[h2]Steven Diggs[/h2]
"The hell is this shit?!" Steve yelled at his TV.

Upon first arriving in Neo-Tokyo, he'd managed to obtain a warehouse through a creative exchange of parts and services. The former owner's refrigerator now cooled to -20F, a truly legendary feat obtained only through use of an old soup can, a roll of paper and some duct tape. The warehouse was cold, a bit leaky, and had barely any living space, but it had enough room for two cars and all the tools Steve could store. It was shitty, but it was a good start.

He'd had zero luck tracking down some Pure American Muscle, though, and that annoyed him. One does not drive anything but a Dodge Charger when wanting to make an impression. The warehouse had come with an old beat up Toyota Sprinter in the shittiest white and black colour scheme, but it was falling to bits. A junker. Damn thing's engine didn't even start when the key was turned. Two weeks later, though, Steve had gotten it purring. It wasn't American and it looked like dirt, but it could pull sick drifts and that was what was important.

But I digress. In the cold warehouse with the solid floors and the ratty furniture, Steve was watching a pterodactyl man harass little children on an old CRT TV that smelled like smoke. I mean, of all the things to pick on, it had to be children. Where was the challenge? Children don't fight back! How lame!

And the ad breaks! Fuck! They were worse than the constant OHAI, SUROBEYU NING NONG TANGAYESHIMAAAAAAAAAAS that constantly flooded his small living space whenever Sensei Gattou Ranger Heart Love Seven was on break! Who the hell had hijacked his broadcasting?

Fuck this. Steve was mad. He threw a crinkled up can of PBR, Nectar of the Gods at the TV set and resolved to go down to the school and beat the shit out of this dick-ass pterodactyl, partially to let off some steam, and partially because ain't no one try and prove how mighty they are through children punting, yo! He threw Annabelle, his beloved pipe wrench slash warhammer into the passenger seat, followed up shorly by his toolbox. Then he hopped in the driver's side, turned the ignition, and listened with satisfaction as the engine roared like a much larger car. Putting in that PVC through the intake manifold had done wonders. The radio, crackly but functional, blasted out the glorious ZZ Top at a volume level some might consider offensive. But it was American, and that was what counted.

Steve rolled out of the garage, making sure to get out and lock up first, before violating every known road safety law in Japan and blasting on down the highway like a bat out of hell, the poor stricken Sprinter being flung sideways almost entirely on a whim. There was no such thing as 'too fast' in Steve's vocabulary. There was only 'Stop' and 'Balls To The Wall.'

"GIMME ALL YO' LOVIN', ALL YO' HUGS N' KISSES TOO!" Steve belted out as he tore down the highway like a car possessed, slewing between traffic. For some reason, he always used his indicators. Weird. Once off the highway and into the suburbs, though, he slowed down. He saw something strange.

"Th'fuck?" Steve said as he idled past a burning building. As a stranger in a strange land, he did what any American would do, deciding to enforce the true power of his American Heritage(TM) on these crazy foreign bastards who thought a restaurant would serve as an acceptable bonfire. He pulled over and pulled out the tiny, tiny device that served as a cellular telephone in this country. With difficulty, as the buttons were tiny, he typed in 911. No response. What the fuck? Then he remembered.

"Oh right, y'all jackasses are BACKWARDS!" he did declare as he typed in 119. This time, it rang, and before the person on the other end could speak, he was talking.

"Y'all mawfuggas git yo ass down to dat ol' Chuck-E Cheese on corner o' Nip Nong an' Ching Chong street. Shit's on fire, yo."

Thankfully, Steve wouldn't need to be translated from American to Japanese, or indeed provide any more information than there is in fact a fire. He noticed at least four other bystanders calling in the very same incident, probably with a lot more information than his limited language skills would permit. He ignored the yammering of Japanese in his ear and added a bit more pertinent information.

"An' y'all prob'ly wanna git yo police force down there 'cuz dat fire prob'ly started by some dumb mawfugga, y'dig?"

His job done, Steve hung up and drove sedately at breakneck pace towards the school. He had a pterodactyl motherfucker to beat up.