Hong Kong, 27th December, 2299
It is the time when the sunlight goes out that the city of Hong Kong truly gets to shine; its dazzling prosperity illuminated by trillions of flashing colorful neon lights, adding variable shades of green, violet and bright amber to the massive elevating columns of industrial smoke. The pile of smoke lingering over the top of the factories adjacent to the left bank of the Crescent River tints the moon with its color of red, giving a strange crimson reflection on the surface of the massive river that splits the city in half.
The elegance of Hong Kong is further adorned by the presence of the Hong Kong Network reporters and their crews, hovering over the city in their stylish helicopters. It is such a special night tonight, when there are not one, but four helicopters, circling around the tallest skyscraper of the city at a safe distance, waiting for their turn to report a breaking news of what looks like a terrorist attack.
"As of 11 PM on the 27th of December, the terrorists have still not yet identified themselves, meanwhile, the responsibility for attacking and seizing the Ying Industries' primary headquarters has not been claimed by any factions. Based on the speculations, there are currently 7 employees who have been taken hostage, notably the famous Quantum Physics scientist Doan Thuy Vi, who is also the wife of Ying Fengwong, the President of Ying Industries. There has not been any kinds of official negotiation, as the terrorists have yet to find a way to communicate with the outside. This is due to Ying Industries' close-circuit communication policy for the sake of data privacy protection. As far as we know, the head of Hong Kong police, along with the city authorities, will proceed to the inside of the building to initiate a negotiation at 11:30PM, Yi Bong, HKN, reporting from the scene."
"Cut!"
The cameraman lowers his camcorder and stares toward the building. Yi Bong asks with curiosity:
- Something new, mister?
- No. - The cameraman lights up a cigarette, and asks Yi Bong a question. - Young man, do you happen to know that this river was not supposed to be there in the first place?
- My grandfather used to tell me stories. The second Chernobyl incident had shifted the tectonic plates drastically, changing the whole world with many of its places reshaped. In Hong Kong, the quake was strong enough to tear the city in half, leaving a crescent-shaped river in the middle.
- So you do know. My grandfather USED TO tell me similar stories. Before the existence of the river, Hong Kong was the land of the dreams, an extremely dynamic city where everyone constantly hustled, yet the city itself never saw that many catastrophes like it does now.
Bong frowns slightly, thinking about what the old man is saying. During his thirty years as a resident of Hong Kong, and over three years in the industry, Bong definitely understands how chaotic this modern city is, better than anyone else. More than half of the news he has reported were about robberies, murders, gunfights. And now a terrorist attack.
A message from the station abruptly pulls Yi Bong out of his thoughts. The head editor wants him to make up some side stories to serve as fillers while they wait for the updates from the active scene. The content of what's running on the news ticker once again gets the attention of the entire 13 billion citizens worldwide, even if it has become too familiar with Yi Bong and the rest of the population.
"Ying Fengwong - World's Top Mysterious Business Magnate
Having his reach in petroleum, real estate, transportation, aviation, heavy industries, electronics, communications and experimental energy is what made Ying Fengwong the single wealthiest man on Earth. Not only this Mainlander entrepreneur is known for his ability to turn the private conglomerate of his family into an entity embedded with the power of a whole nation, but also his total anonymity throughout the 179 years of leading Ying Industries. The mysteries surrounding the businessman were more than enough for some funny speculations: Someone once claimed that this worldwide conglomerate has discovered the secrets to immortality. However, one trusted source of HKN has firmly stated that "Ying Fengwong" is, in fact, a shared identity among many generations of Ying leaders for the sole purpose of preserving the mystery they have been building for so long. Ying Fengwong inherited the affluent corporation from his father Ying Long - who passed away during the 2120 Chernobyl incident from an accident while dealing with the remnants of the deadly radioactive materials. The catastrophic incident was dubbed the "Chernobyl II", with its impact on humanity at a cataclysmic level."
- Look!
- Y...Yes? - Yi Bong kicks himself out of the running news ticker and looks toward the direction of the old man.
Over the Ying Industries high-rise appears an unmarked, unbadged, unidentified helicopter. The mysterious helicopter slowly approaches the 75-story building, and from the cabin, a black figure that resembles a human being daringly jumps outwards and toward the tower. The figure then pulls out a device that immediately launches a grappling hook towards one of the window panels, then it swiftly traverses the building in a vertically downward direction.
"What the fuck is that? Is he some kind of police SWAT?" - Yi Bong begins thinking about the possibility that the police would prefer the intervention of the Special Forces over a negotiation. The thought is quickly disregarded when all he sees is one man single-handedly doing all the work. Or is this just some desperate guy from some unknown TV stations that cannot even afford a helicopter or a little newsdrone?
- Only one way to find out. - The cameraman quickly disconnects his camera lens and throws it out of the helicopter. As it happens to follow the rules of gravity, the camera lens freezes mid-air thanks to its integrated, instantly activated micro-rotorblades, then it projects itself toward the high-rise.
***
On the facade of the Ying Industries building, the black figure has rappelled down to the 71st level.
Donning a full-body tactical suit beneath a brownish red leather overcoat, the figure's entire apparel was seemingly constructed using highly specialized materials. As the best their UAV can do from its current angle is record the wall-climbing entity from his behind, Yi Bong and his cameraman's attempt to get a look at his face is rendered useless.
Right outside the 71st floor, the infiltrator breaches the windows and swings himself inside the building. As he proceeds further inside and disappears, the drone continues its tailing, quickly identifying seven hostages, gagged and tied, sitting together at a corner of a hall, including the well-known Mrs. Doan Thuy Vi. Approximately thirty years of age, Doan Thuy Vi has achieved her status as a universally acclaimed figure in the scientific community, one of the most renowned leading scientists of Applied Sciences and Quantum Physics faculties at Ying Industries. Her appearance, however, is that of someone who would be nicely fitting in a beauty pageant: Possessing a pure, silky white complexion, delicate facial features and her jet-black hair neatly tied behind her head - Vi would easily meet the harshest criteria required for a traditionally beautiful Vietnamese woman. Tightly bound next to her are six of her fellow employees, all having their Ying Industries' standardized uniforms on: Grey shirts and trousers with a plum red letter Y as the emblem.
The obstructing wall prevents the crew's recording drone from acquiring any visuals of the hot zone, but it is fortunate enough that it has a sound recorder module built in.
- Boss!
- Boss!
- Bossr!
- My brothers and sisters! - The overcoated figure responds, his voice partially distorted thanks to the use of a modulator, hilariously forcing the apparent mastermind to sound like a Stage 4 asthma patient speaking through an auto-tune software. - Today marks the beginning of our path to a new world, a world without Ying Industries, a world of freedom!
The seven gunmen scream maniacally in their own excitement. As their cheering comes to an end, the hooded figure continues his speech.
- And today, very unexpectedly, we are provided with the perfect tool for our manifesto to be delivered to the entire world. It is just right outside the room as we speak, a nice remote-controlled camera drone. Please, come in and be our guests. We are honored to have you attend our hearing!
Yi Bong, standing next to his cameraman a few hundred meters away, both of them bewildered - the perpetrator was aware of them, right from the start. Taking the offer, the cameraman navigates the drone into the conference room, discovering another 7 hooded attackers, in addition to the hostages and the overcoated individual.
"What the fuck!" - Yi Bong, for a second, is consummately frightened as the infiltrator turns around to look at his drone, because at the place where it should be his face, the only thing he sees right now is a deformed, horrifying, grinning white skull. As he regains his consciousness, Yi Bong realizes that the "skull" is actually a three-piece balaclava constructed from pieces of ivory armor plates that completely encloses the upper area of his face, with two sides of the jaw extending all the way down to his chin. Beneath the solid surface is an onyx black headwear covering all but his eyes - the identical type to what those remaining 7 attackers are donning. A sharply rough, aesthetically displeasing mandible is in the place where his mouth's supposed to be, efficiently striking its terror into Yi Bong's mental processing unit. He could listen to his cameraman's audible exhalation behind him after the poor guy's own moment of fear.
- If you can communicate, give us a signal!
- The hooded figure shouts toward the drone with his modulated voice. Yi Bong then opens an audio channel to for a communication establishment.
- H....Hello?
- You can call me Yasha. And stream this to the whole city so they can watch, if you would be so kind.
Yasha....the etymology of the well-known, horrifying devilish figure presented in many cultures throughout Asia. It is just right here in a civilized city such as Hong Kong that the traditions of offering rituals are still maintained annually, for the sake of evading the misfortunes caused by this spiritual imaginary creature. And yet, there stands this madman, a psychopath claiming to be Yasha himself, who is having not one, but seven vital members of the world's most powerful conglomerate under his custody, who is explicitly ordering the witnessing reporters to disregard the anti-terrorism authorities' public information policy, to get the entire situation on air for the millions, no, billions of people who are definitely being very curious about what would come next.
"Gong hei fat choi, there goes my career..." - Yi Bong quietly mumbles, contemplating an honorable Pulitzer award for the news of the year.
***
It would take so much as one minute, one minute for HKN to get their live news on every single electronic screen powered on at the moment: From the televisions inside the restaurants, pubs, lounges, shopping malls to the massive LED advertising screens all over the city, and of course, the symbolic floating news holograms over the entire city of Hong Kong; all of them now displaying the work of Yi Bong and his crew.
- Yes, mister Yasha. Please allow us to inquire you about the reasons behind your terror attack today.
- Terror? That's where you are wrong, my lovely friend. Terrorism is something that only those cowardly, impotent authoritarians would do. It is in my strongest beliefs that bombs and bullets do not necessarily mean evil, and virtues do not necessarily mean they are wonderful.
- If terrorism is not what you are doing, then why are you taking those Ying Industries staff hostage? What are your demands?
- No, no, my friend. We did not come here and take them just to ask for ourselves some lousy privileges. This, my buddy, is a legal trial and execution session with absolute integrity.
Yi Bong's personal smartphone lights up with a message notification coming from HKN: "Orders from the police. Stall them." Yi Bong realizes how the staff is having their lives hanging by a thread at this moment, and the police has decided to intervene.
- The Ying Family and their syndicate were dubbed "The Messiahs of Humanity", at a time in the past that was as long as 179 years ago. They salvaged the world from what was called the Chernobyl 2120 event, or better known as the Three Days of Night. But that was the story of 179 years ago, when humanity was too awfully deep in desperation. Our world has recovered. Mankind has recovered. The "salvation" should have ended. And yet, Ying Fengwong and his underlings....- Yasha accusingly points his finger at the hostages. -.....don't seem to know when to stop. Look at our world now. Ying Industries, the brand-new global dominator, with over half of the planet within its grasp. Eastern Europe, Africa, Oceania and Asia... Ying Fengwong, these scumbags will not stop until they become the absolute rulers of humanity.
"Shit... a fucking brainwashed psycho, again." - Yi Bong sighs, mumbling to himself. Apart from the Messiah title, the reconstruction of the planet after Chernobyl 2120 had indeed, earned Ying Industries an enormous fortune. However, those Three Days of Night also marked the beginning of grave political consequences. Constant military conflicts and coups d'etat have led a vast number of nations to their own systematic destructions. More than a few imaginative minds came up with some amusing conspiracy theories, that Ying Industries was indeed the mastermind behind the chaos, who abused their wealth, their power and their influence for the purpose of world domination. Be it true or not, it was the golden opportunity for the rapid expansion of anti-Ying private military companies. Despite that, no one has ever come close to what Yasha and his clowns are doing today.
Along with Yi Bong, millions of Hong Kong civilians and major cities around the world are finding it very amusing how ludicrous this masked psychopath is. Perhaps, without the presence of the seven Ying hostages under his custody, this guy and his speech would be the shining stars of FakeNews. Yasha then proceeds to cite a lengthy, laughable, makeshift indictment paper consisting of far-too-familiar accusatory tabloid articles over the course of almost 200 years , again in his awfully modulated voice.
- On grounds of these accusations... - The self-proclaimed judge, jury and executioner looks up. - I, Yasha, now sentence Ying Fengwong to death in absentia. His subordinates, capital punishment, effective immediately.
The words that have just come out of his mouth are sufficient to silence the entire city of Hong Kong. Yasha unholsters his pistol, raises his arm up and aims the pistol at the bound and gagged group of hostages. He then, without any hesitant, squeezes the trigger seven times. All seven hostages, fatally shot in their heads, point-blank range.
The deafening sounds of the seven gunshots have effectively launched the audience of millions into a fit of rage and terror. Running out of reasons to hold their fire, the SWAT team initiates their operation to take back the control of the Ying HQ. Yasha scornfully smiles at the camera and continues his speech.
- And for the whole calamity to be eradicated at its roots, let the collapse of their stronghold begin. - Yasha takes out something that resembles a remote controller, holds it in front of the drone camera, and presses a button. Yi Bong's monitor screen instantly blacks out, as a powerful explosion destroys his drone with its forceful impact, along with several stories at the top of the Ying Industries tower. In less than a moment, the breaking news streaming on the entirety of televisions and screens over the world get its title changed. "MAJOR TERRORIST ATTACK ON YING INDUSTRIES".
***
It was at that exact moment that the whole world got itself deceived.
The explosion on the tower of Ying Industries was triggered from the 73rd floor, blowing the floor and the two stories on top of it into pieces - while the execution was two levels down from where the detonation began: the 71st level. All Yasha had to do is pressing a button and signaling one of his subordinate sharpshooters to put a bullet in the drone with his assault rifle, at the same time.
- The show has ended. - Yasha discards the remote controller on the floor and crushes his plastic pistol with his bare hands. The seven "dead" scientists - who themselves were held hostages and executed merely a few minutes ago - uniformly stand up and wipe the artificial bloodstains off their faces, like they were trained for the whole thing. The scientists then swiftly remove their Ying uniforms and vacate the room while Yasha's accomplices stand there and watch in utter consternation.
- Boss... what is the meaning of this? - One of the attackers inquires Yasha, in a voice that belongs to someone who is a female.
- Boss? I don't... I don't get this?- Another attacker raises his broken voice, unable to suppress his overwhelming bewilderment.
- The play is only accomplished when its performers are willing to give their lives for it! - Yasha tardily responses. - My friends, my fellows, thank you for your service.
Without waiting for his gratitude to finish its sentence, Yasha draws out another handgun – a magnum this time and no longer made of industrial plastic - and squeezes the trigger. The bullet punches its way out of the barrel and into the forehead of the man standing half a feet away from him. The element of surprise has brought Yasha a millisecond of advantage, but it was enough for the remaining group of 6 assailants to understand the roles they are planned to act. 7 mercenaries, 7 scientist, 7 uniforms left on the floor - they will simply be playing the role of the corpses.
It is not ever easy to give up and just cease to exist, not for a normal human being, not for these soldiers, not for anyone. Without any delay, as the remaining attackers spread out widely and quickly establish themselves in a semi-circular formation to minimize the probability of friendly fire, it has become crystal clear for them: "Let's blow this son of a bitch to kingdom come".
Unhesitatingly, Yasha vaults over the conference table in the center of the room and takes cover, unpinning a military smoke grenade and shoving it at his adversaries - who happened to be his best friends two minutes ago. As the meeting room gets swallowed by the ever-expanding layer of smoke, the semi-circular formation immediately transforms itself to the shape of a phalanx. As experienced assassins, they know better to stand together to mitigate the risk of separate take-downs. Their crosshairs shift from a concentrated target to an open angle that covers every possible direction of their attacker.
One year? Three years? Five years? How long did it take for everyone in the team to communicate with each other with this level of proficiency?
It is not a fortunate time for them however, when it is no one else but Yasha that they're fighting against.
- Fuck, my leg! - One of them screams in agony, as he is dragged away by a hooking cable that has since seconds ago lodged inside his skin, just a touch below his knees. His scream comes to an abrupt stop as he disappears inside the condensed grey layers of smoke. Startled, the assailants then drenched the meeting room with blindfire.
- Watch your fucking legs! And stay fros... - Another miserable guy shouts out to warn his friend - he never gets to finish, as a blazing, glowing red entity leaps out of the curling smoke layer and splits the phalanx formation in half. The barrage of machine gun bullets that follows are instantly suspended with three sharp, separate blasts. Among the layers of smudge, the disoriented assailant hysterically attempts to stand himself up, his rifle swinging horizontally in despair.
- Liv... Liv! You there?
He muttered for the only female member of the team, who was probably planned to play the corpse of Dr. Doan Thuy Vi. The terrified, helpless mercenary then blindly aims his rifle at the glass facade of the conference chamber, intending to vent the dense smog by creating a couple of bullet holes. The shattering effect of the tempered glass wall tells him that he has got the correct target. He then shoots the facade one more time for an increased ventilation effect. "Bang". Then comes a strange thudding sound.
What he sees in the next two seconds is undeniably the most traumatically horrifying thing in his career as a mercenary. As the smoke vacates the chamber through the broken section of the facade, the sight of his female ally, Liv, is revealed: her throat slit wide open, her skull penetrated by nothing else but a 5,45x39mm bullet from his Avtomat Nikonova AN-94 automatic assault rifle. Liv stands there petrified, as if she does not yet recognize that she is dead. Her arms loose, her blood drenching her still wide open eyes. She then collapses to the floor, exposing Yasha who has been standing behind her all along. By the time the merc has recognized that he is face-to-face with Yasha's gun point, it is already too late.
***
Beneath the surface of the Ying Industries skyscrapers lies a gigantic sewer system that serves the purpose of processing wastewater for the whole city, with an uncharted parking lot and emergency exits that have never been mentioned in any documents or blueprints. In one of the vehicles are the group of the seven scientists, laying low with their driver, watching, waiting for the appearance of Yasha.
As he finally shows up, Yasha quickly enters the car and taps on the driver's seat. The driver nods and immediately accelerates, vacating the premises through the massive track downstream of the sewer.
- Where are the others? - Doan Thuy Vi asks Yasha.
- All seats taken. - Responses the masked man, no longer talkative like he was on the TV.
The situation they are in, at the moment, does not allow the scientists to care about anyone else but themselves.
- Did you get rid of the documents on the 71st? - Another beer-bellied individual interferes, his face noticeably anxious.
- From 71st to 75th, all gone. - Yasha responses. - All your misdeeds at Ying Industries have gone for good, and so have you all. This is the beginning of a one-way flight. I truly hope all of you have made up your decision.
The scientists quietly nod their heads, their emotions profoundly mixed. Seven of them, the top 1% of the 1%, working for the most powerful global conglomerate - now seven fugitives, overnight. Running away from their families, relatives, their government, and their own boss. Their vehicle then makes a turn to an exit, where there is another car standing by. The passengers quickly change their clothes then switch the car, holding their new fabricated identification papers.
- You would be paid in full as per our agreement when you have successfully escorted us to the rendezvous location. - Doan Thuy Vi speaks to Yasha after everyone has found their seats in their new transpo. - And the most important thing...
- No need to mention. "Everything stays fully confidential. Your plan, your identities."
- Especially to Ying Fengwong, or anyone he sends to find you in the worst case scenario.
- You can trust me. - The way Yasha responded without a second thought certainly did not give anyone in the group any peace of mind, except Doan Thuy Vi herself. Her close connections have told her stories about Yasha - one of the most professional and trustworthy mercenaries in the South East Asia region, if not the whole world at the moment. But she could be trusting Yasha only because she did not have any other choices, or so everyone thought.
- So, if there's no more questions, then we should start moving. To Kiev!