Keung, cocooned in solitude, grasped blindly for his ringing holocommunicator on the bedside table. The late hour had chased away all visitors from the infirmary, leaving him to recuperate alone. He answered the call and found his father, Denzhen, at the other end of the line.
'Hello, Ba. How are you?' Keung's voice carried the weariness of his recovery.
His deep voice, attenuated and digitised through the small device, came through.
'I'm holding up, Keung. But how are you faring? Have I disturbed your rest?'
'No, I'm fine, Ba. Almost recovered. I got put into EM therapy, so I'm pretty much good to go. I may get discharged tomorrow.'
'What were the injuries? I know they were bad, but to undergo EM therapy …'
'I was okay. The therapies did their job; the second round healed me completely.'
'The device had to be used twice?' His father's voice dipped. 'Light, it was that bad? Yutai downplayed the incident.'
'No, sounds like whatever Yutai told you was right; it really wasn't a big deal.' Keung countered. 'I actually feel good. How about after I'm out you finally show me how to do that powerful dragon kick of yours, huh?' He tried injecting a note of levity into the conversation.
Silence seeped through the connection. Keung waited for a familiar chuckle or a teasing response, but there was nothing. 'Ba? Are you okay?' he asked, concern tingeing his words.
'You were at death's door, weren't you?' his father murmured. 'You were nearly killed.'
'Ba, I said it was nothing. But get this: the adrenal pumps you and I fought over actually ended up saving my life. How about that?' He forced a laugh, hoping to dispel the grim atmosphere.
'He nearly died,' his father murmured once more, the words a soft lament as though he were talking to himself.
Exasperation replacing concern, Keung attempted to shift the focus. 'Ba, please, enough of this. Where are you?'
'I was with Lok and Ying.'
'The siblings?' Keung felt himself colour as he realised his father was having to run around cleaning up his mess, offering apologies on his behalf.
'How did it go?'
'Well, they're frustrated. We haven't been on good terms with them since the Yau Bombings. This Yang situation is growing too fast; I fear we can't keep up. Why did you have to run after Jian's body, Keung? Didn't you think twice about … Ah, don't worry, it was inevitable one of ours would do what you did, and those other three really did. I have to go now. If you're getting out tomorrow, you'll be up and about the next time I see you. Sorry, I couldn't come to visit you. I did try.'
'Sorry for creating such a mess, Ba.'
'It's okay, Keung. Something urgent has come up. I have to go, sorry. Talk soon, I love you.'
Keung was disconcerted how abruptly the call ended, leaving him to his thoughts and the beeping stillness of the dark infirmary room.
He sighed and put his holocommunicator back on the side table.
Lying back on his pillow, Keung stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His body had healed for the most part, yet he still felt a mild pain from his injuries. The afternoon's laughter-filled reunion with his squad echoed in his memory as they rarely ever got together outside of missions. He decided to turn on the television and watch the district news to distract himself.
He reached out to the side table in the dark in search of a remote and switched on the entertainment console. A monitor display slid out of the ceiling, above the foot of his bed. The channel it landed on was showing an old romance movie, one he hadn't watched but knew of well.
'He never loved you … but I did, Zhong-Zhong! Kiss me, darling!'
The dramatic line was abruptly cut off by the buzz of his holocommunicator, a buzz from a shared communication channel between Keung and his detachment. A sigh escaped Keung as he ignored the ping, answerable by the other members, and his fingers danced over the touch-screen buttons of the remote to find another channel.
'And Xiaojun scores another point for the Ghuzu Giants —' The enthusiastic commentary of a zuche game was interrupted by another buzzing interruption.
Probably late-night banter … though it's been a while we've had those on the private group channel.
Dismissing the buzz, Keung finally landing on the news channel. With a tired arm, he placed the remote on his chest to watch, feeling the cool metal against the warm blanket.
'… leaves us wondering why the Kingmakers allegedly stole the body of former Dragon, the notorious and outspoken Yang terrorist, Jian Wenben.'
The news anchor's voice was a practised blend of concern and curiosity. Keung leaned into the crisp words, his attention sharpening.
'Yau district member and acting relations officer for the Luen government, Youlan Fabu, has told us this was done without the knowledge of the Ji Sia elders and the Luen siblings. We have reached out to the Kingmakers but have yet to receive any comment. We are now cutting to an eyewitness from the Gujin Bazaar who saw the events unfold.'
Keung raised an eyebrow. The news cut to a man in the familiar chaos of the Bazaar, atop one of its high balconies. He seemed young, and the type of person you'd expect to be at the bazaar. He had buzzed, bleached hair, and a whole collection of face tattoos; none of them were criminal gang affiliated, though. At the bottom of the screen, his name was displayed: 'Kento Xho, eyewitness.'
People moved around him in a blur, the familiar bustle of Gujin Bazaar that Keung remembered.
'So sir, what exactly did you see?' an off-screen voice asked.
Keung realised this news segment was a pre-recorded interview from yesterday. It must've aired only hours after he was there himself. His actions were, after all, breaking news.
'I was drinking with my friends and dancing to some West-Kow House and high off a Yapyan pill when I see some crazy guys climbing down from the fucking ceiling to where that ol' Yang guy was chilling. Right there under the Gujin Clock. I looked outside and there they were - three men in black trench coats with gold-striped sleeves hangin' off the ceiling. Well slap a peaked hat on me and call me Cao because that there was one of them Kingmakers! And they're just casually untying the guy! Then they flew away or whatever it is they do.
'Now, I'm no political scientist, but if we was caught messin' with a crucifix, Lok himself would behead us! I thought my Yapyan pill had me tripping higher than the Shinghe Tower, so I went back to drinking and popping more pills and you won't believe what I see not long after! There I am, standing outside the club and smoking a tabac, and I spot another one of them trench coat Kingmaker guys climbing the balconies! By himself! I thought, man, I am never taking these pills —'
Kento's vivid recollection poured out in a rush of candid disbelief. It was filled with the chaotic backdrop of the bazaar's highest levels, delivered through Yau street slang.
I think this is where I came in …
Then, Kento Xho's tale was abruptly cut off by a screen full of static. The ominous garble had Keung on edge as such interruptions during the news were often precursors to major events.
Suddenly, it cast back to the news anchor in the studio, but a different man now, signalling a switch from the previous rerun to live news.
'We apologise for interrupting the interview with breaking news from the southern Ho Man Ting district. Our reporter is live at the capital. Jeni Laozi will take it from here.'
The anchor's gaze shifted offscreen, 'Jeni?'
Ho Man Ting? What's going on down there? Keung wondered. The impoverished Southern districts rarely got a breaking news segment, as the south of Kowloon was always in some state of chaos. The media had given up on reporting much of anything down there, with most Kowloonis hearing big news through word of mouth. He wondered what kind of event could have possibly upended this journalistic norm.
Following a few seconds of static, the screen filled with the image of a young reporter, Jeni Laozi, standing amid a bustling crowd. The air was dotted with falling specks of white - a light drizzle, Keung deduced. The relentless wind tousled Jeni's hair, playing hide and seek with her face. She wore thick clothes to combat the southern climate, a puffer jacket and a beanie. Keung could see the reporter in the middle of a crowd, all of whom were gazing past her at something off-camera, high up in the air. Many members of the crowd wore masks and other makeshift face covers to hide their identities.
The backdrop was an unmistakable scene from the heart of District Ho Man Ting, the grand courtyard of Ho Man Ting Square; a beacon of pride amidst the labyrinthine cityscape of southern Kowloon. Keung could see a crowd in excess of hundreds of people, perhaps even more. The shouts and commotion suggested a far larger congregation than the visuals implied.
Emperor Puyin had recently funded the grand courtyard as part of his Zhaisheng, modelled after the lavish Taiku Xhing Courtyard in North Kowloon. This initiative aimed to strengthen South Kowloon's ties with the Yaozhi Dynasty's Kingmakers, easily the most troubled and strained relationships in all of Kowloon. Along with the gift of the square, a grand university and a mall were established on either side, enhancing its utility.
However, tonight, it seemed the courtyard was seeing more bustle than it ever had, which meant something given the region's dense population.
'This is Jeni Laozi; we are here in the Ho Man Ting courtyard where a flash mob of Yang sympathisers has gathered with other general members of the public. By the time the Tien Tao Rioters received word, —
"… appear before you with a heavy heart …"
— attempted to use force to disperse the mob, a masked figure appeared up on a ledge of HMT University. Since then, the crowd has grown by the thousands out of nowhere.'
A louder, distinct voice with an odd accent drowned out Jeni's. The South's tempest became the chaotic backdrop for the unfolding drama, and an ache crept into Keung's gut.
The restless camera wavered, capturing the young reporter's concerned expression before panning left and upwards, to reveal a masked figure perched high above the crowd on the university ledge at the front of the square. As the camera zoomed in and focused on the figure, its angle passed over the tops of thousands, no, tens of thousands of heads. Keung gaped in disbelief at the true magnitude of the gathering. The courtyard was packed to the brim, comparable to a stadium hosting the world zuche finals.
A shrouded, spectral figure towered on the ledge's edge, arms flung wide as if in grand declaration. He stood upon the cliff of chaos, the swirling maw of humanity's distress splayed out below him. Below his feet, tied to the ledge, was a long red banner, flapping madly in the wind like a giant's crimson tongue, emblazoned with the symbol of the Yang - a bird ensnared in a thorny circle.
Upon recognising the symbol, a disquieting shiver slithered down Keung's spine. He knew then the terrifying figure was none other than Mogwei, or to his enemies, the notorious Ibilis of the Yang. The figure was a living painting of power and danger, cloaked in plates of white armour around his torso that glinted ominously over baggy, blood-red hooded robes.
But it was the mask that held Keung transfixed. A horrifying representation of the Zhanshi monster. The face of an unsettling nightmare come to life.
Two crimson eyes glowed with rage, glaring out from the mask's distorted face like the eyes of a man pushed beyond the edge of his own sanity. The grotesque smile, with four elongated canines jutting out, seemed to mock the world.
Haunted by bedtime stories from his aunt, Empress Cixi, the tale of Zhanshi stood out - a fiercely patriotic soul who one day woke up in a distant land, the surface world. Yearning to return to his motherland, Zhanshi descended into the desolate caves of No Man's Land. His patriotism turned to rage and despair as he wandered in circles, losing his way in the ancient sewers that connected it with the mythical surface level. Before long, he was driven mad with a mental affliction known as No Man's Paranoia. In a final act of tragedy and insanity, deep underground, he cursed the dark creatures of No Man's Land, dooming them to monstrous growth and viciousness. Yet, this folklore evoked a twisted pride among the Yang, embodying their extreme love for Kowloon - a love that inspired both devotion and violent passion.
Keung's mind wrenched itself back to the present, his focus sharp and unyielding on the looming spectre gracing the news feed. He found himself hanging onto every word that spilled from the masked man's mouth.
'… we've tried with our LIVES.' the masked figure's thunderous voice reverberating across the throng. 'But the painful reality is that today, from Shenzhen to Nam Bato, the streets are filled with desperation and grief. In the Huang Wildlands, the blood of our starved brethren stains the floors of every building red, from the ground to the peaks of the 100th levels. Today, the people of Kowloon want FREEDOM and to survive, and the people of Zhongguo demand their right to a dignified life! The Yaozhi's Mandate of Heaven has been smashed, and all can see it!'
The crowd roared as multiple spotlights from below shone on The Ibilis above, casting him in an unearthly glow.
'The loss of Jian pains us, but his Dragon spirit bolsters our own with a resolve our movement has never seen before!'
Keung gripped the edge of his bed and gritted his teeth. What are the Yangs doing coming out this publicly? Such an appearance is unprecedented!
'And so begins a new chapter of our cause. With the reigniting of lanterns every morn, more of our siblings awaken to the iron cage they've been slumbering within. We all feel the impending doom of our underground existence. Our numbers are now vast, and our silent allies even more so!'
The crowd's cheers were deafening, seeping into the corners of his consciousness. Keung noticed that every high-rise groundscraper hugging the square had people crowding the windows and balconies, all attuned to The Ibilis's speech.
Are they all cheering him?
'We hereby state the demands of the Yang. Our FIRST demand …'
The masked figure raised a single finger in the air, demanding his crowd be witness.
'Immediate revocation of martial law across Kowloon. Any thug wielding weapons to instil fear is henceforth declared a foe of Kowloon and his people. Our SECOND demand …'
The figure pointed a second digit into the air.
Another two buzzes in a row came from Keung's holocommunicator. His gaze flitted to it momentarily; this time it was from Shing. Keung's eyes zipped back to the screen.
'Power belongs in the hands of Kowloon's people. From landowners to corporate leaders, it's time to return control to its rightful owners. Our workers will be the masters of their own labour, enabling us to produce everything we require for our exodus to the surface - food, vehicles, weapons. No mother will fear for their child's safety through No Man's Land, for our neighbours will become the family protecting us. The time for disarmament is over, everyone will wield a tool to charge forward with, be it a rifle, a hammer, or a farming-sic.'
Fear shot through Keung's veins. The crowd's uproarious approval was terrifying. He had expected them to be furious with the public demands of a terrorist, not celebrate them
'Our THIRD demand.'
Keung was frozen; he wanted it to stop. He'd never witnessed such a united front among Yang supporters. The cheering mass unsettled him to his core.
Have I become completely divorced from reality, or am I just witnessing a vocal minority among Kowloon's billions?
'AND OUR FINAL AND MOST IMPORTANT ORDER.'
The figure, his voice now pulsing with fervour, thumped his chest and thrust his fist skyward as he spoke.
'The Kingmaker's and Emperor Puyin's unconditional surrender of the Ditu over to the people of Kowloon, the most pivotal instrument of our emancipation! The key to unlocking our chains of the underground!'
A tidal wave of cheers ensued, so deafening that the reporter's microphone stuttered, its audio cutting in and out every few seconds.
The camera pivoted back to Jeni, the onsite reporter. Her voice was a mere ghost against the uproarious backdrop, despite her shouts into the microphone.
'Well, there you have it! The Yangs have, for the first time ever, delivered a list of demands. We know they have been chasing the Ditu for a while now, but it seems they've outlined steps to reach their final goal. What can this mean for the —'
The sound of a bone-rattling, high-powered rifle punched through the entertainment console's speakers. The sound rang familiar to Keung. Is that a PAW12? Chaos erupted. The camera careened wildly as the cameraman dove for safety. Jubilant cheers morphed into shrill screams.
'- Shot *zzrrrttttt* Gunshot —' The reporter's words were distorted, lost in the turmoil.
The camera, momentarily fixated on the ground, lurched to capture the crowd's pandemonium. Heads were bobbing, bodies darting in every direction. The camera then swivelled back to the ledge, still shaking too much to truly focus. The mysterious figure, The Ibilis, leaned back motionless, his back pressed to the wall.
Have authorities reached the scene? Keung wondered. Have they finally taken him out?
But then, slowly, the figure stood up.
The camera refocused, revealing the mask scarred by an indentation on the forehead, fractures spider-webbing across its surface. The rifle round had failed to penetrate it; Keung realised this was no ordinary mask you'd find at a festival.
The Ibilis bent down sluggishly to retrieve his fallen microphone.
'Brothers and sisters, they mean to silence me. This isn't over; do not let our dreams perish!'
With a defiant throw, he launched the microphone into the roiling sea of bodies, where the resulting stampede crushed it. The Ibilis, moving with calm deliberation, reached for something else by the ledge behind him. It resembled like a long, thick chain.
Out of nowhere, from the far end of the courtyard where Ho Man Ting Mall was located, a barrage of gunfire was unleashed toward the masked man on the ledge of the university. Despite ducking, several rounds battered his breastplate. Bits of his white armour peppered the air as the masked man grabbed the chain, took a step back, and launched himself into the air.
Keung watched, aghast, as bullets traced The Ibilis' path. The chain snapped taut after the man reached the maximum length of the line, and just like a pendulum, he swung back towards the university building, hurtling directly towards the massive red banner beneath his former perch.
His oversized red robes unfurled from his neck mid-air, flowing like a cape. Just as it seemed he would crash into the banner and the wall behind it, he turned sideways, extended his legs, tore through the banner, shattered a hidden window beyond, and vanished.
The gunfire that had been chasing him stopped just as quickly as it began, leaving only the screams and cries of the crowd. The ledge stood empty, save for the colossal Yang banner flapping defiantly, a gaping hole the only testament to the masked man's daring escape.
Suddenly, the screen went black, replaced with a "Technical Issues" prompt. Keung fell back on his bed, speechless, struggling to process the chain of events he had just witnessed live.