>Oh it appears you have died.<
>Hee Hee Hee Hoo Hoo Hoo.<
>Relax a little will you, its not like its all over.<
>There is one more chance to be had, one more game to be played<
>But to enter this game, there is a cost you must pay<
>Mysterious Voice: Be interrupted by the opening narration.
>I have a name you know<
>But I suppose this once I will relent<
>Get on With it Already
>I was simply abiding by the loading times<
>. . .<
>Cue Opening Narration.
The streets of Shibuya are famous for the near constant crowds which pool its crosswalks. Being an entertainment district in central Japan, famous for its FASHION and NIGHT LIFE, its residents expect nothing less of chaos as they commute their way through the district each and every day. Today is no different, hundreds upon hundreds of people pass by with little concern for anything else besides their destination. All the while sporting the latest fashion trends, and blasting pop hits into their ears at unsafe volumes.
And. This narration is boring me. Really, it sounds more like a sight seeing tour than anything. I'll try to talk about something else. Or somebody else. You in particular. Because for some inexplicable reason, your unconscious heap of a body has decided to take a nap right in the middle of the most crowded intersection in Shibuya.
Today was a bad day, for a reason you cannot remember at the moment. In fact, your head is void of thought for this agonizingly long moment. Nothing. Except, maybe a little. There is a faint buzzing. A cacophonous symphony of all sorts of senseless noise. Enough to cause a headache in any person, and especially in this void of thoughtlessness. These noises, they are, voices. You are hearing all of the voices, all at once. Yet, one cuts above them all, and you focus in on it.
“Outta my Face, You're blocking my view.”
You are fairly certain you have heard these words somewhere before. If only you could remember their significance.
“Shut up, Stop talking.”
The words resonate too well, there is nothing you want more at this moment then for every person to shut up, and for this person to continue talking. He, you think he is a he, seems to have something important to say. With the way things are shaping up to be, there is no choice but to listen.
“Just go the hell away.”
Whatever the voice in your head is, it seems to be rude. He might be talking about you, or he could be addressing the dozens of other voices in the background, senselessly chatting away. It does not really matter. In this darkness, there is no other choice but to listen.
“All the world needs is me, I’ve got my values, so you can keep yours alright?”
You understand it now, if only a little. These are the same words which had been ringing through your head constantly ever since that day. Well, not in that exact form, but they carried the same message. This speaker, whoever he is, understands the you who was a loner. Well, the you who most likely still is a loner. Its just, you don’t.
“I don’t get people, never have, never will.”
Yeah, he puts it best. There is something there. A connection, and because of it, these words seem to have awoken something inside. It feels warm. Which is a nice feeling to have, considering how cold you just were. Something stirs inside you, and its enough motivation to finally open your eyes. Just a crack, enough to peer out at the surroundings. That’s surprising, an entire busy city block. There are horns blearing, traffic lights turning, the occasional stray chatter of a passerby, and some music blasting from a nearby store, and yet none of this prevented you from falling asleep in the middle of the street. Or woke you up for that matter. Strange. What’s stranger is you have no memory of how you have gotten here. Before you stand up, you throw every last mental effort into remembering. And.
. . .
What is this?
A name you have a name.
And something else. In hand there is a pair of old headphones, which must have been carelessly tossed in the streets AT LEAST A YEAR AGO. Why you would have them in your hands now is anybody’s guess, but something tells you that they belong to the voice.
So, uh, Who are you again?