It's long past midnight. The rain polluted with heavy metals consumes blinking neon signs, making their chemical-colored blinking even brighter in this drenched night. The citizen hide themselves under bamboo hats with tired expressions, as if everyone is enduring something. "Cheap, cheap, actually cheap". "Aka-chan..." Attracting the late-night crowd, the advertisements are even louder now.
POWPOWPOW... As a vehicle loudly honks with an automatic horn generator while sprinkling water from the puddles, overworked salarymen grip their wallets and credit chips even tighter, while the street yotamono punks turn around and show it the kitsune sign. In the narrow gap of the night sky between the skyscrapers, a maguro zeppelin passes by.
"Very uplifting stuff!", "Tanning salon", "Waana MIRROR store", "Horse racing bookmaking", "Lots of hot yoga". The sheer mass of neon signs, crackling and blinking from poor cable protection. The steam rising from the foot carts. Chaos. Voices. Death. This is Neo-Saitama. For the capital of Japan, secluded both physically and electronically, this sight is all too familiar.
Busy people, idle people, businessmen, yakuza, oiran, tourists, runaways, suicidal people, Gulf Defense Force scouts, scouts for dangerous work, fast-food store hawkers, karaoke hawkers. Here on the main street, the noise won't cease until it greets the coming of a yellow dawn. On the other hand, just by walking into a certain alley, one will see, darkness.
From part I, "Neo-Saitama In Flames": "Back In Black"