It’s a curious thing, researching your own death.
Which, once the inevitable disorientation of his post- mortem rebirth had passed, was the first thing Tokyo did once he had returned from oblivion to the land of the (almost) living.
He even had a copy of the crime scene photographs, very grisly, not the kind of keepsake one would normally hang onto but they still held a macabre fascination for him, even after all these years they never failed to illicit a shiver down the spine.
He had been originally prompted to do all this by the dream of the final moments of his mortal life.
The before, to this after.
It always began the same, the caress of a gentle breeze on his face as he drifted off to sleep and with it the smell of freshly rain soaked streets.
Then came the shouts and tha
