The Writers' Circle

When Tokio Ozaka began his enterprise in a threadbare room with a few bottles of aspirin, people were laughing. But since those humble beginnings he had become one of the most instantly recognisable names in all of Japan. 
It was only a matter of time before someone would tap into one of Japan's most popular past times, that of suicide, and the man to spot the gap in the market was Ozaka. He rented his room in a rundown part of Tokyo, namely the Sushito neighbourhood and let it out to people who needed a private space to end their lives. From these humble beginnings grew an empire that culminated in a luxurious liner, which boasted the famous Klub Kamakazi. 
Ozaka worked hard to make his dream a success. He acquired more rooms and eventually moved operations to the affluent Yakamtaki neighbourhood near the emperor's palace. Here he had a variety of rooms, with gimmicks like "The Plunger", a dark shaft where suicides could jump down, a room with a loaded shotgun and another room for drinking aspirin, which a method now dubbed the Classic Suicide. 
This was also the period when Ozaka started having run-ins with the police. Making money out of suicides was considered disreputable and even the emperor became involved when he condemned Ozaka. Ozaka might have had to suspend operations was it not for the death of his father, a billionaire Sumo wrestling impresario who choked to death on a piece of sushi and left him his fortune. That was when Tokio Ozaka bought the delisted military ship and turned it into his luxury suicide paradise that he anchored just outside territorial waters. Soon people were ferried to the vessel from ports all over Japan and the phrase "Uzuki maka zuki", literally translated as "just going down to the club" acquired an entirely new meaning. 
The club boasted unrivalled luxury. Although the Classic Suicide remained popular - it was now hosted in a room with champagne for washing down the aspirin, a large queen bed, wall to wall carpets, large mirrors and a sound system - the club hosted a wide amount of other ways in which to end it all. 
For those adventurous souls who wanted to part with the living, there was the "Safari Suicide" experience, a large hall with exotic plants, marshes and pits where you could be devoured by wild animals of your choice, including lions, Siberian tigers, crocodiles and various bears. So, if you fancied being trampled by elephants or devoured by a genuine Burmese Python, this would be the room for you.
Another popular suicide was one for history enthusiasts. Here you had a choice between the self operated guillotine, a firing squad with robots firing muskets, and an old fashioned electric chair. A further extension of this theme was the torture chamber, fitted out with anything from an iron maiden, a stretching machine, Chinese water torture apparatus that dripped acid instead of water, and numerous other ingenious machines and contraptions professionally researched and assembled to provide maximum satisfaction. 
Japanese styled services included being whipped to death by young geishas, being chopped up by a samurai sword or having a sumo wrestler fall on you from a platform. You could also dine yourself to death on the exquisitely delicious spindly pufferfish cooked by chefs not trained in removing its deadly poison. 
The cheaper suicide options included being thrown into the shark infested waters, jumping off the mast or being ripped to shreds by the ships propellers. However, the "Deluxe Death Suite" provided a luxurious scene for your final moments. Even here you had a number of options, ranging from shocking yourself to death in a bathtub playing electrical guitar to scalding yourself dead in a Jacuzzi or sauna. 
Other ways included encasing yourself in a block of cement. This way your family ended up with a memento. You also had the option of being thrown overboard with your feet embedded in cement blocks. This was also one of the cheaper options. But despite several affordable options, the club catered for the rich and famous. This put the club at odds with the community in which it was founded, where locals complained that Ozaka had forgotten his roots. These complaints were mostly muted, since all the club's old customers were of course dead. 
Through the years Ozaka became incredibly rich and some may argue, quite narcissist. He put in plan a scheme so tremendous, so awesome, so unbelievable, that it would secure his name forever in the annals of history. He planned the grandest, most spectacular, most glorious mass suicide the world had ever seen with himself as the star attraction. He was to replicate the flight of Japan's most famous fighter pilot, Makko Mazako and crash his aeroplane, filled with deadly explosions into his ship bringing to a close a grandiose suicide party held on deck. The ship itself was to be laden with astronomical amounts of explosions and the scene was set. This is how it unfolded:
Ozaka ripped out the inside of his ship and filled it with so much explosives that he needed helium filled balloons attached to the ship's body to keep it afloat. He went as far as buying a huge payload of enriched plutonium from the French government as well as some other countries' entire stocks of dynamite and explosives, which he crammed into the ships body. 
Ozaka worked hard to make sure his big day would be a success. He even learned how to fly the Japanese Muzzuka fighter plane from the Second World War and he calculated minutely how he would achieve maximum impact. 
A carnival atmosphere reigned on the sunny day chosen for the occasion. Loud music played as the suicide crowd danced themselves into a frenzy. Yours truly was aboard a specially leased boat anchored about twenty sea miles away, a distance we perceived to be safe.
At round about ten to twelve, the Muzzuka fighter appeared in the sky. It was flying at about 250 knots per hour, limping slightly to the starboard side. Something was wrong with the aircraft or the pilot. It was struggling to reach its target. On board the ship, the chief officer, not unlike us, was holding his breath watching through a looking glass. The aircraft, heavy with ammunition was quickly beginning to bank steeply. It was coming in from a thirty degree right angle. The crowd, oblivious, trancelike, and mad with excitement, was dancing and swaying to the music. The fighter plane was coming in, descending sharply, but trying to claw its way above the thin stratus clouds. The crew of the ship held their breath, the crew on our observation deck held our breath, the crowd danced, and still the Muzzuka, struggling gamely with its excessive payload, came. 
It dipped beneath the clouds, banking 45 degrees. It was less than a kilometre away from its target, but only about 300 metres above the surface of the water. The twin prop's starboard engine failed raising the noise of the port motor to a tremendous screech, like a monster mosquito. The pilot became visible through my looking glass. Now I could only focus on the plane as it struggled to remain airborne. I saw Ozaka's head bob frantically as he thrashed about with the controls: he was seconds away from glory or utter failure. The plane closed in, 700 metres, 600 hundred. 500 hundred, but it was flying perilously low above the waves, to my estimate only about 90 metres or so and descending fast. I afforded the crowd a brief, final glance before destiny and saw that they were unaware of what was happening, they were fully under the spell of death. The ship's crew, having dispensed of their looking glasses were ashen and marble faced, as they stood in deadly silence staring at the approaching plane.
Then, the port engine failed and the fighter entered a spiral, a graveyard spiral. Its momentum carried it forward, but only just. It was two hundred metres away from its target, but was only forty metres above the water. It was impossible to see the expression on the pilot's face, but he must have thought that he had failed, when suddenly, unbelievably, one of the engines sputtered into life, steadying the plane slightly and lifting it about 20 metres higher. It was fifty metres away from its target, but suddenly the engine stopped and the plane plunged. It appeared as if it would land thirty metres short, but a final, grinding burst from an engine lifted the plane to about 10 metres above the water and it ultimately crashed 20 metres from its target. 
This, however, was good enough. The forward momentum bounced the plane off the water's surface and straight into the heart of the ship. Needless to say, Tokio Ozaka was instantly vaporised as one of the most powerful explosions ever reduced the ship and its passengers to nothing but fragments and shards.  The explosion caused a tsunami that made our own vessel bob around on it like a piece of cork on the surf. The tsunami ended up killing several people on nearby islands and caused extensive damage. Falling debris rained down for miles around and a glass eye imbedded itself into our boat mate's forehead, causing his instant death. Thus ended the existence of the famous Klub Kamakazi and the eccentric reign of its god, Tokio Ozaka.   

Travel Correspondent
Chazz Champion