|Place of Birth:
|| Yokohama, Japan
|| Late Teens
There was always something different about Michiko Okami. Even as a child, she would take the long way to school, and even longer way home. She had a wisdom about her that came from an experience she would not talk about even to her closest friends. As she grew older, the time between school and home grew longer. However, the love motels knew her well. She was one of the many Loli-chans that understood a level of Japan that no one ever talked about. An eight-year old girl who had taken on a playful business selling her used panties as well as time after school. However, in front of her family and their circle of friends and co-workers, Michiko was the dutiful child. She studied iaijutsu under a famed master, the father of one of her friends learning the art of sword making as well as how to use them. Her perfect disguise, a girl wanting to learn traditional skills, even though they were not traditional for a girl. If only her parents recognized the subtle meaning of this.
As she grew, she became more risque. Michiko started to sneak out at night, heading downtown to the nightclubs. She would party well into the mornings, often barely making it home in time to "wake up" to get ready for school. Torn between the wild nightlife of Yokohama and Tokyo (Akihabara being a particular favorite) and school, she chose the party more often than not. Even riding the train to and from school, Michiko would find her own means of entertainment, becoming a chikan herself as opposed to being the victim of one. The public lewdness was an afront to some of her friends, but none spoke up. Michiko had become a kind of legend upon the secondary school girls she called friends.
There came the night it all ended. There was nothing that could have prepared her for what happened. The heroin was lean, the men were rich, the music loud and her heart was racing. Michiko does not remember awakening. The clouds tasted so sweet. The rainbows danced and laughed. The wolves howled in lustful glee. The end was not a tragic thing. She does not remember dying, merely transferring from the orgy of pleasure into a forge of brass and iron in which she was dipped over and over again.