Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

Oogami works out of a giant glass shard that was probably hot shit when it was built but now its just another skyscraper in a forest of them. The laws of the market shifted and now this district, once upscale, was for losers, second rate firms, and criminals. Hence, Oogami. A bunch of mom and pop stores, import businesses, and most damningly health supplement companies. And real estate, you guess.

"I still think my plan is better," you remark.

"It'd be more fun for the people in the cheap seats," Flay responds over the cab's intercom. The driver is busy whistling away in his sound isolated driver's cabin. "We could film it and sell it off and then we wouldn't have to bother with it."

"See?" You turn at Yuexia, who seems more annoyed than anything. You can sympathize. One thing turns into another and the next thing you know you're playing kingmaker for a shitarse syndicate. "She agrees."

"Shut up, please. I just wanna get this over with."

"Dad's coming home?" It was a joke, a pointed bit of mockery, but it hits the point.

Yuexia sighs. "In a week," she eventually admits. "Kinda nervous. Feel like I might, ah, forget it. Just end it today, 'kay?"

You lean back. In a week, this will be over and you, this motley fuckup band, will drift away into their own lives. Flay will go back into the life of a cybercriminal and sniper for hire. Yuexia will throw herself headfirst into the interminable grind of high school? life. Remora, you have a feeling he's just gonna slip into the sewers and wash out into the ocean or some horse piss like that.

And you?

You'll have the money and then you'd have the answers. You could ground yourself now, instead of living day by day in some dumbass gambit that works mostly off of luck and your own kinda badass skills. The road thrums by. You don't want to stay here. The chance for someone to go, 'hey, you're Ming Jian, the guy that killed our boss. Time to die!' is too high. Frankly, you have better things to do than kicking the asses of dregs. Maybe you could go south. Fuck it- drive to Singapore on the scenic routes. Not like you have anything better to do.

"Hey, you awake?"

You blink. "Yeah." The spear you took from Wu Changxi is digging into your back. "Why, we here?"

The cab stops in welcoming area. You seriously feel a bit out of place. Everyone's trying so hard to look respectable and shit and here you are cosplaying some dumb American movie no one's ever watched. The cab speeds off, leaving you and Yuexia in the parking lot where black suited yakuza trying very hard to look like interns and businesspeople wait. It's the scars. Otherwise they do a pretty good job, all things considered.

Holy shit, that guy walking towards you. You get that you're the last person to talk about how another guy looks, but shit, that slit-mouthed grin. You can see his teeth. And he's got so many piercings on just about every free flap of cartilage that he shines like a diamond in the winter sun. "And she has done it!" he bellows, a dumb dopy grin on his face, arms flung out to hug- oh, nope, Yuexia just drew her sword and put the tip of it under his chin.

That's totally fair. "This isn't fair," the slitmouth whines, earning a place on a watchlist somewhere. "Just tryna have a good relationship here. But fine. You Ming Jian? What she promise you to turn your coat?"

You make the universal gesture. "Money. Arseloads of it. You better show, by the way."

"Hey, I'm good for it. We're good for nothing but money."

He turns. You follow him. "Think I've been playing on the wrong side here," you say. The insides of the shard could almost be tasteful, if it wasn't for the piles of boxes lying around. It looks like a high end hotel, all sterile bright lights, muted cream colored granite and dark marble (or vise versa you don't know rocks) and golden trimmings and what not. "They give free rooming here?"

"Yeah," she whispers back. "Catering too."

"I'm gonna steal all their soap."

Slitmouth stops in front of an elevator. "Yer stop. Penthouse suite."

"Not 'fraid I'm gonna kill your boss?" You almost couldn't resist.

"If you can beat Metalhead. Oh, and the five hundred soldiers we have here." The grin he gives you is hair-raising. But counteracting that is the knowledge that you kinda sorta beat Metalhead, which gives you a sick sorta satisfaction. In the very expensive wooden coffin Yuexia rounds on you looking pretty mad.

"Seriously?" You're counting the floor numbers. There's thirty in total, and there's five rec floors spaced out. Two bath houses, two restaurants, and one very euphemistically named lounge. Where you go to get smashed on ketamine, which is very much your speed. "Why are you doing this? And them I'm going to get caught on camera. And then my life is gonna be ruined."

"Hey, it's cool. Didn't you beat up that yak? It's chill, it's chill." You rock back on your heels. This elevator is really slow. Are they still fixing this up? Could explain it. Free space and loads of investor bilk money. Man, what a hustle. "How good's their soap? It is some real ritzy shit?"

Yuexia ribs her eyes. "No." She finally admits. "They're kinda shit. The shampoo isn't that bad. Don't do it. Makes you look nouveau."

"My silky locks need that shit." That wrings out a laugh as the elevator stops at the probable-ketamine lounge. You see Cho devolving his spine on a comfy-ass beanbag. Like the kind you put in elementary school. Shit, you want one. Yuexia pats your chest before she leaves. "Just keep this simple and clean," she says. Cho nods. "One last thing." The elevator doors halt. "If you see this leather booklet, blue. Brass trimmings? That the word? Nab it for me. I need it."

The door closes. "Do my best," you say. But you really can't promise anything. Metalhead's right next to Oogami, the fat prick. The penthouse suite opens up with a long hallway. The doors are all closed, and at the end of it, with the bright winter sun shining, pass a floor to roof window. There is one booklet on his desk, that he quickly stows away in a drawer as you enter.

Showoff. Prick. Dickhead.

Actually you dunno why you're treating Oogami this way in your head. He hasn't exactly done shit to you. Oh, his hit squad. And Remora by association? Oh, and he's a no cap Japanese gangster. The uh, sixty odd years of Actual Communism boils in your blood. Man.

It's almost a relief when you slip into the chair in front of him and let the bundle of sticks and a spearhead fall to your feet. Metalhead is standing behind and to the left, as Metalhead as ever. Unbreakable. Unequaled. There's scars on his bare forearms which fills you with a nice tingly feeling that goes down into your toes.

"Ming Jian?"

You startle. "That me," you say eventually. "Are we gonna talk price, or what?"

"Do I look like that much of a wet fish to you?" His tone is mild as milk. Which makes the line of heroin he's laying out on the table seem more out of place. Honestly, he's got you with this gambit. You don't have a single clue what game he's playing. "C'mon, let's relax a bit. Then we can get into business."

You squint at him and dip a finger into the powder. Ah. It's clearer now. Your heart beats more and more rapidly. It's pois- no, it's just crap. Talcum powder and baking soda. Geeze, they're really scraping. "Is this because you think I'm a narc?" You smile. The moments sharpen your senses to a razor keen. There are people breathing in the hallway rooms behind you. Faintly you can smell gun oil.

Oogami shrugs, and leans closer across the table. "Could be. Could not. The fact is, Ming Jian, I can't trust you. Because you are a loose variable." A math metaphor? God, this guy. "I have everyone measured out, except for you, and I do not like that. So, let us be friends, if only for a bit. We can get to know each other and figure these things out, okay?"

You continue squinting.

[]- "Okay. You first."
[]- "Sod this."

There's a part of you that wants to stab Oogami here and now. Fast, easy, one and done and then jump out the window. There's another, bigger part of your brain that wants to see Metalhead plummeting through the air. So the second's what you do.

One hand balances on the edge of the table as you vault over the very nice mahogany and leather to drive your entire body weight into Metalhead's chest. Oogami screams, doors clatter open and ten, twenty, however many pairs of feet storm into the room with you. More pressingly, Metalhead is his unmovable self. His egg shaped helmet gleams impassivly in a smug way. He's only shifted a single centimeter. Hell, he still hasn't moved.

"Shite bodyguard," you remark to the space where Oogami is specifically not. Fuck. Fuckidy. You're a little fuck up. "I could have-"

The glass behind you shatters. Cordite rises in the air. "Excuse me," you continue, absurdly annoyed, "I'm trying to-"

And then Metalhead kicks you in the ass and commits an act of wanton destruction on the poor desk. Fine. Violence it is. You roll and pick up the sectioned spear as Metalhead rolls in like an obdurate thundercloud. The first knee whistles above your brow, his very nice leather shoe coming down like a guillotine where your head was.

This damned thing won't fit. The spear. There's a short chain connecting each section to each other and you think that each one screws onto the next. The first two section clicks. You circle him carefully, fitting the next ones in until you have a full ass spear. "Hey, Metalhead," you smile at him.

"I'm back."

That's all he needs.

He charges forward, a cavalcade, impersonal as an industrial accident. You take to the air, leaping above Metalhead and stabbing the mechanism that secures his iron helmet and his back. When you land you push him forward against the ground like he's a hockey puck.

The mooks scream. You spy three crushed entirely under his bulk, twitching like slapped flies. Dozens more are staggering off, fear in their eyes, fear of the unshakable Metalhead. He rises, slowly-

"Kill him, you loaf!" Oogami bawls from the closing elevator doors. "What did I pay you-"

"Fuck off!" you yell back, flicking up a bit of wooden rubble and batting right deep into the walls next to Oogami's fat head. "Sorry for that, Metalhead," you continue. Oogami disappears behind the elevator doors. "Are we still good for it?"

He sinks into a wing chun stance.

"That's the shitness."

You sink into a low spearman's stance.

When you hit him the world rings like a bell and the penthouse suite sways and shudders. The spear moves like a old friend, a dance partner that you loved once in high school and then left forever and ever. You bat Metalhead's arms away, jab him in the chest. He doesn't bleed, of course, but he is driven back. In response, he closes the distance, lashing out with the same bone shaking kicks to your shins and thighs. You push him away each time, keeping the distance with the flashing spear but Metalhead has all the time in the world.

You have to commit. There is one second free, where the spearhead glances off Metalhead's perfect sculpted abs, so you bring it back and less thrust it and more fling it, one hand on the haft with the force of cannons, pirouetting like it's Swan Lake. The overpressure wave shattered the glass behind you, the mooks watching in awe stumble. Metalhead, though?

He stomps on the spear haft. You follow the wood clattering on the tiles, bounce like a dead cat, and roll just in time for the semi-familiar sight of Metalhead's shoe's coming down on your face. Immediately you grab his ankle and twist. The ground shakes, and Metalhead skids to a stop where the desk was.

You leap high, coming down like a meteor. The staff follows, and the floor implodes under Metalhead. He plummets like a stone. Floors disappear under him, screeching metal and the sound of rocks breaking as you grab onto an exposed bit of rebar from his fall down. Papers and binders and wood scraps descend in a wild storm. Out of it you see the leather notebook Yuexia mentioned. Before it falls you throw out your spear and hey, presto. It lies flat on the spearhead.

There's a thousand dollar bed underneath you. It bounces pleasantly under your weight. Spear and book fall on your chest. Is it real goose feather? You don't know, because soon after that the intercom sounds.

"Alert. Alert. Attacker on floor twenty five. Attacker on floor twenty nine."

Right. Before you boot open the door you shove the booklet into your back pocket along with a little bottle of expensive looking shampoo. The hallway is filled up with yakuza monkey suit mooks, guns at the ready.

"He's there! Fi-"

Before he finishes, you rush forward and shove the spear through his chest in a wet, squelching sound. The red tassel drips, and you continue, smashing him into the walls, into other mooks, until the entire group is routed, a stumbling, chaotic press of bodies. Some drop by your feet as you chase them down, until the door to an opulent staircase breaks upen in the press.

"Attacker is moving down the stairs. Groups one to three go to Stairwell C. Remaining head to Osaka Dream Lounge to subdue Yuexia."

And there's always more of them. But it's chaos down there. People are rushing up as others are running from you, and you see no reason why that should be any different. You charge. You can only charge and kill your way out on a trail of blood before Yuexia falls and Oogami escapes. They start firing blindly, bullets ripping into the walls. The wood and marble stairs behind you chip and crumble. The facades fall as you continue, treading over heads and wildly hacking at the squirmers beneath you. Somewhere electricity sparks, light flickering which only adds to the chaos.

As you were charging your way down something catches fire. Smoke rises but you still push on. You have to. You just…

"You didn't need to do this!" someone yells from the eaves of your mind. "Just go. Go! It's nothing to you-"

"Shut up," you snarl under your breath. "You knew the name of the game."

Blink. The air is thick and hazy. You are not in Xi'an. You are in J3. Hot air fills your lungs. It's so, so familiar, down to the lifeless lumps. Sweat beads with every step. Smoke concentrates further up you go, right? So you have to descend. "Let them go!" the nameless someone begs. "They didn't do anything, it was me, just kill me!"

"Sorry," you mumbled. "That's not how things roll."

but it could be

You almost fall. The stairwell is silent save for the crackle of flame. Where's the exit? Oxygen deprivation is almost imminent, you can tell. You fall to your knees and start to crawl. It's better down here but not by much.

And then--

The wall breaks. Light streams into the hall. Metalhead descends from the sky, gold shining off of his helmet, falling like a meteor. The earth shakes when he lands in front of you, and all of a sudden you feel a sharp pain in your side. Somehow he flings you through a wall. And then the force carries you through another wall. And then another. And another. Until you hit a full wall window, which only cracks when you hit it.

Metalhead has a staff like you now. A big ol' metal building strut that deformed under his grip. You struggle up, and out the corner of your eye you spy Oogami and the slitmouth husting in a car. Where's Yuexia? Is she fine? Crap, you can only hope.

[1.2] {Wrathful Manifestation} Keep fighting Metalhead. Let Oogami escape and all the plans go to shit. Because this is the one time you feel good about yourself and you won't let it slip away. Increases Wrathful Manifestation to 3.
[]- Chase After Oogami. You came here to do a job.