Initial D Fan Fiction ❯ Akuma no Z: The Doppler Effect ❯ First Iteration: Starting Over ( Chapter 1 )

First Iteration: Starting Over

 

Two Months Earlier, Gunma; Japan.

 

He hated the sound of birds in the morning; Randall Dash could sleep all day if it wasn't for those damn birds. It wasn't like back in the United States, he was used to those damn birds. The young man put a pillow over his head, the Animaloid beauceron just wanted a few more hours of sleep.

 

“Aa-kun! Breakfast! Wake up!”

 

Ugh.

 

There was also the annoying calls of his uncle every morning that also hampered his ability to sleep. The canine tossed his pillow aside and sat up, his blue hair like a hay stack upon his furred head.

 

“Quick now! It's getting cold!”

 

“Yes, uncle! I'll be there in a minute!” Randall yelled through the thin walls before muttering, “Who the hell eats rice every goddamn morning anyhow?” Three months since moving to Japan by order of his parents and the 18 year-old still wasn't used to very much. The sounds, the food, the people; to a normal person these things might have been wondrous--but not to him.

 

I would kill for a goddamn Egg Mc Muffin.

 

Randall looked for his clothes, slipping a white t-shirt with a large star on the front of it over his head and then locating his diesel wash jeans before leaving the small cube which was his bedroom. The smell of natto wafted up his nose, that sickly fermented sweet smell that rolled his stomach. It was amazing how the fermented soy bean and rice mixture over powered the smells of oil and rust from the scrap yard his uncle owned and lived beside.

 

Walking barefoot across the tatami floor, Randall plopped down in front of the table and stared at the steaming bowl of natto and rice. His “uncle”, Kyosuke Shimura; sat across from him--already polishing off the last bits of his food. Of course, the 40-something year-old human man wasn't really Randall's uncle. Instead it was an old family friend who the parents thought would be best suited to watching over Randall after his “incident”.

 

“Eat up, Aa-kun! You need your strength today! Much work is to be done!” His uncle declared with that cheeky grin of his. Old coot, making me do all the work around here. The arrangement was, Randall lives with his “uncle” and works in the scrap yard, junking old cars. Of course, Randall was paid a decent amount for the heavy labor--so it was a fair trade. It kept him in Golden Bat cigarettes as well as driving school. “Big day today! Work and then you get your license, you must be happy!”

 

Randall picked at his food, not taking much interest in it. What did interest him was the thought of being able to drive once more. Driving school in Japan was tough, and having a track record that was less than stellar when it came to driving didn't help matters any. Still; Randall passed all the exams and would be driving once more. Now he just needed a car. Uncle didn't have one, hell; the old man rarely left the grounds of Shimura Salvage. The huge lot was filled with rusting hunks of crashed cars and Randall still hadn't explored all of it.

 

“Maybe a few more months of working and you can find yourself a small compact, eh?” His uncle set down his bowl and leaned back.

 

“Yea, maybe.” Randall replied, pushing away the morning gruel. He didn't want a compact, he wanted something that revved high, and clipped at over 100mph. Like the Porsche that got him in this mess to begin with; but a car like that was a rare thing in Japan. There were other cars that were just right, Nissan Skylines, Toyota Supras--those were also fast cars; but there was no way he could afford one. 2,499,000 yen for a Nissan Skyline was a little bit out of his range.

 

“Something wrong, Aa-kun? This should be a very happy day for you!”

 

“Oh…umm, nothing really; Uncle.” Randall reached into his jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, popping one in his mouth and lighting it up, inhaling the thick smoke as he rested his elbows on the table.

 

“You know, how about we take the day off and celebrate?” His uncle said with a grin. “We don't have to work every day, we'll proclaim this one as a national holiday, Aa-kun Licensing Day!”

 

“Zah huh?” Randall coughed on his cigarette.

 

“But there is one thing you need to do. A customer wants a carburetor for a Toyota Hiace, I think there's an older one out in the south western part of the yard. Grab that for me and we'll take the rest of the day off and go to the licensing center, maybe even rent you a car for the day. What do you say to that?”

 

Randall sat there, dumbfounded for a moment. He was going to able to drive today, without a damn instructor yelling in his ear; by himself.

 

“Su--sure thing uncle.”

 

Shimura Salvage Yard

 

This had been one of those areas that Randall hadn't yet explored of the salvage yard, usually he would be taking out glass parts and emptying fuel tanks of cars that were to be crushed in the compactor near the center of the lot. It was a slight bit chilly, even in May--so Randall wore a black Adidas jacket and moved through the lot wearing a pair of ratty sneakers.

 

Most of the vehicles in the lot were wrecks, used mostly as parts for other vehicles. Usually consisting of utility vehicles like the Toyota Hiace which he searched out, though now and then a really nice car would show up. Last week a flat bed hauled in what was left of dark grey Mazda RX-7 Spirit R Type A, a fine car indeed if it hadn't been in a major accident that literally sheared off the front end of the car and killed the driver. He had spoken to the hauler about it, he said some young woman was doing illegal street racing up on Mt. Akina and swerved to miss some local wildlife; causing the car to spin out of control and be hit by another coming uphill.

 

At least there was racing around here.

 

Randall scanned the south west portion of the salvage yard, looking for the Hiace. Finally, between the wrecks of a 2000 Nissan Cefiro and a 1995 Suzuki Cultus, he found the white mini-bus. As he neared the vehicle, something else caught his eye. Off to the right was another vehicle, this one covered by a weather beaten grey tarp. Even under the tarp, he could make out the lines of something sleek and unusual.

 

Hrm, that's odd--I wonder why that one's covered up?

 

Ignoring his present duty, Randall made his way to the covered vehicle. He grabbed the tarp and started to collect it in his arms. Slowly, he revealed a dark blue car; the badging on it displaying a Nissan logo as well as a Silver “Z”. The tires were missing, the car sitting up on blocks. Aside from the windshield having a soccer ball sized hole through it which spider-webbed the glass, it was in immaculate condition. The paint still glimmered in the sun and there was no rust anywhere to be seen.

 

Curious, Randall decided to inspect further. He paced around the car, taking note that this was for sure not an original--there was a body kit and after market muffler attached. It reminded him of the RX-7 of last week, someone's modified racer; but this one didn't look like it had any reason to be sitting in the back of a scrap yard. Randall checked the driver's side door, unlocked.

 

Driving in Japan was a little difficult for the young canine, as most if not all vehicles were right hand drivers; much different than back in the states. At driving school he quickly overcame this handicap and found him self actually more comfortable driving in this fashion. He stepped into the right hand side and sat in the red racing seat, pushing the four point harness away to get more comfortable.

 

Wait, the keys are still in it. Hanging from the steering column was a “Z” key chain, attached to the key which was still in the ignition.

 

Heh, doubt this thing still runs. No way since it's sitting in this dump. But he had to try. Reaching for the key and pressing in the clutch with his foot, Randall started the car.

 

The sound which erupted from the Nissan startled him. It was loud, a roar of some ferocious beast that suddenly came to life. The car shook upon the blocks as Randal revved the engine a few times, the sound filling him with a type of unrequited excitement; a sound so primal that when it shook the car the glove box flopped open with a loud clunk. Quickly, Randall shut off the ignition and reached to shut the glove box, noticing that a sheet of paper fell out.

 

He reached for the fallen object, right away noticing that it was smeared in rust brown.

 

Is this blood?

 

He wondered, as he studied the paper. Randall unfolded it, seeing a bit more dried blood on the inside and a hand scrawled note in Japanese. Though his uncle spoke in perfectly good English, Randall was proud that he learned Japanese through an after school class back in the States. His reasoning was that anime was cool, and that class happened to have a lot of hot chicks. Stupid at the time, but now he was glad he took it considering where he lived now.

 

To whom it may concern, when you get this note I want this car to be scrapped. This car is cursed, taking three lives and now my own. Whatever happens, do not sell this car again; I was a fool thinking I could tame the Devil's Z…

 

“Akuma no Z…” Randall repeated the words again, liking the sound of it.

 

…this car has caused me nothing but heart break and disaster; please make sure it is destroyed.

 

There was a signature at the bottom, but Randall couldn't make it out with the blood. Did the person who owned this car write a death note after a crash?

 

No, that's stupid. Probably some idiot prank.

 

Randall crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it under the seat. So, the Akuma no Z ran; and it was already worked on a lot by the sounds of it.

 

Screw a compact, I already found a car.

 

Randall grabbed the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him and just looking at the beast. She needed some work, new tires, but it would be a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to buy a car. He walked around it, touching the blue body with his paw;

 

The Devil's Z, Akuma no Z…we're going to fix you up proper and get you back on the streets where you belong. Cursed, feh. You just haven't been driven by R Dash; the demon of the streets.

 

To be Continued.