Sex. Killing. Cigarettes.
Sex. Killing. And cigarettes. Those are the things I'm good at. The things I'm bad at? Well, relationships for starters. I would tell you to ask my ex-boyfriend, but that would sort of be, like, impossible considering I killed him. But don't think I'm a psychopath or anything. It was a valid kill. He turned into a zombie... and well... goodbye sweetheart.
Like I said, I'm bad at relationships. Good at killing. My name's Saeko Sakaguchi and to the rest of the world I'm known better as Princess Gangster, leader of the Yakuza, victor over the Blood Queen, sovereign ruler of a fallen city, and world renowned monster slayer.
But that's not why I'm writing this damn journal. What I really needed to say ... what I really need to tell you... well, it can wait until I finish my cigarette. But when I do, I promise you, the creepy whacked out $#!t I'm about to tell you will have your skin crawling and you locking your doors. But first things first.
Shit. I singed another hole in my favorite skirt. The navy blue with green plaid stripes. I may have to take smoking off the list of things I do well. Shit, shit, shit. But hell, I still can blow a goddamn magnificent smoke ring.
At any rate, the reason I am writing this diary is because my friend Alyssa Briggs, yes that Alyssa Briggs, the same Alyssa Briggs who helped reclaim Hawaii and is currently hunting down the dead-heads of the great northern territories in what used to be the Western United States. She too keeps a diary. Diaries are important. Perhaps more now than ever. She reminded me as much before I left the scorched wasteland of the Northwestern frontier after we defeated the Blood Queen together. After all, everything you could ever wish to know about the devastating effects of the Resurrection virus and the subsequent zombie plague was written down in her diary, and well, that’s a bit of history right there.
History. Stories. That’s what diaries are about. People's stories. Personal ones. Some of them good. Some bad. Some of them painful. Every so often some of it meaningful. Inspiring. But mostly, mostly its meaningless drivel. Irrelevant trivialities which all detail the banal existence of a stranger whose life is so unimportant that we would never consider it special if it weren't for the surrounding events which make life so unpredictable. That's the best part of diaries, after all, the twists and turns, the shock of unfortunate events, and the surprise of unforeseen revelations.
Writing a diary is just one small way of making yourself immortal. Once you've shuffled off this mortal coil and are long gone, it will remain. It will always be there, waiting to be cracked open by some curious soul. Someday, some wanderer will chance upon it perched on some unassuming shelf in some rundown home collecting dust. In that following moment in which they dust off the cover and turn to that first page, you are reborn.
That's the power of stories--and don't you dare forget it.
You see, that’s the thing I wanted to tell you. We’re all just stories in the end. And this is mine. This is the story of how I became the head of the Yakuza, Princess to an entire Island, and leader of the zombie resistance of Tokyo.
It's hot. Forty degrees in Tokyo. Hell, you can see my underwear through my sweat soaked white shirt, but that doesn't matter. I'm currently perched high above the city on a maintenance catwalk high up on the Tokyo Tower. Bellow me are a dozen moaning zoms with their pallid fingers clawing desperately up at me. They smell my perspiration They smell dinner. Luckily I'm high enough up that their moans are faint and barely perceptible. No threat to me now. For now I can relax. Which is why I'm smoking another cigarette while writing.
Honestly I don't know what to write. So I'll just start off with your typical small chitchat. Today was a stereotypical slash and bash exercise. The goal is to use the strength of the clan to isolate pockets of the monsters and, using spiked baseball bats, chainsaws, and choke wire, bind them, blitzkrieg attack them, and then, well, you guessed it: slash and bash. It's a good way to let the boys blow off some steam. Some of them still seem a little bit bitter toward me regarding the fact that I overthrew their warlord and now they have to answer to a girl. But they learned quick enough not to ever question my authority. The first and last person who did that, well, let's just say he won't be walking anytime soon.
Oh, you thought I was going to be all sweet and innocent, didn't you? Don't let my being 21 years old or the fact that I look amazing in a skirt fool you. I don't take shit from anyone. Especially barbarians with low level I.Q.s and a penchant for violence. Give them an inch and they'll take everything you got--including your life. But rule them with an iron fist and they'll be eating out of the palm of your hand. Here in Japan it's about honor and respect. And what trained killers respect most is authority. Without it, they'd devolve into mad animals and kill each other off in petty territorial disputes. It's in their best interest that they find a leader--someone to guide them--rule over them. Keep them from devouring themselves.
You may be wondering how a teenage girl like me got promoted to the top ranks of the Yakuza? Well, it's like this, they had a real evil son-of-a-bitch master known as Ijin Gen. He was gunning for control of all of Tokyo after the outbreak of the Resurrection virus. But he was defeated by a warrior known throughout the land as 'The Dark Angel.' Yes, I've met her. Don't act shocked. She's real.
After his humiliation, he came to me with a proposition of a partnership. But you see, this sick, twisted, son-of-a-bitch had my boyfriend killed, and so of course, in my mind ... when your lover's killer offers you a spot by his side you don't say no. You say yes, and then you kill the mother fracker. So as you probably expected, I gladly accepted his proposition, then at the first chance I got, I cut his mother frakking head off with my sword.
As a consequence of my brash decision I had the unfortunate happenstance to inherit the title of Japan's new warlord, and as my bonus I received an entire army of cold blooded killers who were honor bound--by their own sacred rules--to bend their knees to me. But I'm making the best of it. After all, when you're a second class citizen to the zombie scourge, it never hurts to have an army of ruthless killers on your side.
Tomorrow I’m meeting a dear old friend of mine. Someone who helped change my life forever. Someone I’ll be eternally indebted to. A person I have loved more than life itself. And the worst part of it all is, tomorrow I will be forced to kill them. But that’s tomorrow.
My name is Saeko Sakaguchi, and I am writing to you from the ruins of Tokyo. If you don’t hear from me again, it’s because I’m dead. If you do hear from me again, then I can honestly say that it’s been a good day— for the both of us.
August 13, 2019 Zombie Era (Z.E.)