The One and Only... Justice Knight!

@inkfast

Though the Hinterwelt colony wasn’t exactly a one-to-one replica of his hometown, Kazami found that, on occasion, the patchwork city had a strange way of intersecting with it.  And, while he certainly had been looking for model kits within its slab-themed crafts shop, well… He didn’t exactly expect to find any, let alone a dusty-looking Gouf sandwiched between two seemingly-British World War II-era cruiser tanks.  It certainly was no Zaku, but Kazami was over the moon—literally and figuratively. Clutching the late 80’s time capsule, as though it would disappear at any moment, he corralled an armful of painting supplies, marched up to the register, and managed to spend nearly the rest of his month’s allowance.  Not that it mattered; payday was tomorrow.

The walk home—to his new home—seemed to stretch on for hours.  The streets seemed to blur in a haze of loose familiarity and, slowly, the feeling grew that maybe, just maybe… Kazami had gotten lost?  He whisked away the thought immediately; even in the direst of circumstances, his sense of direction had always steered him right!  Yet, deep down, he knew the backroads of the metallic-suburban amalgam had yet to settle into his muscle memory. His surroundings were a mystery to him, whether he liked it or not.  Panic began to set in.  What if… he never made it back? Frantically, Kazami spun around looking for any hint of his dorm.

His expression dropped in exasperation as he realized he was standing directly in front of its entrance. “At least… nobody saw that.” He chuckled in embarrassment, tugging his bags through the front door.   Rummaging through their contents, Kazami began to take stock of his few available paints; one camel yellow, two racing blue, one lavender, one black, and two white.  

“Hmm…” he pondered, staring at the small assortment.  Most of them couldn’t serve as touchup paint for his Justice Knight, that much was certain.  However, the lack of a justice-imbued palette wasn’t the issue.  Picking up one of the containers, he re-read the name ‘Racing Blue.’ Having only used blues for highlights, the term ‘Racing’ meant nothing to him.  “It can’t be much different, can it?”  Curiosity piqued, Kazami twisted the bottle’s cap to take a closer look…

@osamudiezai

The Hinterwelt mall was massive, though to Kazami any strip mall with more than seven stores was considerable in size.  Standing in the entrance, he fumbled with a small plastic bin of neatly arranged guide brochures, affixed beneath a directory of store hours.  It was far from any of their closing times, he’d discerned, so he would have ample time to window shop.

Unfolding the brochure’s three flaps, Kazami was greeted by a bolded headline in bright red text:  ‘STORES HIGHLIGHTED IN YELLOW ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE CHANGE.*’  “Immediate change?”  Confused, he scratched at his neck.  Never had he seen such a headline anywhere, let alone on a mall directory. “What does that even mean? Are they having a hard time keeping stores or something?”  Noting the asterisk at the end of the alert, Kazami’s vision dropped to the bottom of the handout. There, a single footnote read: ‘* - Any patrons found within these storefronts during rotation shall be ejected to avoid any cross-matter collisions!  We apologize for the inconvenience!’  His face contorted, as he leered at the term ‘cross-matter collision.’  A few seconds passed.  “…Eh?” He read the headline again, then the footnote once more.  Again, the footnote.  

“EEEEEEHH!?”  He roared, blatantly unaware of the attention he had placed on himself.  Sputtering, he “Hold on, what does it me-- rotation?  A-and ejection?  How do they eject… collisions?  What does it mean?”  Again, the header.  Again, the footnote.  “What the hell does this mean?”

Ultimately, Kazami decided it meant he was not allowed within five feet of any storefront highlighted in yellow.  Specifically five feet to greaten his chances of not getting levelled by some projectile patron dumb enough to have entered one.  Unfortunately, due to the layout of the mall, this left him with less than a quarter of the available ‘stable’ storefronts.  Reviewing the chickenscratch on his—now modified—brochure, he headed to the first one on his list.

Before Kazami stood an unassuming storefront, adorned in mahogany paint with gold, cursive lettering. A chocolate shop named, ‘Godiva,’ claiming to be ‘more than just chocolate.’  The name wasn’t familiar to him but, hey, it had chocolate and Kazami had some money. Reaching out to the handle of one of its glass doors, he gave a small tug.  The door jittered slightly, but didn’t open.  “Must be a push,” he mumbled, leaning into it.  Again, it the door remained closed only this time, having expected a different reaction, Kazami’s shoulder—followed by his face—plonked against the glass.

@lvnepoet

Initially, Kazami had been lukewarm to the idea of "colony-supplied" food.  Given the size and circumstance of Hinterwelt itself, the term brought mental imagery of factories pumping out low-quality, borderline illegal slop to sate the poor souls trapped within...

Which is why it came as a surprise to him upon learning that, not only were there multiple supermarkets within the colony... but they were normal, too!  Or, rather, as normal as you could expect for Hinterwelt.  Alongside the varied cuts of strange meats and questionable brand-name chips were japanese-native fish and some of his favorite snacks.  And, to top it off, they were (with restrictions) free!  

As if he'd never doubted it in the first place, Kazami picked up a package of the first fish he recognized-- a couple of sea breams-- as well as an assortment of well-pairing vegetables them and a few aforementioned snacks before heading back to his apartment to begin cooking.

Rather, to try to begin cooking.  In his haste, he'd forgotten about his change of living arrangement.  Gone was his grill, in its place stood an electric stovetop and a cast-iron skillet.  Kazami stared at the pair for a long while, knowing full well the two would not mimic his standard cooking environment.  "Well! It's all about confidence, anyway."  He chimed, smiling nervously, while twisting one of the knobs.  In the seconds that passed, the stove neither exploded or seemed to change.  "Maybe it just takes a while while," he thought before turning to fish out a cutting board and knife.

Instead, he was here. Laying comfortably on his bed… with none of his teammates in tow.

Kazami was alone.

…

Kazami was hungry.

That was enough bring him back to his feet; sleep would come later.  Slipping on his jacket, he gave a knock on each of the other doors within his new home, unsure whether he wanted anyone to answer. Ultimately, nobody did, and he left to explore the colony’s dining options.

It didn’t take long for an establishment to pique Kazami’s interest. A few blocks up the road from his apartment was a heaping mass of wooden storefront, adorned in neon, proudly displaying its name: “TEXAS ROAD HOUSE.”  Staring at inappropriately sized cowboy hat spanning the building’s roof, Kazami immediately realized two things:

1.)    He knew nothing about Texas.

2.)    He absolutely had to eat here.

Pushing open one of the double-doors, he scanned the environment.  The walls matched the wooden finish of the eatery’s exterior, adorned with what he assumed to be American(-like?) memorabilia and liquor brands.  Peanuts littered the floor around the sparse number of tables, the limited number making way for a mechanical bull stationed at its core.  Sitting at one of the tables just behind the bull was…

“May?!”  Kazami blinked a few times before realizing: Yes, May was, in fact, in this strange Texas-based restaurant.  Simultaneously, this managed to comfort and confuse Kazami.  Stumbling over himself, he hastily made his way to her table.  “You’re here too!  I’m glad to see you’re safe and…”