Midnight. Dark clouds loomed over Kuala Lumpur like a thick, suffocating shroud. The Petronas Twin Towers remained luminous, their glow cutting through the torrential rain, but the skybridge above was nearly deserted.
"Walau eh, what is this uncle doing?" Lin Han muttered under his breath, pulling his damp jacket tighter around himself as he stepped onto the slick bridge.
He had never imagined his life would spiral to this point—broke, homeless, running from debt collectors like a stray dog. But fate, it seemed, was even more absurd than he had anticipated.
"Lin Han really cannot tahan the strong curry smell coming from that Ah Neh." He pressed himself against the glass railing, eyes locked onto a shadowy figure below. The downpour washed over the neon lights of the city, blending the air with a damp, musty odor and a faint hint of metallic rust.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and for a split second, he saw something unbelievable—
A robed old man stood beneath the bridge, gripping a blood-stained kris, chanting in an eerie, indecipherable tongue.
Lin Han's pulse spiked. A suffocating sense of dread wrapped around him, as if unseen hands were closing in on his throat.
Then, something caught his eye—a glint of gold beneath the old man's cloak.
—Genting Group?!
The wind howled through the skybridge, carrying sheets of rain that struck Lin Han's face like cold needles. His thoughts were in disarray, drenched and scattered like the puddles forming at his feet. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, but the scene he had just witnessed refused to fade.
A ritual. A bloodstained kris. The glimpse of a Genting Group emblem beneath the old man's robes.
This was more than just some random occult nonsense—he had stumbled upon something far bigger than himself.
Suddenly, rapid footsteps approached from the far end of the bridge.
"Don't kacau here!"
A firm, cold voice sliced through the rain. It carried a distinct Malay accent, sharp and commanding.
Lin Han turned his head sharply, his pulse still erratic from the eerie encounter. A young woman stood under the dim bridge lights, her police uniform soaked by the storm.
She was tall, her posture rigid with authority. Even through the rain, Lin Han caught sight of the scar on her left shoulder—an old gunshot wound, barely visible beneath the damp fabric of her uniform.
Her gaze flickered over him, eyes assessing, calculating.
"Sakit kah?" she asked, her voice softer this time.
Lin Han barely heard her. His mind was still racing.
Where had the robed old man gone?
Just seconds ago, he had been right there, standing at the base of the skybridge. But now… vanished.
"Impossible…" Lin Han murmured, his gaze locked onto the ground below.
The rain washed over the bridge, yet a thin trail of blood remained—seeping between the cracks of the concrete, flowing downward.
"IC. Now." The policewoman's voice cut in again, this time laced with impatience. Her fingers twitched near the handcuffs on her belt.
Lin Han swallowed hard. He had a sinking feeling that getting out of this situation wouldn't be easy.