Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

[Laplace]

Where the hell are the load bearing walls? Remora threw you into a wall, and before he can follow up you throw a wild elbow at it, smashing the brick and exposing a still mostly empty room. The water level goes down a couple inches as water rushes in. You sink in a lower stance, throw a full body punch after that. Water breaks in front of your fist, once again exposing Remora to dry air if for a second. That's all you need to leap up into the air and kick him in the face. He splashes against the opposite wall and sinks back into the water.

Should've expected that.

You land and it's like a cannon going off. Like meteors hitting the ocean. For another moment, you are standing on dry land. It doesn't go to waste. You kick into the roof, smashing the concrete to pieces and roll away from the hole you made on the second floor.

God, you're leaking like hell. And the worst thing about it is that you don't know if the trickling is normal ass water or the water of your heart. And speaking about that, holy shit. Your poor heart, it's like a paper bag. You can feel how thin it is, and it's scaring you. How the fuck do you train the cardiac muscle? With each rapid thud of valves opening and closing it could break and you will die. Still…

"I dunno which walls are load bearing," you yell, raising your leg up to the sky, "so I'll just bust down all of them!"

"Wait, what-"

You bring your leg down and snap the floor in two. It crumbles at the edges, hundreds of tons of concrete and rebar tumbling into the dark water. And then you kicked off from the walls into the next floor. The earth rumbled, the sound of stone and iron crumbling and falling. If you had to find a metaphor for the sound, you'd leap to the tidal and meteorological. The point is, what you did to the floor below you was the thing. The tipping point. Whatever it is.

Dust falls on you and you bolt for the stairs. By happy fortune, you shoulder check Remora into the wall as he comes up. "Son of a-" You kick him into the wall again. It feels good. He grabs your leg and pulls you into a heel hook. That doesn't. You grab his free leg and start digging in your fingers as the doorway collapses the two of you begin to fall into the pile of rubble.
He can break your leg but you can break his leg and also tear out his flesh which you are doing. Blood wells against your fingertips while in free fall. It is good that you are, it is harder for Remora to snap.

The impact separates you from him. Somewhere water trickles down a pipe, the mechanism the warden used to drown you? High above, light filters through what remains of the walls. Jaggled bits of flooring and walling and ceiling like a deforested canopy. "What the hell, Grand Abbot?" drifts Yuexia's voice. "What happened? Are you fine?"

"What?" You yell back. "I couldn't FUCK-"

"What?"

Remora is about as persistent as you are. Bits of rebar and smashed up glass dig into your back. Dunno if you're bleeding. Hope you're not. Remora has hooks in, digging his heels into your side. Fuck, what do you do? Oh, right. You stab a thumb into the side of his throat. Bounces off like it's rubber, this weird and oddly satisfying feeling, and he still doesn't get the hint, coiling around you until his hands hook around your wrist. "C'mon, man, just give-"

The glint of light you see before you flip pin Remora down with your own weight, his face to the sky, is Yuexia diving down and doing her best imitation of a cormorant. The sword sinks into he concrete, Remora fucks off like some metaphor or the other, she pulls you upright. "Failure?" she guesses, taking a single look at you.

"I'm beginning to think it's somewhat of a theme with this job," you agree. "But hey, look on the bright side. We outnumber him." Light shines off of Remora's bald plate. "I, uh, don't see any bodies."

"You're welcome." She doesn't take her eyes off of him. "You! Out of respect for the Wulin-"

Is she for real? Remora asks you with his eyes. Sadly yes, you reply back. "I humbly ask that you, sir, retreat from the battlefield. You are under the employ of a wicked man, senior, and-"

"Yeah and I'm cool with that. You are too, you know. Think Kirishima's all roses?"

Yuexia glances at you and then realizes that she does not need your approval to do anything, as she possesses a sword, and you are bled half to death and do not have a sword. "Can you keep a secret- what's this guy's name?" she asks you.

"Remora."

"Remora?"

The monster Remora wipes water off his face and looks at the sky, searching the edges of the pit. "Come closer. I don't want to be overheard." he beckons. Yuexia does so and you do too. "I-"

A long handled fishing knife protrudes from your gut. You blink, almost unbelieving, then memory catches up. He moves fast when he wants to. "Dude," you manage out of a mouthful of blood. "Uncool."

Then Yuexia screams like a horseman on the charge and whips out her sword in a single movement. Remora grabs the knife but you hold onto his wrist so he lets go and kicks a scatter of rubble into the air. One chunk hits the blade, sending it off course just a bit, enough for him to sway back and take his distance. She follows and you fall down on the rubble, only dimly aware of their clash.

It sort of feels that this wouldn't have happened if you were on top form. Not even top form. Slightly bleary, hungover, and just leapt off of a highway to fistfight Metalhead form. You take bandages from regions not that stabbed and begin to bind your wounds. It's hard doing it with the knife in your gut but you slowly manage, unwinding a length of bandage from your face and then--

You scream. The knife leaves a white hot trail in your gut. Breathing heavy and fast you tie a wad of cloth to the open wound, tight as you can.

High above you the sound of steel on steel. Yuexia and Remora clash on the sides. They're evenly matched. Remora has something of a limp, dragging the leg where you hooked your fingers into. His knifeplay is good but it's not better than Yuexia's swordplay. Her sword traces out the moon in wild sweeps and she knows how to use it's reach alright, and her qigong is almost as good as yours. She dances over crumbling edges and attacks standing upright, upside down, between backflips and ostentatious pirouettes.

Remora clings against the walls in a starfish-y manner. You seriously need to come up shit that dosn't relate to seafood with him but it's a real fucking chore. He has to pay attention to his footing in a way that just doesn't apply to Yuexia. See? Yuexia chased him down and the wall crumbles to bits. Remora falls and Yuexia follows. He splatters against the ground and Yuexia pins him down with her sword against his neck.

Remora smiles. You stand up. "C'mon. I wanna see you do it," he hisses.

Yuexia looks at you. Dunno how to describe the look on her face. Hesitation, you suppose. First time with a life on her hands and she doesn't want to take the leap. That's fair. "Move over," you say.

"What are you, her brother? Let her do it."

[1.1] {Pain Is A Teacher} Gut him like a fish with the knife by your side.
[1.2] {Harmonious Society} Say nothing. Only she can decide.
[]- Bring Remora into the conspiracy. He's got an in with Oogami, you're sure.

 

[Laplace]

Your current life long goal of seeing Remora's guts spilled across the rubble is stymied by Yuexia who has a damnable conscience. "No," she says, "you're not going to do it."

"Do what?" you ask. The knife's wooden handle fits in your hand perfectly. Remora stares at it with vague interest. "You don't know what I want."

"Bro, there's only one thing you can do with a knife."

Remora yawns. "Nah, just let'im. Bet the bitch can't even walk over here without keeling over. It'd be funny as fuck to see."

"You shut up!" she snaps at the fish. "I'm trying to de-escalate here."

"But I don't want to de-escalate. I wanna see if he can do the bitch move of killing someone he didn't even properly beat."

Snap. "That's it!" you roar. "I'm killing that motherfucker!" You rush forward and then you stop. "Yuexia?" She's not budging, holding her left hand to your chest, stopping you from rushing at Remora. Also it feels like your guts are going to leak out.

"Yes?"

"Step aside."

"No."

Remora laughs, an ugly, pained sound. "Do it do it do it do it," he chants. Pressure builds in your skull. "Do it do it do it do it." Right. That's it. You leap forward, stepping past Yuexia, knife flashing like a fang in the sun and then Yuexia steps in front of you, a blur of white. Steel rings on steel, her sword held in a reverse grip knocking the knife to the side. Then your head twists and everything goes black.

---

You wake minutes before you bother to open your eyes. Slowly, awareness returns. Your chest feels restricted, like someone scooped out a pound of flesh and replaced it with dead metal. Your limbs are heavy and you can't move them worth shit. Wait, actually, you can twitch a finger. And you can shake a forearm. Anything more than that is dicy. It's warm under these blankets, a soft fuzzy cloud. It's cold outside and there's a pleasant breeze playing across your skin. Why should you wake?

Okay there's a pretty good reason and that's because someone bandaged you up, carried away from the rubble pit, and you have a big stake in this score, so you have to sadly return to the saha world and figure this shit out.

One, two, three, open those rheumy eyes and face up to the world. You smell incense and antiseptic. You crane your head left. You're in a small room, and Yuexia is sitting in the corner browsing her phone. She doesn't notice you. You crane your head right.

You see Remora grinning at you. In this light you get a good look at his face with that mouth full of ivory filed to jagged rectangles. The bed you're lying on shakes, the springs groaning in protest, blanket tossed into the air. They tied your arms down with belts. The leather holds for a minute then it rips.

"Motherfu-"

You get that far before Yuexia leaps and lands on you, pressing you down like a hawk. You feel she is out of her ambit. You get the bird metaphors. She gets stuff like moonlight, whiteness, and other fairy stuff. "C'mon, dude, just let it go," she sighs. "You're both beat and you have so much in common. Why ya gotta hound him to death with such impertinence?"

It's a sweet literary reference but it doesn't do anything to stop you from trying to crawl off the bed and strangling Remora. The door slams open and Zhi Luolan storms in. Yuexia leaps off, and in that split second you are free. This leads to you twisting off the bed and falling face first into the linoleum and breaking a tile with your nose. The doctor hauls you back into the bed and stabs your ren mai point and the ones on your shoulders. "There," she states. "Am I going to have any more problems?" You lock up. You can't feel anything past your chest. It's like she chopped off your arms.

There's a method for breaking meridian blockage. It's in the breathing. Deep breaths, and then build enough pressure to- Zhi Luolan stabs her fingers into your diaphragm up to her second knuckle and then all you can do is breathe shallowly. Fuck. She stares at you in a vaguely pitying manner, then glances at the floors. "You're paying for that," she points at Yuexia, who nods, embarrassed on your behalf.

The door closes. You hear a snatch of some drama- medical, from the words.

You want to curl up and die. You work your jaw. Nope. It's locked up too. Most you can do is growl a bit and pull up your cheeks, and press your tongue against your teeth. Can't even blink. This is hell. Yuexia silently returns to her seat. Remora stares up at the ceiling with you.

"While you were sleeping," he starts to say. You don't care. "We had a talk, me and her. She let me in on the plan. If you don't mind my opinion, it's a bit of a clusterfuck. Flying a little bit by the seat of your pants. Honestly, I don't mind all that much. It's a fun one, and I did some thinking.

"I want in. Not even for the money, you can have it. I want to be around and say I killed the Kirisaki syndicate. I killed Wang. I killed the Oyabun. So on and so forth."

This is the most embarrassing shit. If you had killed Remora you would have at least won at something. A car comes to a halt. You wonder who it is.

Yuexia finally looks up. "He's better at this than you." Do you detect a measure of disgust in her tone? "We have our next move planned out. Rang up Flay, and she's backing it. No more fucking around with Chu and Han. Tomorrow I'll call Oogami and say we've finally got the guy from Huaran. I'll deliver you to him bound up, right into his castle. Then, we're going to kill our way out."

"I'm handling Kirishima," Remora continues. Feeling slowly returns, first to the jaw, then to the throat. If you wanted to talk, you could talk. "You can trust me on that. Once he's gone the accountant can take over. But you two'll have to finish Oogami's entire organization. Han's been tapped in. He's away on business."

You grunt. They assume it's assent so it's assent. It doesn't concern you. What does concern you, because thinking about anything else is better than this, is that Ouyang Meng and Zhi Luolan seem to have rowdy guests. They're coming up the stairs now. Remora and Yuexia've also noticed them.

The doors bang open. One squat ruddy meatball guy, with a pair of double maces hooked behind his neck. You'd recognize those expensive ass sneakers anywhere. That Dan Surname guy. Behind him, a willowly photogenic woman, with a three section staff over her shoulders, presume this is the Wu Changxi he mentioned. They're a very recognizable duo. You wonder if they do this often. They'd make a name for themselves just from how dang memorable they are.

"You told me that you didn't have anyone in," Dan such and such growls, pointing at you. "Then who're they?" Ouyang Meng appears behind them. They don't look worried. "I swear to god, if they're the yakuza, it's going to be a giant mess."

"Then they're not the yakuza," Ouyang shrugged. "Not your problem."

"Not my problem?" It's a shock to see Dan Whatever's face grow even redder. Bona fide miracle. "I got Old Man Wu up on my ass about this shit. Ouyang and Zhi are suspicious, he says. Why the hell did you let that girl from Oogami-" shit. Yuexia looks panicked for a second but then her expression smooths out. "-and Remora, who I know was hired by an affiliate, into your shop?"

Ouyang shrugs. "Please, Ms. Ouyang," Wu Changxi says, almost bowing, "just make this easy for us. You don't even need to worry about getting a rep for handing patients over easy. It's Wu Manor and Dan Surname pressing on ya. Anyone will give."

Interject…
[1.2] {Wrathful Manifestation} "Actually, I'm working with the Yakuza, too. Come and get me."
[1.2] {Harmonious Society} "It's a bitch move to be beating on the crippled. Looks good on the resume."
[1.1] {Chase the Red Sun} "So this is what the jianghu does with their time. Going around on some old monster's nostalgia trip."
[]- Say Nothing. It's been enough out of you.

 

[Laplace]

"So this is what the noble jianghu does with their time." Your voice is scratchy like it's been stuffed in an attic and forgotten about for years. "Going around on some old monster's nostalgia trip." This is a major hypocrisy and Yuexia looks like she really wants to say something about it but since this is a tactically advantageous hypocrisy that goes unremarked on. Wu Changxi storms forwards. "I mean, there probably has to be more to life than this endless rerunning of Yuexia what's hot on TV right now?"

"Murder the Fifth."

"Fuck's that?"

"Detective drama. Really hot lead."

"Eh, cops." You proceed to lose all interest. Wu Changxi slams her hands on the footrest of your bed. Dan's also let himself into the room, but you're only mildly worried about him, because Ouyang Meng is shadowing him, which really speaks to his poor instincts because there is no earthly way you would let probable assassin Ouyang Meng anywhere near the back of your neck.

"That's my grandfather you're talking about. Watch it."

You carefully consider your next words. "Ok. Your grandfather is an old fucker who has a serious case of the nostalgia. He is possibly senile."

And it's good! "You do know who my grandfather is, right?" Wu Changxi asks. "Do you seriously want to do this?"

You consider this with all the due consideration the patriarch of Wu Manor, that luminary of the martial world deserves. "And I want you to tell him what I said, in my exact words, that he is an old and senile motherfucker." Dan's giggling, just a bit. You can tell by the way he stuffs a fist between his teeth. Wu Changxi is too focused on you. "Actually, why is he only starting this now? I would personally fight the Japanese imperialists twenty four seven. He has had all his life to start shit but he waited how long? Remora gimmie a number."

"Hundred years give or take."

"Hundred years?" The mind boggles. "What was he doing?"

Remora's head is propped up on the elbow. It really reminds you of nothing less than a sleepover. A really psycho sleepover where everyone is ready to throw down and ruin the other guy's life. Maybe that's really just how sleepovers are. You wouldn't know. You never had any sleepovers. "He was over in Taiwan. Entire Wu Manor was. Only snuck back, what, thirty years back? Laaame."

You can move around a bit now. You shuffle your body under the covers. Biggest thing is that Zhi Luolan's blocks are still in. While Wu Changxi's busy putting the muscle on Remora, and Dan No-Name is more focused on her rapidly reddening face then watching you or Yuexia or Ouyang, you take deep, steady breaths. It feels a bit like stretching an invisible ache you have after an entire day in the car. Just…

Pop. Like coming up out of deep water.

There. Back to normal. You're breathing good and the vital breath is circulating once again. Yuexia is out of Dan's sight, while Wu Changxi is busy trying and failing to intimidate Remora. You carefully life a hand out of the sheet and point at Dan while looking at Yuexia who seems to get it. She picks up her scabbard and lays it across her knees.

Three, two, one.

You burst from the bed once again, this time with feeling. The force topples Wu Changxi, the side of the bed hitting her face. Remora leaps off to help you. The space between the two beds becomes a confused tangle of limbs as you lock her into a full nelson after she elbowed you in the teeth. You can taste blood, and she fights you as you drag her upwards. Remora hasn't changed out of his swimsuit. There's still the cut bits from the fight, getting larger as he decks Wu Changxi in the face.

She kicks off from the wall, throwing you into Remora with a sudden and violent dip of the shoulder. He ducks, you hit the wall and see pucehead strangling Yuexia. That was kinda a big ask in hindsight. You leap to her defense, one hand grabbing his bald head and squeezing it, fingernails cutting into the scalp. He lets go with a scream, which distracts Wu Changxi enough for Remora to lock a sleeper hold, which was it for her. Yuexia flops around, gasping for breath.

Then you pushed his head into the wall, which had a layer of steel behind it. The man gurgles something out and then slips against the floor, chunks of plaster and drywall following him on the way down.

"You know you could have helped." You look at Ouyang.

"Not my problem," she shrugs, going into doctor mode and carefully laying Dan out. She supports his head with a towel from a free bedstand, and continues while bandaging the side of his head. "That wall is, though."

It makes a pretty solid sound when you rap it with your knuckles. "Yeah, my bad. I'll get the money tonight."

"Mhm. How's the other kid?" Ouyang stands up and dusts off her hands. You help Yuexia up, still gulping air like it's a ten thousand case of some very expensive and vinegar tasting wine. By the end of it Ouyang has shooed you three into this disused cabinet of a storeroom smelling like dried ginger.

It's barely large enough to fit two, let alone three sitting on squat little folding chairs. "Right." You might as well break the ice. Not like anyone else is gonna. "Guess I should apologize to you for trying to gut you." You tilt your head at Remora and study the ground intently. "It was indeed a bitch move."

He makes a rolling gesture, more interested in how you're debasing yourself than accepting the apology. "In uh, light of that incident, when this is over, you may stab me once. We cool?"

"This is the first time I've had this offer," Remora admits. "Heck to it. We cool."

Well, shit. You make a minor note to make yourself scarce after you get the score. "Alright. So, we're doing this tomorrow. Me and Yuexia does Oogami, you handle Kirishima?" A round of nods. "Okay. What about Kirisaki? You know, Chu and Han offered us first loot rights to his mansion."

"Yeah, he did. I think I passed by it once or twice," Richie Rich said. "Big ol' faux Japan thing in the suburbs. Limos, BMW's, whole thing."

You snap your fingers. "Yeah. Here's the thing. We hit that mansion first and get Kirisaki."

"Get?" Remora leaned in. "What, a fucking kidnapping?"

"Got it in one. Motherfuckers don't like him, but they need him if they wanna keep calling themselves yaks. Cho and Han don't, but the Japanese do. Following me?"

"The essential thing is," you continue, "is those three. Kirisaki, Oogami, and Kirishima. Now, we take out Kirishima and Oogami, we still have the senile motherfucker in charge and whatever backup he has. We get Kirisaki, we can make Kirishima and Oogami walk to us instead of going to them. Following?"

"And your plan is to assault the manor, take Kirisaki alive, hope beyond hope that Kirishima and Oogami walk into a trap you've set up." Remora paused. "Do you normally go this hard or did you get brain damaged?"

You lean back. "Probably the brain damage."

End of Discussion
[]- Game as Planned: You opened your fat mouth enough. Let's just go with what they have out and ace it instead of some fancy bullshit.
[]- Shot at the King: And you're not gonna miss. Bust down Kirisaki's doors and bag him and use him to force Oogami and Kirisaki to make a misstep.

 

[Laplace]

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."

[]- Deck him in the face.​

[]- Kick Metalhead out of the window.​

 

[Laplace]

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.

 

[Laplace]

A black sedan pulls out of the driveway and screeches off. Your cue. "Sorry," you wheeze out of a… well, not broken, but kinda cracked up ribcage. "But I gotta dip." The floor shakes as Metalhead arrives a little too late. You leap through the window, glass breaking into shards as you begin falling again. The wind whips through your hair and you're feeling free as you twist to the side of the building and jam the spear into the wall to stop the drop. You were about to hit the ground when the wall gave way and you plummeted in free fall, smashing through the ledge above the door.

About now the BMW's engine roars. You twitch on the ground like a fish for a second, recovering your breathing.

You leap up after a moment in the asphalt and concrete rubble. And glass. A shard nicks your finger while you were brushing off your jacket. There was a limp in your left leg. Landed wrong. Hell.

One, two, three sharp cracks sounded, and the tinkle of windows breaking. Three shapes were ejected out of the building with some force. "Attagirl, Yuexia!" you shout on the basis of comradeship, even though she probably can't hear you. Car, car, car. There's one, an Audi. You smash the window, only to realize there's no key.

Shit.

"He's there!" someone yells. You rip off the door and fling it like a discus at the mob of mooks. Strike for you, you guess. And it just so happens that none of them have a key. Goddamn.

Out of the corner of your eye you spy a bike. Beaten down thing. "I'm not gonna have a high speed chase against the yakuza on a fucking bike," you state.

Okay, but is there really a choice? No key, and the last time you tried to hotwire a car you burned your fingers.

"It's so lame though."

Your choices are the bike or run.

"Goddamn."

It's so unwieldy riding the bike with one hand on the handlebars and the other holding your spear like some budget ass nomad warrior. The tires screech as you almost lose control, skidding out into the road. Where the hell… there! You can't miss it for all the world. That BMW climbing up into a highway overpass.

Your lungs burn. Holy god, does it burn. Why did you think chasing after a BMW going a hundred and twenty on the freeway was a good idea? Your heart thuds in your ear, a whole body basso vibration as chains rattle. And it's still just out of reach, even though you can see the license plate. The target weaves in and out of traffic, a game you can frankly play better than them, even if your legs at this point feel like jelly.

A breadloaf van clips you. You slide under a truck. When the BMW goes off the highway on a southbound ramp you pedal close to the railing of the overpass and leap down with the bike on your shoulder in a shin splintering impact, immediately leaping onto the bike and pedaling like hell, overtaking them.

You leap for reasons unknown to god, man, and you. All you knew was that one moment you were pedaling and the next you were perched on a truck going ninety kilometers right in front of Oogami and the slitmouth, agape at your stunt. You bring the spear up and-

The world stops suddenly. A fucking highway sign, a highway sign of all things, hits you and pitches your limp body forward and onto the BMW You grab hold of the roof, and metal tears under your fingers. Still, you're on, even though slitmouth's doing his best to juke you off. He nearly crashes a couple of times. Still, it's the simplest thing to take that spear and-

Poke.

It punches through the roof and the car screeches and tumbles upside down. You land a distance away from the wreck, checking that there's blood, yep, that's blood, on the spearhead. Oogami's dead, and if that wasn't proof enough you have the sitmouth carrying the body out of the wreck crying and sobbing. His face was this twisted parody of grief, but, you consider while walking closer, that's probably the scars.

"Y-you killed him," he choked out.

"Yeah." You scratch your head. Score one for you, but you're feeling all knotted up inside. What were you expecting? Not this. You feel like you've kicked a puppy. A psychotic, kicked up puppy.

"H-he was gonna turn Kirisaki around," the slitmouth continued. His voice caught and stumbled. "And n-now he's gone. And I'll never repay him. F-for everything."

"Er. Would you like a shot at me?"

He did.

It was nothing like… not like Metalhead, a desperate battle against an implacable foe. It wasn't a test of skill and tenacity against skill and tenacity, where two lonely stars met, clashed, and parted until their orbits crossed again, feeling all the better after it. It wasn't even like Remora, slippery and mind bending. It was just…

It was some broken down middle aged thug beating your face in. He's strong, yeah. Every punch and kick hurts like he's pressing red hot brands on you. He's tough, and you think he's getting off on this, with every inch of skin cut open he's just getting stronger. He's losing. Maybe if he was younger, if he kept in shape (you can feel some flab on his paunch) he could have given you a fight. But as it is, even in your state- heart beating like it's about to explode, legs essentially jelly, you can beat him easy.

When he charges at you you catch him in the head and squeeze. And then it pops, blood and brain sticky and sweet against your chest and face. The corpse falls down.

You collapse.

The book, remember the book? pokes up at you. You take it out and flip it open as you drag yourself to a railing to prop you up. Everything's coming back with a vengeance now. Your heart. Your lungs. God, the twitching ropes that constitute your body. With trembling fingers you flip it open, wondering what's got Yuexia so focused on it. Looks like a private dossier. There's names of hundreds of people, along with juicy anecdotes that would get them in deep shit. Fucking his boss's wife. Sold hard drugs and bribed the cops off. Hey, that'd explain it. Maybe Yuexia's rocking up for a nutso vigilante run on the entire city. That's pretty cool of her. Hope she doesn't die.

Something catches your eye. Guy named Li E'kun. "Snakehead boss, in charge of C/A to eastern seaboard drug peddling. Once Mengzhu claimant?" Isn't that what you think you were? Not the mengzhu thing, the drug thing. His picture stares up at you, a viciously vital sixty something with a magnificent mane. One eye, the other scarred out by a blade, stares up at you. You think. Eh, might be worth tracking him down. You rip out the page and stuff it in your other pocket as snowflakes drift from the sky.

Consider, you think. "What's there to consider?" you ask the air. "I met someone new. I killed him. That's the course of my life." You just want to sleep. Forever and a day.

Dream…
[]- There is a dreadful heat that chokes the ground. The sun, fat and red, hangs on the horizon. In the distance, the beat of horse hooves. {Increase Chase the Red Sun to Intensity 3}
[]- Something is eating people. You hear it in the cabinet, slurping the fat from their bones. There is a spear in your hands. Are you eating? {Increase Harmonious Society to Intensity 4}
[]- You can see Buddha within you. It's trapped in skin and wreathed in clouds and it's cutting its way out. {Increase Wrathful Manifestation to Intensity 4}
[]- Xingtian is howling defiance. You know it is not Xingtian, flensed of skin and a brass skull, but it dances nevertheless. Also it's on fire. {Increase Pain is a Teacher to Intensity 3}

 

[Laplace]

The moon is bright in your dream and you have reason for your fear. It's nighttime in this fantasy hamlet, absolutely quiet save for the cracking and slurping of some monster in the villa. Perhaps the villa itself is the reason for your fear. When you walked in you saw that the barley was dry straw and the river was mud so why was this house so vital and full of life? Why is it that in this season of starvation, something was eating people, slurping the fat from their bones and cracking it open for marrow?

You enter the villa. Dead leaves crunch under your feet. The floorboards, the walls, they're all immaculate.

The monster is here, behind the family shrine. You pause. Why is your mouth watering like you've just caught a whiff of uncle's famous spitroast cumin lamb? A trickle drips to the floor as you stare up at the nameless, faceless, generic god. Could be Guan Yu. Could be Yue Fei. Could be anyone and anything, so you step close to the offerings.

Chunks of meat and gristle never looked so inviting.

You thrust the spear in your hands through the heart of the god-statue, smashing the statue and the wooden wall behind it and scattering burning incense sticks, wafting their sandalwood scent over the room. You see the monster now, an aged tree, bent and twisted of an old man slowly rising to a stately height. His eyes are that of a leopard's, glinting fiercely in the gloom, and his teeth are iron needles dripping with blood, having an arm (pearly white) clamped between them.

A fine miscreant, it scoffs, flecks of blood spraying over a fine set of silk robes. The kind that comes cheap on Taobao for reenactors and fetishists. To barge on this august personage's meal, which whore birthed you?

Aaaalright you're killing this prick.

You do so. It bats away the first thrust with a gnarled claw, and in two moves it has you under his shoe. Something squelches under your cheek. You have eyes, and if the next words out of its mouth are what you think it is, by god you will dance in its entrails, but cannot see Mount Tai! A frustrated, high pitch whine burns out of your throat. Miscreant villain, altar-wrecker. Whyfore have you come to disturb this harmonious society?

"Y'fucking eat people," you mumble out from under his shoe.

People exchange their sons to eat, when they grow old, children offer flesh to heal their elders. Since time immemorial man has eaten man and now you protest history?

"Y'words're pointless sophistry'n shit. Get yer foot off me and let's have round two."

He does. You stand, dust off and take its measure. It wipes off the blood from its lips, regarding you through leopard eyes. "What's this harmonious society business?" you ask. It's watching you too intently. You can't fake him out at this point.

It is when fathers father, mother mother, and son son, it responds. Something rolls against your foot. It is a small skull, bits of meat still attached. Your stomach churns.

"And the cannibalism?"

As their lord, it's only-

"That's not in the Analects."

You don't know that. Have you read the Analects? No. You were too busy travelling the Jianghu and picking dumbass fights.

You fold your arms and glare at the leopard eyed reenactor. "Fuck you, man. You're a figment of my imagination. Same thing with the motherfucker before you. If I haven't read it you haven't. Out with it."

Heaven is unkind, the monster mopes. Then it composed itself and flicked its long sleeves for no discernable reason. It is a grift. Wow, okay, you hadn't expected that. Do you see that? While this land is peaceful I am fat and happy. While this land foments I fear for my life. Haven't you done that? Made promises you never bothered to keep. Lied your way to burn down Kirishima. Where is he now? Dead. Because of you. It's a grift all the way down.

"I kinda get it." It's so cynical. Is this what you're like, in the end?

So let us eat.

As it bends down over the gore, you grab it by the head and snap its neck as the hungry sky falls down on the uncanny villa.

When you wake up your mouth is still watering. Your bandages have seemingly migrated from your face to the general regions of your chest and legs. You crane your head to the left. You come face to face with a wall of stitched sofa arm. You crane your head to the right. A bowl of millet gruel stares you in the face. Where…? A rib creaks and something tears when you try to sit up. Breathe in. Breathe out. The pain is temporary. You can stand up, and- no you can't. Immediately your legs give out and you fall back onto the sofa.

Goddamn. No more action movie hero bullshit. You could do with the millet gruel and a cup of something hot. The first is in your grasp and you polish the (very high quality) bowl with your tongue. You stand up again. This time you don't fall. Now all you need to do, is walk the short little distance from the living room with the big HDTV to the cramped kitchen. One foot in front of the other. See? Short gasps escape from your ribcage. Nothing to it. All you need to do is walk.

"Oh, fuck." Moment you walk into the kitchen you collapse, and you pull yourself back up again. Coffee, coffee, where's the grinder? You grab a bunch of beans from a paper bag and spill them on a cutting board. There's the knife, right. You set about chopping the beans into ground, and the sound of metal against wood rises. It's soothing.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

That is a very good question. What the fuck are you doing? "Making coffee," you state, continuing the chop while turning back. You see Yuexia and Flay, who both look like they are witnessing a crime against god and humanity. "What's with the bag? Is this Yuexia's apartment? Why am I here?"

"It's money," Flay walks forward and grabs you by the shoulder with her metal arms, and marches you back into the sofa. "It's all over now, and I have to say we did a pretty good job, only that I didn't get to loot everything. You're here because our cute 'lil hero panicked and called a cab to the only place she knew." You flip her a thumbs up. She flips you one back.

She dumps the fat stacks of yuan on the table. "We're up a couple hundred million." There's a satisfied cant to her smile. "Even split three ways equally we're all filthy fucking rich."

Yuexia's still downcast. "I'm gonna have so much trouble hiding this," she grouses.

"Don't worry about it. Big sis can launder it for you for a fee."

She shrugs. "Also, thanks for getting the book," Yuexia says, brushing her hair behind her. "It was a total dick move leaving me alone in that apartment building. Your spiritual encouragement is noted and appreciated but I would have liked you at my back."

You lift a finger, and then collapse into the soft cushions. "What happened after that? I guess Cho and Han were successful, and Oogami and the slitmouth are dead." Yuexia pumps a fist. "Did she like, beat all five hundred?"

"I fought like, a hundred?" She takes a guess. "After that Flay floated a drone over you and broadcast you killing Oogami. Then everyone just gave up."

"That's about right," Flay nods. Somewhere she's procured a stool. "Cho and Han are running the show now. They're in talks with Kirisaki to rebrand the association. Kirishima isn't dead-" phew- "but he busted up Remora pretty good, and he's recuperating in a separate clinic. He's gonna live, though. Oh, yeah." She snaps a metal finger at you. "If Kirishima sees you again, he says he's gonna kill you."

"Oh, dope."

"That's not dope."

"It's pretty dope. Where's he now?"

"Smoothing over things with the Korean gangs. Seriously, I don't want you moving outside of this apartment. It's Yuexia's by the way. Just a temp thing until shit's sorted out. Anyway, you two enjoy yourselves. I'm gonna dip."

After that, Yuexia tossed you the remote on the TV and you found a rerun of Murder the Fifth on some channel or the other. She disappears to do whatever she does and you content yourself to the adventures of this once-idol prettyboy (in real life) playing the role of a detective, solving an intricate murder of the fifth daughter of a sprawling family. There's recriminations, backstabbing, and in the end your head hurts with all the complex plots. At least it's pretty. The director spent five minutes in a slow, tracking silent shot of nothing but the main character walking through rain.

Absolute kino.

Yuexia comes out and goes to the kitchen and brews the coffee you chopped up. One for you, one for her, joining you at the couch just in time to see the grandmother admit to poisoning her sister for being an utter nuisance when they were children. Now the sister is absolute nuts and lives in an attic. "See?" she asks. "Good, right?"

"I think this is all a bit contrived." The coffee is not good at all. You should have searched a bit more for the grinder instead of making do with a knife. Ick. Dilute shitwater. The two of you continue. Something rises to your mind. "Hey, how'd you make it out?"

"I told you. I cut down a hundred and then everyone gave up after that."

"So you've killed."

She lets her head fall down to her knees at that. "I don't want to think about it."

"Then don't. Hey, did that guy just shoot his own mother? Harsh."

Hate to say this but you're kinda getting invested in this. This tawdry, well acted melodrama hits all your buttons. The son is digging a shallow grave for his own murdered mother and the cold stare on his face as he stares down into the camera placed into the pit is just aces.

"I guess I did kill a couple. I mean, I was using a sword. Swinging that thing through them. There's no way that that's not fatal. And... " her voice shakes. You look at Yuexia, staring at the screen ignoring everything else. "God. How do you deal with it, grand abbot?"

"From inference, a truly earth shattering amount of drugs."

"I'm going to find a better coping method, if it's all the same to you." The hero, having disappeared for most of the episode's runtime, is back in the shot with a folder full of surveillance data. "Hey," Yuexia says. "You look kinda similar." You grunt, neither assenting or denying. What's in there? You're on the edge of your seat. "Hold on a sec-"

Before you know it she's taking a selfie with you. In the spirit of things you throw out a peace sign. "What the fuck?" you ask her.

"It's just to my friends, be cool," she reassures you. "Aaand-" the sound of notifications come up in rapid succession. "There we go," she grins. "Hahaaa. They're so jealous." Did she just use you to flex on her friend group? That's pretty hilarious. You share a laugh with her just as the lead on the TV screen gets ganged up and kicked the shit out of by a group of local thugs. Scene end. Credits, roll.

Yuexia stands up and stretches. "Anyway, I'm going to shower off. Do not move from that sofa. Do not."

You Are Going To Move From That Sofa.
[]- I'm Gonna Drink Myself To Death: You are a simple, hedonistic man, and you have no reason to change your base urges because those base urges are kinda fun.
[1.2] {Wrathful Manifestation} I'm Gonna Pray And Shit. Kinda a dick move you just did. Might as well pray at a temple for a chunk of good karma to fall out of the heavens and brain you.

 

[Laplace]

Your current mode of dress is suitable for hobos and people going undercover as hobos. You hadn't noticed it for so long, caught up with the hurdy gurdy (funny word) of the whole yakuza grift thing. In your possession are the kicks you looted from the Sunflower campus, a bit torn up and stained with bilgewater, but still mostly fine. Your trackpants are stained with blood and ripped at multiple locations as is your jacket, which is draped on a sofa arm at your side. Your sleeveless t-shirt is more of a suggestion than an actual thing.

Solution: liberate clothing from the bourgeois oppressors of the people.

The TV is now in a commercial stage, the cheap ad music masking the sound of you slipping off the sofa and making a beeline towards the closet by the entryway. The rich smell of leather greets you with the opening of the doors. Yuexia's parents have good taste. You spy just some real slick shit in there. Couture, you would go as far to say. The one that catches your eye most is a fur lined black leather bomber, which oozes everything you are not. Namely class.

You close the door behind you. After a moment of thinking you go back and stuff some couch cushions under the blanket you slept in and stuff a money stack into your pocket. By the time the elevator doors close on you you realize that a couple things are missing. One, your hair tie was lost somewhere in between murdering slitmouth and waking up from blissful slumber. So, your hair falls down your shoulders like a greasy, bloodstained waterfall. Two, non fractured ribs. You hadn't noticed it when it was warm but now the chillness is really accentuating it.

Whatever. You breathe in and out, steady as a rock. Pain goes away. Still got it.

Elevator doors open. Post-snowfall J3 air hits you like a hammer and pain returns with some friends. You stagger against the handrail, feeling the ribs poking into your organs. Then your breathing levels out and you forge onwards into the snow.

Scratch one for Yuexia being connected, you guess. It's a gated neighborhood, with the ground levels being a winter wonderland and the apartment blocks rising stately to the sky. You hurry to find an exit, stopping only to execute a sharp salute to a pair of confused retired cadres paying chess in a bakery, before the urge to piss all over this little hothouse of crude accumulation gets to you.

Temples, temples, temples. You find a bus stop and flip open your phone. There's one about ten stops away and a transit. Only, it's been closed, as you discovered when you drop off the bus. "Because of snow damages," you read the sign on the metal barricades, "this temple is closed temporarily? What the shit?" Your voice echoes in the empty streets.

Fuck. You're already out and your phone is buzzing with fifty messages from Yuexia so you calmly power it off, thinking where to go next. For a start, that grill is cooking lamb right in front of the temple. The hot oil drips down your chin as you continue walking and stewing over the abject failure of upholding the dharma by the fake monks of Lingchen Temple. Snow damage? Goddamn, just rope off the bit and continue as normal instead of taking the entire spring break off.

The skewer is empty. You toss it into a trash can and buy some more snacks, which only makes you angrier now that you have something in your stomach. And then, that's gone, so you buy some more, which makes you angrier, so on and so forth.

It's a whole cycle, one that was only broken when your jello legs stagger in front of a junkyard and the entire corpus falls down on a bench. Ah, fuck. Just your luck. Perfect cigarette mood and you left yours at Yuexia's apartment.

The wind lets up a little bit, and the midday sun warms you up a little. Curiously you notice that there's people entering the junkyard, right into the middle building. They come in ones and twos, with hands clasped together and head bowed. Is this an underground temple?

The sun beats down on your neck. "Hell to it," you mumble and join the line. "Hey, excuse me." You tap the shoulder of the suited man in front of you. "Is this a temple?"

Your head rocks back and a fresh blossom of pain blooms in your nose. "The hell-?" Oh. They're yakuza. How many suited mooks go around with full body tattoos lurking under their starched collars? "You guys." A spurt of blood trickles down into your mouth. Hot and salty. "I do anything to ya recently?"

The dumbfuck question gets them even more angry. "You fucking bastard," one of them chokes out. Are they crying? Man, you never thought Oogami had it in him. "You betrayed Kirishima! I'm gonna-"

So you're wrong. You were just about to throw hands when another hand grabs the most eager one. "Calm down. It's all over now, and he was with Cho and Han." Old guy. Looked kinda familiar. "Worked for the new bosses. Can't do shit."

"Sir," the first one says, "you can't possibly expect me to stand in the same fucking line as this traitor. What're they gonna say? We're gonna look like bitches to everyone." This generates a wave of that's rights, that's rights.

"You know that's totally fair," you concede. "But I just want to point out that you ain't Kirisaki anymore. As far as I know you're Cho and Han's kids. What're they rebranding you as? Anyway, we're all together now, so is there really a point? 'Sides, we all know what's gonna happen. You'll throw hands and I'll fold up all of you like metal chairs."

"Fuckin.' I don't give a shit." He's up in your face now. "You can put me in the morgue but if I can scratch you a little then it's all worth it."

"I respect the hell out of that. But now? You want that heat?"

"Listen to the man, Liu," the oldie states. "I hate this little prick too, but we're under the eyes of the bodhistivatta. Give it a week. You'll get the chance."

"You know I'm standing behind you, right? And I am a proven traitorous motherfucker who orchestrated the downfall of the old bosses?"

The old man turns and stares at you in a very specific way. "Bitch," he enunciates, and turns back.

The motherfucker. Only the fact that punching him in the head would prove him right in some way you can't quite articulate stays your hand, and you stew all the way into the once-junk-warehouse turned shrine to Guanyin. The rear wall is dominated by the bodhistivatta, made out of rebar and rusted car mechanisms, bludged, cut, and welded into the the shape of Guanyinpusa, her head scraping to roof. Her face peers down at you, serene and untroubled, from the metal sheet hammered into the suggestion of the above.

And all around her, suspended on wires, are arms. Mechanical. Flesh. Limbs orbit the Iron Guanyin of Compassion, each twisted into a mudra. Some hold flowers, others grip bundles of hell money, and still others hold the thousand things that mankind couldn't go without. And of course, the sandalwood smoke is so overpowering the room, not only smelling fresh and clean, but also tinted through a gray smog.

On reflection some of those arms look awfully-

"What the fuck?" One of the yakuza turns at you. "What-" You hand him a switch knife that was previously on a terminal descent down into his bald plate. Some arm up there had their grip slack for a moment.

"Bad karma," you shrug. "What can you do?"

"Fucking hell." He walks off with the switchknife in his pocket with the rest of his friends. You turn and stretch, staring up at the constellation of arms. You notice that they're going up to place a bouquet of flowers at the feet of the statue. You also notice that you are noticeably light on votive offerings, and that there's a very obviously displayed gift kiosk by the entrance. Furthermore, you also notice a pair of youngish twins arguing with a monk, who's cassock does nothing to hide the fact that he is incredibly ripped.

What do you do after you pray?
[]- Buy an offering for the Iron Guanyin: It's the proper thing to do, isn't it? Even though it's probably just going to be resold by the proprietors and channeled into a slush fund somewhere..
[]- Walk around the junkyard: This is an interesting place. Be a fly on the wall, go find where the bodies are buried.
[1.4] {Harmonious Society} Go complain about the arms: They could kill someone!

 

[Laplace]

You kinda get the feeling you're getting fiscally fucked. Another monk, this time a nun, stirs out of sutra-chanting calm when you step near, agog at the prices. You don't know how much candles should cost, but certainly not 400 yuan. You certainly know how much a bottle of knockoff Hainan rum costs, and that's not 500 yuan. The cherry on the price inflated sundae is the fucking joss sticks marked two for a hundred. "Can I help you?" There's an apologetic tone to her voice.

"Are these prices for real for real?"

She shrugs. "Yeah. Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to change them. I'm just taking over the stall while my brother finishes over with them." You follow her finger at the jacked monk arguing with the trashkids. What you can hear appears to be an argument as to the nature of nirvana, the bodhi-mind, as well as dues, fees, and how much 'the temple' would support the Iron Guanyin.

You collate this data and come up empty. "What?" you ask.

She bows. "The Shaolin Temple (General Partnership), registered in Henan, is pursuing an association with the underground temple known as the Iron Guanyin of Compassion, located in the J3 Metropolis, for the spread of the Dharma among the people."

You collate this further data. "What?" you ask.

"Is there something you don't understand?"

"I don't get why the Shaolin Temple-" propaganda tool, storied temple of myth, caretaker of the dharma, etc, etc, "would bother with a run down little cult. Is that an Iron Arhat?"

The nun nods. "We're both Iron Arhats. I'm Se Huishou, and that's my brother, Lei Jingjiao over there."

Iron Arhats. The best of the best of the Shaolin Temple. You have memories about the initiation process, and the kinda shit they get up to (meditating in a burning fire, punching a hole through sheet metal with a finger) almost scare you. Every shitkid who wants to be someone has the Iron Arhats of Shaolin, accepting applicants across the world, to look up to, to use as a measuring stick.

"Wow. Congratulations."

"And to tell the truth," Se continues, adjusting the prayer beads on her wrist, "I think the proprietors blackmailed an abbot. They know too much. It's unreal. Anyway, are you going to buy something, or did you just want to talk?"

You take out the stack of bills in your pocket. "Gimme two joss sticks and... that paper car." At least it's folded up pretty. Honestly, it's a bit of a shame to give it away, but that's the point of offerings, anyway.

"That'll be a thousand fifty. Cash?"

"Thousand fifty?" Hope to the Iron Guanyin that this is a haggle shop. "That's robbery. You'll give me seven hundred."

"So you hate the temple?" Se raised an eyebrow as she put the origami car and the joss sticks on the counter between you. "You're going to have those kids be beggars. Might as well personally take an axe to Guanshiyinpusa. Think of the extra as charity. I'll go down to a grand and thirty."

"I hadn't known the Shaolin Temple, on top of being capitalist pig-dogs," you shoot back, "were also statue fucking, confused idolaters. For that insult I'll go lower- I'll fork over five hundred."

She inhales sharply, setting down her hands on the countertop. It cracks under her fist. "Would you like to take that back?"

You could back down right now but that would make you a bitch and you ain't a bitch. You set your hands on the countertop too, the already abused linoleum fracturing under your fingertips. "No. By the way I'm going down to three."

Your ways are confusing and most likely ineffective, because the very next moment a great meaty hand spun you around to face the frankly aptly named Lei Jingjiao, who looks like a thunder god two seconds from nailing you with a strong left hook, snarling in your face. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem?" you echo, undaunted. "Yeah, here's a problem. Your Shaolin Temple is planning to affiliate with highway robbers. Thought about that?"

"I don't give a shit. You're gonna say you're fucking sorry or I'm gonna throw what's left of your body into a trash bag."

Oh no. You like him. "Bring it, you fake ass monk. I'll kick the shit out of both of you."

"Leave me out of this," Se Huishou, the wiser amongst you, objects.

"I'll kick the shit out of you," you repeat, directing it at Lei Jingjiao, who smiles a frankly frightening smile. Impending violence looms. You read it in his eyes, suddenly focused razor sharp on you, his legs, quietly sinking into a horse stance. Your fingers itch like a sword in a scabbard. What should you do? Lei Jingjiao could know any of the dozen odd Shaolin styles, but from his epithet, you guess that he's a kicker. So you're gonna close the distance, and then hook a finger around the vein in his neck and oh my god just start-

A fireaxe, the kind kept strapped to walls, crashes between you. You blink. Lei Jingjiao blinks. "What is going on here?" One of the twins, half his (?) hair dyed white exclaims. "Lei Jingjiao," the other twin, half her (?) hair dyed black continues. "This guy, Mr. Between Names of Cho and Han, if you-" "-wanna have a fight take it outside. We have a-" "-n excellent parking lot for you t-" "-shank each other in."

Confusing ass kids, kicking the line of conversation between them like a kickball. Now the fight winds are knocked out of your sails. Pricks. "There's no problem," you force a smile. "Now, let's talk about how your prices are just shy of robbery. There's hustle and there's fraud, and you've just crossed the line between the two."

The twins nod, a single, synchronized motion. You note bits of metal that could be cybernetics under their ratty winter coats. "Fair. Just to get-" "-you out of my day. Here," twin dyed white takes the incense sticks and the origami car. "Seven hundred. And no more."

You grunt, turning away. "By the way," the twins continued, "how's business going, brother snakehead?"

[]- "You have the wrong guy."
[]- "Fuck, man. Don't you know I got amnesia?"
[]- "What do you know? Tell me now."

 

[Laplace]

"Fuck man," you say, not even turning around, "don't you know I got amnesia?"

Lighter, lighter. You don't have it. "Oh, you do?" The twin- fucked if you can tell which one is which, "that's odd. Isn't it the thing, it's where you want to get your memories back?"

You mean, you kinda do. It's just that you'd be fucked if you ask them to help you. It'd be embarrassing and you don't want that in your life. "Eh, it's whatever. Do you have a light?" They, in fact, do. You light the incense sticks, just about to finish your business, before Lei Jingjiao grabs your shoulder again. "What d'ya want?" You brush it off.

"Are you a snakehead?" the monk asks. Direct. Straight to the point.

"Who knows?"

"You."

"Well, I don't," you declare. "In fact I don't much of anything at all, so fuck off."

He does not, in fact, fuck off. "Brother-" the term of familiarity rankles you. You aren't his brother, you would accede to comrade, but you're not of Shaolin and he's not one of your relation, so he's got no right, in summation, to give you such a term. "The name of the Mingzhu Snakeheads is fucking perfidy throughout the jianghu and normal society."

Se Huishou leans across the counter, equally intent. What's with the interrogation? Did a snakehead piss in their cereal this morning? "Drug dealing. Terrorism. And Xi'an! Do you-"

"I fucking know," you bite out.

"Well, you're an amnesiac," the twins add in unison. "I'm surprised you know what money is."

You're not sure what to call Lei Jingjiao. Annoyed, yeah, angry? Definitely. But he's been angry ever since you met him and he probably won't stop. What really gets your goat is that beneath it he seems almost concerned for you. "If you are," he presses, "you have to stop. It's bad karma and it's a bad life."

"Lei Jingjiao, I like you and all, but if you keep this up we really can't be friends."

You hope this gets you in a fight. Goody two shoes junior cadre horseshit pisses you off when it's directed at you. No one gets to tell you what to do, especially in your heart of hearts. And even if you go along with him, you're not getting a giant grocery bag full of cash out of it. So he, big dumb psycho ox he is, sputters while the brains of the pair cogitates a response. Before it leaves her mouth you turn to the twins. "Can we take it somewhere private? If you're gonna try to sell me shit, I'd like somewhere confidential."

"Sure, thats-" "-not a problem. Follow me."

Like that, you left. The twins lead you to… an office? What's the nomenclature? Either way, it's a little shed clamped onto the main building that was once where the proprietors stored all their files, so it's an office. You're an overthinker. The walls are still stuffed with papers and more than one little statuette.

"So!" one of the twins declares, "we do, in fact, know who you are."

"Yay," you mumble, sinking into the chair, shoving your hands into the pockets of the pilfered bomber. "How much?"

One of the twins sits behind the chair. The other goes around the office, whistling some old song as they dust the shelves. "How much?" the kid, half their hair dyed a shoddy grey, "I like you, Mr. Between Names. But I think a history is a very expensive thing to buy back. I think we need to start at multiple millions."

"The history was mine to fucking start with. I'm askin' you to return something like a dog, not steal the Constitution of the United States here."

"Stealing that shit starts at half a million. It's not the moon, here." You all laughed. "In any case, this is a-" "-supply and demand issue," the other twin continued. "You want it so, so bad. I know this."

"Horse piss," you reply immediately. "You don't know me. Maybe I'm satisfied with how I am right now." You're not, not really.

The twin leans back in a torn up office chair, a smirk playing across his face. You recognize it, the cocky, incousiant motherfucker reflected off of him. "Motherfucker," he says in your voice, "I am the only one that can lead you through the big empty." That was you. You were saying this. You blink, and you are talking to that demon in the bathroom again, morphine smoke perfuming the room. Cold sweat runs down your back. "How long can you stand on quicksand? Be rootless? Not for long."

You blink again. It's just the punk. "What the fuck did you do to me?" you ask softly.

"You should be familiar with hallucinogens."

"I haven't eaten a thing. What the fuck." He ripped… something out. You hate it. Kill him. Kill him now. Nothing-

If you wanna kill me," the twins say in a single voice, "you're not going to have a good time."

"I never did," you croak out of a dry mouth.

"That's false. I think you and Remora are cute together."

You correct your posture. "What," you delay, thinking about what you could possibly do. Nothing. "Not me and Metalhead?"

"That's not a relationship. That's a fetish."

You rub your face. "Whatever. Get to the point. What's the sitch?"

They lean in across the table, mismatched eyes staring at you. "I want you to tear down the Colored Wolf Pagoda."

"Aight, sure."

The twins squint at you. The other moved behind the desk in a show of solidarity. "No fuckery?"

"No fuckery," you stretch. "What do you mean by tear down? Like, do you mean literally? Where'd ya get explosives?"

"Uh, if you're gonna blow it up we honestly don't care," they admit. Cute seeing them flustered. "But preferably we'd like something a lot less…"

"Cool. I understand."

One of the twins- can't tell which is which, lets their head thump against the flimsy table. "Argh. Well," one of them breathed out, "just get the casino no longer functional. Blown up, the owner dead, whatever. We don't want to see that fucking cancer anymore."

"Cool beans."

You left, mind a whirl. Nothing quite makes sense.

[1.4] {Harmonious Society} Visit Remora: Just to be friendly.
[1.2] {Wrathful Manifestation} Stake out a Zhenyuan Office: End run the creepy kids by seeing what the cops have on you.
[1.1] {Chase the Red Sun} Hit up the Neo-Maoists again: Proletariat solidarity > creepy cult bullshit.
[]- Go Back: You're tired and your ribcage is acting up again.