Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

The three things that exist in your reality are the porcelain bowl your hands are gripping, the burning pain in your lungs and throat, and the taste of acid in your mouth.

Your lungs squeeze and expand like furnace bellows. Another surge. Your gut works overtime to find some half digested speck of matter to hurl and it finds the last bits of the blood sausage from a couple days ago. The vomitous crawls up your throat in fits and starts. It dribbles past your teeth like water through a drain clog until a spasm knocks it loose. Water from the toilet bowl splatters upwards. It's almost a relief. At least the water is pleasantly cold against your feverish skin.

This has been your life for the past five hours.

God shit it.

Yesterday- was it yesterday? No, yeah, it was yesterday. You've been like this for five hours. Zhi Luolan put a hand to your chest and started pushing against your diaphragm in the rhythm she proscribed you. Didn't seem hard at first. But then…

See that? K2. Uncle again. Grinning like a skull. A sheer white mountain rises above you from your place on the bathroom tiles, having slipped from the kneeling position. This mountain wants to kill us. The Himalayas are a resort for rich kids but K2? She wants our blood, the bitch. We will give it to her like the shamans did. No oxygen and a week's worth of food. No lines or tents. We do this naturally, with the strength in our limbs and the strength in our limbs only.

It's like that. Each breath is a labor, like standing on the top of the world with altitude sickness curdling your blood and the dry frost cutting your lungs with every breath you take. But it was beautiful at the summit. That fiercely colorless sun shining on an ocean of rolling clouds. All that's for you here and now, though, is the faint scent of piss on the tiles, hidden beneath pine freshener.

It wouldn't be that bad. Oxygen starved as you are. You can deal with it, the burning in your lungs. You can't deal with this and how weak Ouyang's pill makes you feel. All medicines are poisons, yeah. Didn't expect it to be this bad, though. Crawling through your capillaries like a living thing. Chewing the poison and shitting a miscellany of smaller poisons out.

You stagger up and vomit a spray of blood and snot into the toilet.

Once again, for emphasis, god shit it.

There should be a hell like this. Locked in a closet of a shitter and forced to stew in your own vomitus. "Aaaaagh," you moan.

Fine sight you are.

"I know, right?" You turn and flip over. Is that cigarette smoke? Who's that thing, that too solid shadow standing by the door? Didn't you close it? If someone carved you out of wood- eyes, teeth, skin, hair- that would be what is standing there. Perfect circular holes honeycomb it's pale yellow skin, lines of opium and incense smoke stream out of them and the cigarette it holds in your hands, a curtain of grey smoke hiding everything from half your nose and up. No. His? "Wait. Don't tell me. You're my…" you know who he is, he's "... my internal demon, right?"

It tilts its head. You struggle to a standing position. "Put up your dukes, you bastard. I'll kick the shit out of you and then I'll get some bullshit ultra secret technique."

That's not how it works.

"Nice try, demon out to trick me. Take-" you slip on a particularly wet tile. Your head crunches on the floor and you writhe around groaning in pain for a bit.

The thing- the demon, probably- sticks it's cigarette in your mouth when the flailing was over. Suddenly nothing hurts and the world is soft. This isn't that kind of story. I'm just a hallucination. Is it just you, or does the restroom feel larger? You roll experimentally. Yes. It's… it's endless. An expanse of blackness. You pick yourself off the ground. The pain is gone.

"Okay, then explain this." You gesture at the blackness. And also at that rolling banner of stormclouds in the distance. You can spy a rust red howler on top of those clouds. "That's Yue Fei, isn't it? I punched him and I woke up with throbbing fingers. And this cig you gave me, I'm not hurting anymore. The evidence mounts, you funky trypophobia trigger, you are clearly my internal demon. I await my ascension to golden core jade spirit saint whatever cultivation level."

It pulls out another cigarette from the pocket of its tracksuit. Or, it exhales a cloud of smoke from perfect holes where it's eyes were supposed to be, I am a jumble of interestingly repressed memories, a childhood trauma, and the products of a mind that really wanted to pursue a career in the arts. It gestures with a thurible hand at Pengju. He's one, too. And that, and that, and that. The hand shifts to a faint red tinge on the horizon.

"But that's so boring." This is definitely opium. "I'd rather refer to you as my secret hidden dark side, if that's alright with you."

Doesn't matter. C'mere. It settles on it's haunches, wiping a hand against the dark floor. You're looking from the roof, like the floorboards were invisible where its hand touched. Bright midday light streams from the windows, across Zhi Luolan, Ouyang Meng and Yuexia sharing a cup of tea in the waiting room. Look at her. There's three her's.

"-so wait, the little girl was a super bullshit secret master?"

Ouyang shrugs. "Yeah. Surprised me too."

"No, it didn't," Zhi Luolan snaps a finger. "We knew that she was some sort of secret project. Just not sure what kind."

"Hn. I'd admit, I'd've placed a bet on kid supersoldier. Sunflower made those in Hengsha."

Fascinating, but… "What's the point?" You turn to the thing.

"You think he's alright?" Yuexia looks up through the floor. You wonder if she can see past it too. "I'm not hearing anything for a while."

"Eh, should be fine. Or dead, whatever. I'll check up on him after I finish this cup."

This state of affairs is transient, it says. You know it. When she finds out what you did it will all tumble down. She already thinks you are some kind of gangster. It is only her inexperience that she thinks you are from a movie rather than from this world.

You draw in a lungful of hot smoke. You missed this. "I don't even know what I did."

So don't find out. There is nothing wrong with a clean break. You can be a truly free man.

"Nah, I gotta. Or else…" Or else what? "I don't know. But I hate not knowing." It feels rootless. Like you're standing on quicksand. "'Sides, the cops were after me. Surprised that they haven't caught up to me now. If you're my repressed memories, just give it to me now."

Can't. Post facto rationalization. Might not even exist.

"I have the shittiest spirit guides. Hallucination guides. Whatever." You stand up. "If you're not gonna help, then piss off. I have like, twenty years of poison to purge."

Twenty four.

"What?"

You're twenty four.

Twenty four. That's not bad. Twenty four. You can't have cocked it up that badly in twenty four years, can you? You totally can. The thing is grinning at you as it stubs out it's smoke on the ground. Deathshead.

"Fuck off, mate."

It plucks the cigarette from your lips and transfers it to his. Your wish, my man.

Then the pain flares up again and the world contracts to the shitty bathroom. Shitty bathroom. Ha. You're a genius. There's something in your mouth. You swallow. Urgh. The door creeks open in front of you. Too bright. "Whoah, man." Guy. Built like a brick shithouse. "Sorry. I'm not…"

You can't hold it in any more. You hurl up on his sneakers before he finishes. "Oh fuck." And then to complete the picture you fall into your own vomit. Second time. "My man, are you fine?"

"Hbluh?"

He's framed in the lights. You can't see his face, other than how it's dumpling round. "Fuck. Ouyang? Charity case?"

"Yeah!" the doctor shouts back. "Is he dead?"

"He barfed over my shoes."

"Cool. Leave him!"

He tilts his head at you. "I'm looking," he says, "for the two who's working for the yakuza. You one?"

"Hblublubh." God praise the gift of incoherence. You can see the doubt seep into his shoulders. And also how he really doesn't want to deal with this invalid projectile vomiting over his Adidas sneakers.

"Nah, can't be you. That guy was… Eh, whatever. You see him you give me a call, y'hear?" An eggshell white card flutters into the off-green puddle as he beats a hasty exist. "Yo! Wu Changxi, let's bounce. This ain't it."

Oh. You look at the text. Wu Manor. Dan Surname. The door squeaks shut. You close your eyes. "Fuck," you whisper.

The world swims. Your eyes focus. The world stops swimming. Yuexia's looking down on you now. "I didn't get caught, if that's what you're thinking." You raise a shaky thumbs up. "You feeling better?"

You waggle a hand. "Yeah, I can imagine. Get it out of your system?" You think a bit, and raise six fingers. "What does that mean? Six out of ten?"

"Yeah," you manage.

"Okay, because Flay just texted me. Told me to get you up and running again to plan the next bits out. And…"

Meeting….
[]- She's meeting with Cho and Han, too.
[]- She's working something out with Hotel Faberzhe.
[]- No one. She's still doing this alone.

Here's a cliche. The shady conspirators sitting around the table, lit only by a flickering lightbulb. That describes you and your company. You even have the requisite cigarette! All of you do, smoking up a hazy gray smog collecting beneath the rafters. Except for Yuexia who looks like she really wants to strike one for not contracting lung cancer by killing you all. You would sorta feel bad but you're too busy luxuriating in the blue nicotine haze to care about her.

Cho and Han are sitting opposite of you. A black briefcase on their side of the table. It's been silent for minutes now. You're just staring at each other's eyes trying to see who has the biggest dick. "Sorry." You say. "For calling you a jap."

Han nods. "Then, for my part, sorry for stabbing you in the knee. I'd say you look better but you still have bandages on. What the hell is that about?"

You inhale a drag. The moments draw on. "It's a fashion statement. Are we here to talk about haute culture or are we gonna work?"

"Could we discuss fashion?" Yuexia was laser focused on Han and his- "I really want to know what the heck's up with that gaudy ass jacket. Why is it purple and sparkly?"

"That's a very good question," the other Korean gangster nods, lacing his fingers together. "It's a fashion statement." The light glitters off the sequins. "Now, let's talk shop. You are Flay, I imagine? Did Kirisaki-Rengou acquire your services before?" He's all business now, it's like a cleaver thudding against the board.

"A hit a couple years back. I'm aware that you are plotting to coup the upper levels of Kirisaki-Rengou, and you have multiple Yanbian and Korean syndicates backing your attempts."

Cho raised a thin finger. "I have their 'good word.' Which means they will shake my hand and tell me that I always had their support if I win, but if I lose, no one would care. But, yes, I do. I want Oogami and Kirishima gone, and Kirisaki with them." He pushed a piece of paper at you. "Now, when Kirisaki-Rengou says that they're short on men, that's not quite accurate. What we mean is that everyone is on bodyguard duty." Another org chart.

"What's this?" Yuexia whispers at you. "Bodyguard detail?" You nod. It looks like… Wang is shadowing Kirisaki. And Kirshima doesn't have any, but here, what's that by Oogami?

"Oh, shit, is that Metalhead?" You'd recognize that faceless oval helmet anywhere. "I love Metalhead!"

That startles Cho. "That silent psycho?" He asks. "Bullshit. Nobody can like him, much less love him."

You put a hand on your heart. "You just don't get the connection we have."

"The one where he kicked the shit out of you, you shoved an electric cable up his ass, and then kicked him into the atmosphere?" Flay's voice is filled with skepticism.

You snap your fingers. "The very one. Anyway, what's the deal? You want them gone, let's get them gone. Call them up, tell them that there's an issue and their top guns need to be there. We off them there and then. Easy peasy."

"It's not that simple," The other yakuza says, holding up his hands. "We need to-"

"Man, I got the job from Kirishima by knocking on the door. I could have snapped his neck during the job interview and walked away. You're overthinking it."

It appears that nobody enjoys your sage advice. "Okay first of all, we are men of laws here." You snort. Course they are. "We have three thousand affiliates on our payroll. We cannot, I stress, cannot, simply resort to blatant thuggery, or else they will get ideas."

"So hire us for the duration 'till you got a handle on things. Easy."

"You are a giant idiot. Will you shut up and let me say my bit? Thank you," Han says when you wave at him. "Take a look at that file." It's a picture of a brick of concrete. Brutalist. A cenotaph, the word rises. It's a cenotaph for the people between life and death. "That's where Kirisaki stores everyone that pissed him off. Free them, The balance of power shifts. There's a hundred and three killers stored in there."

"And accountants apparently." You run a finger down the list of names. "And drug makers. Man, you could probably take over Kirisaki wholesale if they haven't starved to uselessness." That's a frightening smile that found itself on Han's face. "Alright. Guess is your plan then. How're you sure that they're legit?"

"Because I've been there." He pushes himself away from the table. "I wouldn't want to go back. Not even if you held a gun up to my head. If I say that they can get their day in the sun against the motherfucker that locked them in there, they will jump for the chance."

"Loyalty on the basis of a common foe is the shakiest motherfuckin' loyalty." Where'd you get that from?

Cho leans on his elbows. Shame he doesn't have glasses. It'd complete the look. "And what does it say about you?"

"It says that the guy who's planning to betray his boss shouldn't talk shit about a guy who-"

"Useless pedantry. I remind you that you were planning to play both sides until you were caught. Spare me the lecture. We're all traitors here." In a smooth movement, he stands. "I expect the Sinner's Storage to be defunct by the end of the week. There's an address there. Good day." The two Koreans file out of the room.

The door shuts. You stub out the guttered butt of your cigarette and light a fresh one. Yuexia contemplates murder stronger than ever.

"They're gonna fuck us." Flay states.

"Fuck might be a strong word. Sideline us after this, yes." A hundred and three killers. Well, more precisely, sixty six. Even if none of them were as strong as you sixty six would be a force to be reckoned with. They're already gangsters, from the same family, not some shady guy off the street. "So yes, they will try to fuck us." You take a deep breath. "There'd better be a big catch after this. Wanna stop playing kingmaker as fast as I can."

Yuexia raised her hand. "I don't get it? Honestly these guys aren't that cool, either. Can we just remove the other two and leave with whatever we can get?"

"I want a shitload more," Flay responds bluntly. "That's basically it. Now, worse case scenario, Between Names. What do you think?"

"Aside from a ninja kicking down that wall right now?" You roll the cigarette in your fingers. "Dunno. Too many things to count. We have a week?"

"Yeah. Thinking of doing a scouting run for a couple of days. Yuexia, you down?"

The other woman shakes her head. "No. No, I'm too busy. I have to stay home, sorry. 'Fact, I gotta go right now." And like that, she stands up and opens the door. "See you later."

As the door shuts, Flay turns to you. "Right. So, what are we going to do?"

[1.2] {Wrathful Manifestation} I Would Simply Kick Their Ass: You are going to play along with their game.
[]- Outstanding Initiative: off Oogami and Kirishima now: Flay's plan is still a good one. BUt now Cho and Han are the ones you have to focus on. Kill their bosses, force them into a precarious position, and shake them down for money.
[]- Decisive Battle Doctrine: You know what? Let's shoot for Kirisaki himself. Raid his giant tax dodge of a mansion and see where the cards fall from there. Chaos is a method and you are it's scion.

AN: Not that satisfied but it's out.