Bob looked down on the three Nipponese businessmen in front of her. Their eyes were bloodshot read and ringed with the remnants of numerous shots of sake. Shin, the shortest of the trio, had, in fact, imbibed nearly 14 separate shots of soju during diner, and then gone on to accept every drop fo the endless waterfall of sake that accompanied the dessert course.

The dessert had taken the form of a block-long stretch of bars on the southern rim of Tokyo. Now, six hours after the first day of negotiations had closed, Bob and her three business partners were thoroughly trashed and heading back to her hotel room.

Sometime before this point, Bob’s innate female instincts should have kicked in. She should have realized that these three men weren’t interested in a simple cup of coffee. But, alas, the sake was hot, the business spirit was light, and neither party spoke the other’s language.

The elevator took an eternity to reach the 85^th floor, the level upon which Bob’s luxurious business suite sat. While in New York, a suite this size would be considered standard issue, in Tokyo, the 160 square foot room was a palatial estate.

When the thick layered doors of the elevator spread themselves with a bright "ding, Konichiwa," the three Nipponese businessmen and Bob spilled into the hallway with a calamitous laughter. Shin had his own platinum flask filled with more soju, and everyone had had a slash in the lift. They were more drunken than ever, and slowly sputtering towards room 8517. Bob withdrew her key and staggered towards the doorknob. Shin was discussing something in Japanese with his compatriots. Bob couldn’t remember either of their names, but was relatively sure one of them had a name like "Honzo." As she slid the key neatly into the lock, Shin laughed at his own joke and was shortly accompanied by his partners. They both looked like 4^th graders who had shared a muttered dirty word while the teacher wasn’t looking.

Door #8517 flew open and Bob fell to the floor as he weight went out from underneath her. Immediately, Shin pounced on her. His fellow businessmen soon followed, and the three picked her up and whisked her over to the bed.

The door shut quietly, and the room fell silent as the three suited Japanese men set to their task. Shin stood quickly and went to the head of the bed, while the other two produced thin strands of tightly spun rope. They tied Bob’s arms and legs, then lashed her to the bed using sheep-shank knots.

Shin placed a sheet of paper on the wall above the bed and afixed it there with some scotch tape he pulled from his pocket.

The blinds were pulled shut. Someone began playing music from a portable Sony player and speaker set. The three short men began to disrobe. Slowly, little three-piece suits of varying shades of grey were pealed from their bodies. And slowly, it became obvious that these men were not of this earth.

Shin’s body was a pale green, and appeared to be covered in thin fish-like scales. The other two were a darker green, but their scales were cracked and hardened; they looked worn and well traveled.

From the neck down, they were deamons. Tails emerged from well starched slacks. They were long and thick at the base, but thin and fragile looking at the tips. The deamons swayed slowly, and their tails mimicked the movements in opposite directions; it balanced them now. They were no longer staggering drunks: they were supple and horny deamons.

Eyes rolled back into heads, penises waved, and the only remaining clothed inhabitant of the room was being slowly disrobed by the snake-like beings. Shin’s penis flew up the back of Bob’s shirt, suddenly, and rose, violently ripping the shirt off of her. The music began to rise. It was Taiko drums with a low humming chant in the background. It was a very fitting mood.

Soon, Bob lay completely naked upon the soft Shinto-style bed. Above her three scaley penises writhed and twisted, casting lengthy shadows upon the tiny room’s walls. Then, there was a knock at the door.

Eyes rooled back into sockets. Shin looked sideways to his companions. They looked back at him. Penises curled; limbs flailed. Again the knock. Shin ran to the bathroom, serpentine penis dragging behind him on the static-layden carpet. He grabbed a robe, covered himself with it, and headed towards the door.

Slowly, he cracked the door and placed his head in the opening. "Hai?"

With a blur of yellow dotted with black lettering, a full-length school bus burst through the doorway and plowed neatly into the bed, killing Bob instantly. It then proceeded on through the wall and out into the Nipponese skyline, where it plummeted 85 stories to an untimely demise on Hiroshima Way.