Godcard

Like A Zipper

Shen's Famous Foods, on 53 Bayard Street in Chinatown, was a restaurant in great spirit and in mint condition.

Across the street from it, a series of alleyways led to a peasant market where one could purchase anything from imported shirts to discount audio equipment. On its side, there was a Taiwanese tea house specializing in bubbly and fruity brews, and on the other side, there was a generic, small Asian supermarket.

Uncle Shen's restaurant was special, though, standing out even in this place.

It had the zest and spirit of the genuine orient, as if some golden-palmed Buddha up in the heavens had picked up a pair of scissors, cut out a tiny piece of China, and then gently placed it down right there, in the kidney of New York, as if performing some intricately subtle, intercontinental feng shui.

The round doors stood widely and welcomingly open, with black spherical pots that contained stands of bamboo; the subtle tune of a guzheng and hulusi audible even over the loud hubbub of the dining patrons; a woman in a qipao stood near the entrance, welcoming and inviting patrons over to come inside with a smile.

There was a window in the kitchen, from which one could see the fire and work happening inside, and take in the alluring scent and delicate sizzling of various meats and vegetables. There were a number of skylights above and on the front side of the building, allowing in plenty of light. On the inside, the colors of dark brown and green dominated, with dividers of lighter jade green and framings of shiny gold. There was a fish tank to the side, to lend the room some water aspect, lit up with a number of green fluorescent lamps.

It wasn't a cheap place, even though decades ago, it had started out as one. It used to be the neighborhood takeout place before Zane had been born, and then slowly it grew into this: the equivalent of a five-star establishment. Currently, it is one of the most popular high-class dining experiences in downtown Manhattan.

As per usual, Uncle Shen was in the backroom lounge - a place reserved solely for working staff on break or premium guests such as business partners. It was also the biweekly meeting place of the local, tight-knit business owner's association. On top of being a restaurant owner, a landlord, and a martial artist, Uncle Shen was also an investor and entrepreneur of considerable skill. Uncle Shen always strived to achieve success in anything he pursued; he called it his 'personal dogma.'

And yet despite the picture his lifestyle painted, Uncle Shen wasn't anything special. He didn't dress in white robes or don a Fu Manchu moustache, declaring anyone who did a hack. He was simply a stocky Chinese man, with greying dark hair and eyes of unimpressed steel, wearing nothing but a well-pressed white dress shirt and accompanying dark pants.

"Hm," the old man grunted as Zane came in. "Unannounced and uninvited, and yet, you grace my doorstep, nephew. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I love you too, uncle."

"I have yet to hear the reason for your arrival. You are a disruptive element, Zane - a scourge in physical form. Your aura reeks of negative karma. The stench of disgusting, greasy New York pizza lingers in the air whenever you arrive. Every object you touch is forever sullied by the Dorito crumbs on your fingers."

Zane couldn't help it. He burst out into laughter, and his uncle responded by smirking.

"Okay, let's sit down." Shen made a hand motion towards the couch and turned in the direction of the kitchen. "Any tea for you, Zane?"

"No, I came here to have a talk with you. A serious talk."

"Why can't a serious talk be held over tea?"

"Okay then. I'll have whatever you will have," Zane said, lounging back on the couch.

"Hmm..." His uncle deliberated for a moment, hand floating over a small opaque jar.

"I changed my mind," Zane said instantly, realizing what the old man was reaching for, to his uncle's great delight. "Uh, I'll have, like, fruit tea."

The old man's smirk persisted as his hand reached down, moving elsewhere. "Good choice."

Nuke averted. He was about to reach for that herbal drug shit. The last time his uncle fed him that, Zane kept thinking the cactus was dancing, only to discover hours later there was no cactus to begin with.

"Yeah, no shit. I'm not a witcher yet."

"And you never will be," Shen answered with a scoff of deep amusement, putting on some water in the small kettle he owned. It was steel, and rather plain; slightly rusted. His uncle was frugal in his personal affairs, only bending on the expenses of the restaurant at the insistence of his own co-managers and investors. "We are a family of martial artists. We don't require fancy laser beams and dragon's breath to teach fools with sticks their place. And, I assume this is, of course, related to why you came here?"

Zane raised an eyebrow. Uncle Shen didn't respond in any bodily manner, making Zane puzzled as to how the old man discerned that.

"Your knuckles," Shen sedately explained, causing Zane to look down.

His knuckles were visibly bloodied and callused, even having bruised slightly in some places. Because of one blow that he faintly remembered dishing out, his fist had snapped against one of the Zucchezzis' teeth, producing a pencil-thin laceration going down his index finger. It was a pretty brutal look as if he'd freshly returned from the pit after a whole night of brawling, although subtle enough under his long sleeves that a casual observer wouldn't notice.

"Alright," Zane breathed out. Interacting with the old man could a test of patience. It was part of the reason why he moved out. "I suppose I'll level with you?"

Shen nodded.

"Right, I was, uh…"

"Patrolling," Shen offered an euphemism, voice surprisingly assuaging.

"Patrolling the neighborhood," Zane agreed. He was glad that his uncle at least had the social graces to understand Zane didn't want another conversation in this direction, let alone a lecture. "And suddenly, these two men ambushed us. The Zuchezzis."

"Ah. I know about them - the infamous robbers. You hear stories, even west of Brooklyn; I believe they're wanted by the police." The old man started pouring the water into a pair of white porcelain cups, not bothering with any sugar, and waved a hand casually. "Continue."

"Right, so… This is the weird part. The Zuchezzis? They had, like, superpowers. Supernatural abilities.."

At that, Uncle Shen raised an eyebrow. He didn't say anything until he carried their teacups over to the table and put them down. "Supernatural?"

"One of them controlled the wind. The other, I'm pretty sure, could induce fear or something. Spike wasn't right, even after I walked him back home," Zane said. There was some creeping anxiety in him, that he could've ended up like either of his friends if only he'd been a little slower. He was good at seizing opportunities, though; much better than some people were, and that asshole underestimating him was a prime golden opportunity to give him a lesson in streetwise. Motherfuckers probably believed that having superpowers meant they could take on the whole hood and swagger about it.

Zane blew some air over his tea, its delicate surface rippling with the air. After a moment, he took in a dainty sip, using the proper manners his uncle taught him.

"Interesting." Shen sat down opposite Zane and started to drink his own tea in a similar manner, slowly, and thoughtfully. As if he were giving the idea some brief meditation. It was clear that he believed his nephew at least, for which Zane was overwhelmingly glad.

After a good minute of sipping tea and considering, Shen finally said, "Very well, I'll let you stay the night."

"I haven't even, uh, asked."

"But you were going to," Shen answered, as if that were an obvious fact. "Your encounter has shaken you deeply, and now you want to leave your old life behind. It's written all over your disgusting, Cheetos-flaked expression."

Zane merely growled in response. "Reading me like an open book, huh?"

"If you believe that's unamusing, challenge me to a duel."

The prospect was tempting. The last time Zane and Shen had sparred was over two years ago, and Zane was capable of roughly defending and occasionally attacking, even if his uncle held the upper hand, due to his experience. But that was two years ago, and back then, Zane wasn't even half the fighter he was right now.

"Maybe later," Zane decided. "First, we should figure out what to do about a bunch of gangster wizards going around."

"What should we do?"

"Well, the police can't handle it. They didn't handle the Mangler," Zane pointed out.

Some amusement dribbled from his uncle's tone, intermixed with concern and skepticism. "And you can?"

"Well, I beat their shit into the pavement," Zane said. "No offense, gramps, but I think that means I'm at least theoretically qualified. And you're even better than me, not just at fighting, but, like... life in general."

"Zane, I'm an old man," Shen answered, putting down the teacup. "I am not going to dress up in spandex and save the world, and neither should you. The Mangler was a different story, and the Zuchezzis had likely underestimated you, for they didn't know the full extent of your pugilist's skillset. There is nothing noble in raising your fists and tackling a hurricane, only to die. Instead of that, I suggest you thank God that he fortuitously blessed you with this one-time gift of survival and victory, and then you move on with your life and open that flower shop you'd always wanted. I can help you do that."

---

Last time, obviously, Uncle Shen's Place had won.

Your current Ambrosia is 3.6.

And now, in front of Zane, there is a choice:

[ ] Become Vigilante [+1 Ambrosia] - Zane wants a peaceful, quiet life, but it's clear there's something fucked up going on in town.

Between the Mangler, and the Firestarter sightings, and now the Zuchezzi brothers - people are randomly gaining superpowers, and most of them are notorious assholes, if not outright serial killers. Someone needs to put order back on the streets before society begins to lose the battle against them. There won't be any peace for him or for anyone else unless he can do something about it; and from what he's seen thus far, he can do a lot about it.

[ ] Let's Just Live - Fuck that. The old man's right - keep on living, stop with the three-bit gangster shit, and open a flower shop, eventually. All dreams come alive in time, as they say. All you have to do is keep going to school and keep your head down. Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Regardless of your decision, Uncle Shen will (either begrudgingly or warmly,) allow you to stay the night at his place.