Mudcock’s Tokyo Penthouse
A golden skyline stretched beyond the massive glass walls of Rupert Mudcock’s penthouse—a shrine of power perched atop the Shibuya skyline. Inside, everything gleamed: gold-trimmed furniture, expensive marble flooring, and a hanging chandelier that looked like it could power Tokyo for a week. Classical music played softly beneath the hum of an air purification system imported from Switzerland.
Then came the knock.
Not a polite tap, but a thud-thud-thud like the fist of a man who had never once waited to be invited in. Rupert sighed and turned from the window just as the doors burst open—no announcement, no security warning. The elevator had been overridden.
And there stood LuLu Biggs, all 600 pounds of swagger and menace, wrapped in a black leather duster with a fur collar, gold chains dancing across his barrel chest. Behind him, a gaggle of Tokyo’s finest escorts filtered in like a technicolor storm—heels clicking, perfume clouding the air, laughter already bouncing off the walls.
Rupert Mudcock: Jesus Christ. You come here to talk strategy or to start a brothel in my foyer?
LuLu Biggs: I talk business and pleasure, baby. But don’t worry, these ladies just here to keep the tension off my shoulders. The real heat gon’ come from me.
He sauntered in like he owned the place, the floor groaning beneath his weight. One of the girls—Yuki, in a pink vinyl kimono—curled herself around his arm like a cat claiming territory.
Rupert Mudcock: You’re late.
LuLu Biggs: Fashionably, my man. Yakuza has been on my fat ass since I put Nakamura in the hospital. I can’t walk a straight path anywhere these days. Ain’t like I got teleportation jutsu or some shit.
Rupert eyed him coolly, hands in the pockets of a robe that cost more than most people’s rent.
Rupert Mudcock: Word is Yamamoto is demanding blood after what you did to Nakamura. And Kenzo Takahashi is gunning for you. Watch your back out there big man they want you off the board before this match takes place and maybe permanently this time.
LuLu Biggs: They shoulda have finished the job the first time. Now? I’m comin’ with vengeance in my lungs and a blade in my teeth. This ain’t just a match, Rupert. This a funeral procession with me drivin' the hearse.
Rupert Mudcock: You’ve got Takuma Sato, Chuluun Bold, and Drake Nygma. You think those three can hold the line against Tanaka’s group of monsters?
LuLu Biggs: Sato? He’s a God damn weapon. Chuluun? He don’t look so hot these days, but if you can figure out what the issue is, he’s a fucking beast in the ring. Nygma? Well, he won the Ronin Rumble, didn’t he? We don’t need to hold the line. We just gotta drag their ass through it and I think we're more than mutha’ fuck’in capable.
Rupert said nothing for a moment, studying LuLu like he was a warhead someone had mistakenly armed in a living room.
Rupert Mudcock: Don’t get sloppy. You performed well at the Ronin Rumble—but you ran out of gas by the end.
LuLu Biggs: You sent me in early. I burned hot. Still left bodies stacked like mahjong tiles. I learned my lesson. This time? I’m goin’ in slow, methodical… like death in a silk robe.
Yuki poured him a drink. LuLu sipped, eyes never leaving Rupert’s.
Rupert Mudcock: Just don’t disappoint men. We need this win. I’m trying to put this AAPW rivalry to bed.
LuLu Biggs: Shit… we're gonna put it to bed, alright. Six feet under.
LuLu Biggs lumbered toward the velvet couch like a man who’d just conquered a city—dropping into it with a wheeze that shook the glass on the coffee table. His ho entourage drifted toward the minibar like butterflies to flame, giggling, pouring drinks, lighting cigarettes. One of them switched the music to a low synth trap beat without asking.
Rupert Mudcock didn’t blink. He simply adjusted the gold-rimmed cuffs of his robe and turned back toward the skyline.
Rupert Mudcock: Nakamura’s still pissing through tubes, you know.
LuLu Biggs: That motha’fucka lucky he pissin’ at all.
LuLu leaned back, spreading those 600 pounds across the couch like he was trying to leave a permanent imprint.
LuLu Biggs: He thought that lil’ bullet was gon’ be the end’a Big Lu. Thought wrong. I let that fool think he was safe. Followed his ass through half a dozen noodle bars and low-rent whorehouses ‘fore I set the trap. Now he ain’t walkin' right, talkin’ right, or pissin’ straight. Got nurses pullin’ catheters like they shiftin' gears in a Tokyo drift.
Yuki giggled from the bar, holding up a shot like a toast.
Yuki: Cheers to piss tubes!
LuLu Biggs: Sho' you right, baby.
Rupert cracked half a smirk, then crossed to a high-tech panel embedded in the wall. With a swipe, security footage lit up—a still shot of Nakamura being wheeled into a private hospital ward two weeks back. Eyes swollen shut. IVs in both arms. A bandage wrapping his midsection like a failed mummy job.
Rupert Mudcock: And now Kenzo wants your head in a glass case.
LuLu Biggs: Then he better bring ten more boys and a crane. ‘Cause I’m still breathin’, still walkin’, and still fuckin’. That bullet didn’t kill me, it just taught me where not to get shot next time.
He took a swig of whiskey, then tapped his temple.
LuLu Biggs: I’m playin’ chess now, Rupe. Big-ass, Big Brain moves. Kenzo gon’ come for me? I already know what alley, what time, and what shoe he steppin’ with first.
Rupert Mudcock: So you’re ready for war.
LuLu Biggs: Naw… this ain’t war. This personal. Ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a fat man with a grudge and a crew full of hoes who know how to reload.
A pause.
Then Rupert turned, finally showing the hint of a grin—cool, knowing.
Rupert Mudcock: You’d better deliver, Biggs. If Tanaka’s team wins at Saturday Night Showdown, this whole operation tilts. Yamamoto gets bolder. AAPW solidifies its foothold in Japan. My plans? My money? My market share? All at risk.
LuLu Biggs: I ain’t losin’, Rupert. You got Takuma—the silent storm. Chuluun—the mad horse. Nygma—dark soul wit' gold in his eyes. And you got me—LuLu fuckin’ Biggs. We ain’t showin’ up to wrestle… we showin’ up to make a statement.
He stood again, all towering power and arrogance.
LuLu Biggs: Tanaka wanna play games? I’m bringin’ the Game Over screen.
Yuki took his arm again. The rest of the girls gathered behind like a glitter-drenched army.
Rupert Mudcock: Just remember—chess, not checkers.
LuLu Biggs: Baby… I’m playin’ Go.
With that, the King of Pimps turned, coat flaring behind him like a cape, and strode toward the penthouse elevator—his battalion of beauties in tow.
The door slid shut.
Rupert stood alone, staring out at the Tokyo skyline as the city blinked beneath him.
Rupert Mudcock (to himself): Just don’t end up dead before the bell rings.
Location: Rooftop Garage
The rooftop garage glowed under sodium lights, casting a rust-orange haze across a sea of polished steel and Tokyo neon. But only one car mattered tonight: a jet-black 1978 Diesel Mercedes-Benz 300D, decked out with gold trim, crushed velvet seats, and fuzzy dice that probably cost more than a Tokyo apartment.
The chrome hood ornament sparkled like a crown jewel under the city lights. Inside, the subwoofer hummed with the distant promise of bass. And standing beside it, like a general admiring his warhorse, was LuLu Biggs—600 pounds of vengeance wrapped in leather and gold.
LuLu Biggs: Now that’s a motherfuckin’ ride. German engineering wit' Detroit soul.
Yuki slid her hand along the hood like it was a lover’s chest.
Yuki: You waxed it again, didn’t you?
LuLu Biggs: Baby, I don’t just wax it—I bless it. This whip holy.
The ho entourage climbed in, giggling and sliding across plush upholstery. LuLu dropped into the driver’s seat with a thud that made the shocks groan in protest. He didn’t care. He turned the ignition with a grin.
The diesel engine roared to life, coughing smoke like a dragon with a hangover. Funky bass thumped from the custom sound system, shaking the ashtray loose.
LuLu peeled out of the garage with the slow confidence of a man who didn’t need to rush to make an entrance. He already was the entrance.
They cruised past Shibuya Crossing, past salarymen wobbling on bikes and couples stumbling out of ramen joints. LuLu lit a cigar the size of a baby’s arm, rolling the window down just enough for the smoke to escape into the electric madness of the city.
LuLu Biggs: I got one hand on the wheel, one hand on destiny, and both middle fingers for the motherfuckers who doubted me.
The girls laughed. Champagne cork popped. The stereo shifted to his custom remix of Curtis Mayfield meets UGK.
Then—
WHEEEEERRRRRRRRR
Sirens.
One ambulance. Then another. A firetruck, lights blazing. Two black-and-whites screaming past.
Yuki: That’s… a lot of sirens.
LuLu Biggs: Eh. Tokyo busy tonight.
But the closer they got to the waterfront… the thicker the smoke in the air. Not cigarette smoke. Not nightclub haze.
Real smoke.
And then—turning the corner onto his street—the skyline twisted in flame.
The Bigg House was on fire.
Not a little fire. Not a kitchen accident.
A full-blown inferno—red and gold tendrils licking the heavens, glass exploding outward like shrapnel, firehoses struggling to contain it. The club sign—BIGG HOUSE in pulsing neon—crashed down in a shower of sparks.
LuLu Biggs (quietly): …what the fuck?
He slammed the brakes.
The Mercedes screeched to a halt across the street from the chaos. Cops were pushing crowds back. Firefighters were shouting in Japanese. A second explosion rocked the upper floors, sending a shower of embers into the night sky like fireflies on meth.
LuLu got out slowly. Not yelling. Not crying. Just staring.
Yuki: LuLu... is this—
LuLu Biggs: Nah. This a message.
He stepped forward, the glow of the flames reflecting off his sunglasses. One of the fire chiefs tried to wave him back—LuLu didn’t even look his way.
LuLu Biggs: This Kenzo’s doin’. Motherfucker think he can erase me? Think he gon’ burn my house down and leave me standin’?
He clenched his fists, the knuckles cracking like gunshots.
LuLu Biggs: He forgot somethin’.
Yuki tilted her head.
Yuki: What’s that?
LuLu Biggs: Fire don’t destroy a king. It forge him.
The flames raged behind him as LuLu stood in the heat, unmoving. A silhouette of wrath.
LuLu Biggs: And now? Now I ain’t just comin’ to fight. I’m comin’ to finish.