I was walking the grounds of the Imperial Palace and frantically watching the polling results. I can't say I wanted either to win, but as an immigrant with minority friends, that day was half spent enjoying a wonderful city, and half spent watching some of my favorite Americans freaking out. As someone with a bit of a superman complex, there's nothing more depressing than watching people you care about and being unable to do anything about it. At the time, I compared it to being an astronaut in the film The Day After Tomorrow.

That night was weird for me. My old impulses of going out and drinking started to resurface, but I was smart enough to know that getting drunk in a foreign city would lead to a destructive spiral that would have led me down a one way road. No real outlets for my inner confusion and concern apparent, the rest of the trip (after some fairly cringey Facebook posts) was spent with a kind of "fuck it" attitude that I wish I'd have employed earlier. Who knows, maybe if I'd have had that mentality in my early twenties I could be a famous dead writer/comedian type with a small body of work and an unmarked grave somewhere around Big Sur.

Anyway, I really wanted to talk about food more in this story and highlight some of my favorite discoveries. But many of them have already closed down, no even two years later, so instead I decided to make Lancelot a lot more like my first few days in the country, subsisting entirely on coffee vending machines and rice balls. There are a great many places to visit there, though, so please if you do go, just shop around. You'll find something amazing. One place I found had a 2000 yen menu where you'd select your five items of food through a fairly detailed picture menu. I went there a lot; they had a lot of options. I mourned a little when my research led me to discover the dreaded "permanently closed" slot on their GoogleMaps profile.

This slightly more adventurous attitude led me to Kamakura, where I slept in on the floor in a traditional guesthouse along with a group of Korean veterans. Their main selling point was free potatoes and tea, an interesting combination that seemed almost tailored to someone like me. If you've been researching your own trip to Tokyo, you've no doubt been recommended a day trip to Kamakura, but I nth that sentiment completely. If you like to walk everywhere like I do, there's plenty of winding roads and great views. Plus, the one remaining restaurant I enjoyed (and featured in this story) is there, and almost worth the trip on its own.

On my way back to Tokyo, just as in the story, I was confronted by the image of Mount Fuji as I was waiting for a monorail. I sent a photo to my mother, and she urged me to take a closer look. I tried to. I got lost up in the foothills of the Hakone region and never quite got my baring. It was a great little walk, with no real conclusion. I eventually found a train station and made my way to Shinjuku. Despite this, I don't regret the excursion in the slighted.

There's the damaging idea of "done" that seems to permeate traveling in particular. You can get apps that will tell you you've "done" China, Brazil, India, despite only being in one city for a handful of days. I'm going to touch on this more in another essay nobody is going to read, but personally, I take more pleasure in leaving things undone. I have to go back to Japan now (oh man) because there are still things there I want to see. If I'd have stuck to an intensive itinerary, I'm sure I could smugly claim to have "done" an entire country with a history so rich and deep that I could barely scratch the surface after five years let alone three-ish weeks. There's a reason to go back now. So many, in fact. An NJPW Tokyo Dome show would be amazing. I want to climb Fuji (something I couldn't have done even if I found it), get lost in Kyoto, take a bullet train to Osaka, explore the northern regions, try to surf in Kamakura, eat as much food as possible instead of depending on caffeine, etcetera.

So in closing, nothing is ever really done, and take more chances.

Thanks so much for reading this story. If you've made it this far, I truly appreciate it. Perhaps track me down on the methods listed at the beginning of this manuscript and recommend your own Japan itinerary. Or, if you're a rich producer, give me ten million dollars and creative control over a three season Lancelot Grave franchise. Either way. Thank you.

David X. Reiver.

About the author

David is a well traveled former government agent who has led what some would consider an interesting life. After sobering up and spending two years going from airport to airport, he is keen to develop the Lancelot Graves series as a means to tell weird stories and covertly offer some legitimate travel tips. If this series reaches any kind of critical success, he wants to parlay any goodwill into a trip to space. Currently, David lives in a bunker in an undisclosed location with his pet llama, Doris. David hates referring to himself in the third person, so please buy multiple copies of this and all other books so that he can hire a manager and editor of some kind.

### Lancelot will return in:

### The Werewolf of Amsterdam

