FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Kabukichō. The infamous red-light district of Tokyo, Japan. Home to countless bars, restaurants, pachinko-parlors, hostess-clubs and, of course, 'bathhouses'. Prostitution is illegal in Japan, but in the bathhouses, you can legally rent a room with a bath – and get a bath-assistant of your choice in the bargain. The 'water-trade', it's called – a legal gray area, and one of many. Hostess-clubs are perfectly legal, of course – all you buy there is some severely overpriced snacks and drinks, and a beautiful femme or two to share them with. If some of those femmes go on after-hours 'dates' with regulars who bought enough expensive champagne during the day, well, that's their business, and no responsibility of the management. The pachinko-parlors can't offer cash prizes due to gambling-laws, but they can let you buy various shiny objects with 'points', and wouldn't you know it, there's a pawn-shop just across the street that'll buy those shiny objects for a set price – and then sell them back to the pachinko-parlor.

Much of this is protected, enabled and supported by the Yakuza, of course – just as they support the other set of 'businesses' that operate within Kabukichō… the ones that don't bother with gray zones, and just goes straight for the black, operating covertly and out of sight as they provide goods and services that are just flat-out illegal. A run-down video-store sells illegal weapons out of the back-room. Porn-stores have hardcore, uncensored videos for sale under the counter, in literally-naked defiance of the country's repressive censorship-laws. Casinos and gambling-houses operate out of mundane buildings, behind unmarked doors, offering a variety of outlawed games with cash on the table – no need for clever contortions to stay on the side of the law, when you're just staying below its radar. Risky, of course, but with the support of the right Yakuza-family, the right palms greased, and a suitable amount of discretion, you can operate profitably for years.

And, of course, there's brothels, too – ones that don't pretend to be bathhouses. Often staffed by femmes from various impoverished corners of southeast Asia, delivered there by people-smugglers – they come looking for a better life, and instead find themselves all but enslaved, forcibly hooked on drugs that their pimps control. They service their johns in dirty, cramped rooms, and see little to none of the profits – enabling their pimps to underbid the more upscale 'bathhouses'. And, as an added bonus, the customers can get away with being a lot rougher with the merchandise there, so long as they don't cause permanent damage. For some, that's a selling-point. Others are just looking to get laid on the cheap and don't care about the rest. Either way, these 'brothels' tend to be small, scummy affairs, visited by small, scummy males. But there is an exception…

Club Inaba – named after a mythological trickster-rabbit – is the most infamous brothel and sex-club in Kabukichō… at least, to those who even know it exists. It started its life as a luxurious nuclear bunker, built in the sub-basement of an upscale office-building by a paranoid real-estate mogul during the Cold War – understandably paranoid, perhaps, seeing as he'd narrowly avoided the bombing of Nagasaki as a young cub. After his death in the early 2000's, the building lost much of its luster – surrounded as it was by newer, fancier, shinier construction – and the bunker beneath was all but forgotten. Until someone saw the potential there… and put it to use.

Now, the remodeled bunker plays host to a level of glitz, luxury and decadence that its original creator, wealthy though he was, could only have dreamed of. The rich and powerful of Tokyo, from legitimate businessmen to underworld kingpins, flock there nightly – down two flights of stairs, past the hulking bodyguard placed there to let any uninvited guests know that this is private property, and into an atmosphere of glamour and debauchery presided over by the club's twin owners: An energetic white rabbit who's always at the forefront of the party, and a reclusive black rabbit who manages the complex web of connections, smuggling-routes, paychecks and bribes that keeps it all afloat. There, amidst fancy, imported liquor, hard drugs and a dance-floor with live music, every kind of sexual service imaginable, and a few most wouldn't imagine, can be purchased… for those with the money to pay for it all, anyway.

________________________________________________________________________________

"Yeah, 'course I know about the place!" Obi remarked sharply. "Haven't been there, 'cuz I'm not some kinda' sicko, but I'm not some ignorant tourist either." He narrowed his eyes at the nondescript fox sitting across from him in the limo. According to his father, this guy was a valuable contact – a true kuromaku, a power-broker with his fingers on the pulse of Tokyo's underworld. But he was also a gaijin, an outsider, and Obi wasn't going to take any disrespect from him. While his father was in prison, the Kamaitachi-gumi was his responsibility – including its dignity as a part of the Inagawa-Kai. Even in private, he needed to maintain that dignity.

The fox, who went by the obviously fake name of Akaiashi – 'Red Paw' – made a warding gesture with his titular extremity… a single, red paw on his otherwise gray fur. "Peace, wakagashira…" he remarked, and Obi had to admit that his Japanese was, at least, flawless. "I merely meant, have you considered the implications of where Club Inaba lies, as they apply to your… expansion-plans?" Obi shrugged, still not understanding what this fox was getting at. "What 'implications'? It'll be within my new territory – so what? It may be fancier than most, but it's still just a brothel – there's several of those on my current turf, all paying their protection-money every month. I expect Club Inaba will be quite profitable, in that regard…"

Akaiashi slowly shook his head. "Ah. I see you are not aware of Club Inaba's… special status. You should know – that club is not currently paying protection-money to the Kodama-gumi, who otherwise hold that territory. For now, I mean. Indeed, while that area has changed hands a few times, Club Inaba has never been part of the bargain. The twin owners of the club handle their own security, and have their own connections and supply-lines. They welcome gokudō patrons, of course, but have no direct links with any family or organization. It's part of how they've stayed operational even as the winds shifted and began pushing the old families out of the region."

Obi rubbed his snout. He had not, in fact, known about any of that. "So those Kodama bastards aren't making one yen off the place, huh?" He mumbled thoughtfully. "That explains a lot. They're even weaker than I thought." The fox – who clearly had very sharp ears indeed – smirked slightly. "They are wounded prey, yes. And Club Inaba is part of the reason. But you are seeing the wrong connection between the two. When the Kodama-gumi first took control of that area, they attempted to exert influence over Club Inaba, demanding protection-money among other things. The owners did not take kindly to their interference. Subsequently, a series of misfortunes befell the group, leading to several high-ranking members getting killed or arrested. The Kodama-gumi have left Club Inaba alone since, but never truly recovered from the wounds they suffered…"

The young Yakuza-prince narrowed his eyes at this. "Valuable information, kuromaku…" he conceded. "Forewarned is forearmed – is that not a saying in the west? When I deal with Club Inaba, I'll know to be careful. Perhaps it is wisest to simply remove these 'owners', and take direct control over the place… if they want to play rough, well, I don't mind showing them how a weasel deals with a pair of rabbits." He grinned, showing his small, razor-sharp fangs, and patted the family emblem sewn into his expensive suit. Two crossed sickles – invoking the myth of the elusive 'sickle-weasels' that supposedly hunted in the mountains of Japan. The Kamaitachi-gumi had always prided themselves on following the example of their Yokai counterpart – move swiftly, move stealthily, and strike with a razor's edge. Those arrogant rabbits would learn to respect that edge, or else lose their heads to it.

________________________________________________________________________________

The Fox sighed, rubbed his head, and glanced up at what little of the night sky one could see among the tall buildings of Tokyo and the bright neon lights of Kabukichō. Obi… that boy was headstrong, proud, willful, and as paranoid as one would expect of someone in his line of work. He was also proving to be remarkably hard to manipulate, requiring a soft touch indeed – his position as, essentially, a 'reigning prince', made him particularly sensitive to any attempts to influence him. With time, the weasel would fall in line, of that the Fox felt certain – his Radiance was strong, well-honed by millennia of use, and he wielded it with the consummate skill of a master fencer. This time, he'd merely come across a… talented youth, whose guard would require some careful feints and well-timed thrusts to penetrate.

Problem was, at this rate he wouldn't have that time. Obi was preparing to stick his head into a wasp's nest – or perhaps rather, a guillotine – and despite his best efforts, he'd failed to dissuade him. If Obi attempted what he was planning, he'd wind up dead, or otherwise removed from the board… the Fox's Foresight left no doubts on that account. And that would mean the failure of the Fox's mission. Intolerable. He was proud of his track-record. He was the one the Master sent to handle the most difficult, complex, and demanding of tasks, and he always accomplished them, without fail. At worst, he'd had to hand in… less-than-elegant successes. Victories that had been more expensive than they needed to be. Even that rankled. To actually, genuinely fail – he could not even conceive of it. But that, unfortunately, left him with only one option…

Grimacing, he turned around and descended the nondescript, unmarked staircase behind the seemingly ordinary office-building. Through a simple, unlocked door, into a basement where various bits of machinery were humming steadily – mostly HVAC stuff and some fuse-boxes, along with the bottom of the building's elevator shafts. A camera whirred back and forth in front of him, featuring an eye-catching little green light on its body – a deterrent for any random homeless people or young would-be vandals who happened to wander in here. Smile, you're on candid camera!

Down a second flight of stairs, his clanging footsteps echoing on the concrete walls. Perforated steel steps – couldn't get much louder if they tried. It was like the modern, more mundane version of the 'nightingale floors' that past generations of Japanese nobles had used to alert them to unwanted visitors… ensuring that nobody was going to sneak up on what lay at the bottom of those stairs. Specifically, a much more robust, armored door – practically an airlock – and a hulking grizzly-bear in workman's cosplay. "Hey, this is private property!" The bear growled up at him as he descended, then seemed to hesitate and furrow his brow as he wondered whether he needed to say it in heavily-accented English too.

"Relax, Kabuto… 's just me. I'm a regular, remember?" The Fox's voice, in perfect Japanese, caressed the bear's ears. Smooth, casual, confident… and now that he thought about it, the guy did look familiar, right? "Oh… sorry Sir… go right in…" he mumbled, leaning back against the wall, blinking slowly. His head felt a bit fuzzy. Long shift. Did he still have some coffee in his thermos? He'd have to check when he was done holding open the heavy entrance-door for this visitor.

The Fox clicked his tongue as he stepped into the club's entryway and coat-check. Using his Radiance in such a fashion wasn't like him. As subtle as a club to the face… more befitting someone like the Lion. Maybe he just wanted to reassure himself that his strength remained undiminished – but if so, that bouncer was a poor target. Incurious and used to taking orders, manipulating him was cub's play. More like, he was just annoyed, and not looking forwards to what came next. He needed to get a handle on that. Always in control, always ten steps ahead… that was the reputation he'd built through thousands of years of hard-earned success, and this was no time to abandon that.

He handed his coat over to the femme at the coat-check – a buck-naked squirrel, who took it with a well-tutored smile. "Careful with the pockets…" he remarked, and she gave an understanding nod as he turned towards the entrance into the club proper. It was lined with velvet, but music could still faintly be heard filtering through it. More importantly, the only way to reach those doors was to walk through an old-school metal-detector – likely purchased from an airport that was looking to upgrade to modern Backscatter X-Ray gear – guarded by a young wolf in a sharp suit and black glasses. In Club Inaba, clothing was optional, but weapons, cameras and smartphones were strictly banned. You left them in the coat-check, or you stayed outside.

The metal-detector made no complaints as the Fox walked through it, and thus, neither did the wolf. The velvet-lined doors opened, and he walked muzzle-first into a blast of heated air, raucous music, and a myriad of scents. Sake, raw fish, cigar-smoke, sweat, the arousal of dozens of different races… it reminded him somewhat of that 'speakeasy' he'd created as part of a mission in the American Midwest, a few decades ago, just with a more Asian twist and a far greater scope. Despite the exclusivity of the club, there were hundreds of people here, and they all seemed to be having a marvelous time.

The Fox shifted his Radiance as he walked through the club, looking around, trying to get a proper feel for the place. From a sword, to a shield – fogging the minds of those who looked in his direction, making their eyes slide off of him. It wasn't invisibility, of course – he'd leave those kinds of parlor-tricks to the Salamander – but it ensured that nobody saw anything more interesting than another nondescript client, and remembered nothing once they looked away. A basic precaution, which was second nature to any true Nephilim… well, except for the Lion, of course. Point was, if it didn't serve your purpose to be noticed, it was best not to.

Didn't take him long to get the basic lay of the land, or at least the main club-room. It was curiously divided, much as Japanese society as a whole was – between the old and the new, with only a row of sound-absorbing baffles and dividers separating the two parts. At the front of the room was something resembling a combination bar, sushi-restaurant and hostess-club. Old males in expensive suits and sometimes masks were enjoying sake, cigars and sushi in the company of beautiful, scantly-clad femmes… only, unlike the many hostess-clubs above, there was nothing hidden about the 'optional extras'. Indeed, some of those lovely femmes could be seen under the tables, busily putting their mouths to better use than talking. At a couple of the longer tables, sushi was being served on living trays – Nyotaimori, they called it around here. The most eye-catching was a rather lovely dolphin-femme, whose smooth, silvery-gray skin provided a grand surface for the exclusive selection of fishy morsels. No doubt, once the meal was done, she'd be the 'dessert' for the handful of grinning businessmen who were currently jabbing her with chopsticks.

Mind, Club Inaba didn't discriminate – and the fact that it was run by a pair of female rabbits meant that femmes felt safe to come here too. Thus, right alongside the old males with graying fur and overpriced suits, were the fading trophy-wives and aging socialites, wearing too much makeup, too much jewelry, and the scars of many a plastic-surgery appointment. Their fur, feathers or scales carefully dyed to maintain past luster, they giggled alongside well-hung young studs who were eagerly pouring their drinks and telling them how beautiful they looked today. Giving them the strength they'd need to return to whatever rich old fart they'd married to maintain their lifestyle…

However, once he moved past the dividers that kept the music down to the point where conversation was still possible, a different clientele came into focus – this, after all, was where most of the sweat-scents came from. A crowded dance-floor before a stage, where a band was playing a high-energy pop-tune – all naked, showing off everything from the drummer's swinging dick to the guitarist's bouncing teats. The dancers were young, virile, vibrant, almost as likely to be female as male, and mostly half-dressed at best – swaying, jumping and cheering, rubbing against each other, kissing messily… this was a place to abandon the decorum that their wealthy parents usually demanded of them. The centerpiece of the performance was the lead singer, though...

---

PREVIEW ENDS. Wanna see more of what Club Inaba has to offer, and how Obi's plans for a hostile takeover might turn out? Then find the full version on my Discord, link is in my profile. Look in the 'Blood of the Nephilim' folder - this one is part of a larger, though somewhat newly-established series.