Slap!
'As usual… always… ugh… this slap stings like hell. What did she put on her hands.. a beehive?'
Le Wei rubbed his left cheek, groaning as the sting pulsed like a fresh burn. His ears rang from the yelling, and the smell.. God, the smell of spit mixed with whatever venomous concoction she'd smacked him with made his stomach churn.
He gagged, swiping at his face.
"All right! All right! I get it!" he shouted, throwing his hands up like a criminal surrendering to the police.
"No need to start a full-scale war over a spilled teacup!"
But his tormentor didn't let up. Her amber eyes burned, hands twitching as if debating whether to slap him again or strangle him outright.
She was petite, barely five feet, but her presence loomed with danger and those stinging slaps.
Her name was Mei-Ling, and her reputation as the wife of a low-tier but vicious syndicate boss preceded her. Le Wei had known better than to take this job, but desperation dulled reason.
Le Wei edged backward, calculating the distance between himself and imminent pain.
"Seriously, what did you put on your hands?" he muttered under his breath. "Bees? Acid? Tiny death traps?"
The air crackled with tension. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he should shut up. Somewhere else, a tiny, reckless part of him found this chaos absurdly entertaining.
"And stop spitting!" he groaned, wiping his cheek. "I'm not a mop!"
The yelling continued, echoing off the cracked walls of the dingy office she'd dragged him into.
"You still have the audacity to talk?!" Mei-Ling shrieked.
"I gave you one job.. just one! Follow my husband and tell me his every move! I didn't ask you to send me his bedroom time with his mistress! And to top it all, my husband caught you, and you nonchalantly told him I sent you!"
Le Wei froze, his mind short-circuiting. "Bedroom time?" His stomach lurched, and his heart skipped several beats.
"Wait.. what?!" he blurted, pointing at her. "You… me… your husband?! I didn't… I mean, it's not what it looks like! Aah.. What am I even saying..I'm so disgusted in myself. "
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing into daggers, and spat again.. not hard, just enough to remind him she was serious. Le Wei stumbled back, tripping over a chair leg and nearly crashing into a dusty cabinet.
"Nonchalantly?!" he shrieked.
"Lady, if I were nonchalant, you'd be calling the fire department because I'd be on fire from stress!"
Her foot tapped like a ticking bomb.
"Nonchalant! That's exactly how you looked when my husband asked!"
Le Wei's brain fried. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to hold back his words.
'Think… think…'
"Right," he finally gasped, pointing dramatically at the ceiling.
"So, here's the thing.. you said follow him, right? Observe. Nothing about reporting or not reporting bedroom schedules! That's an Espionage 101 violation!"
"Espionage 101 violation?" she echoed, her voice dangerously low.
"Yes! Exactly!" He flailed.
"And I would never, ever intentionally make your husband suspicious, he's terrifying, okay? Have you seen his stare? It's like he can peer into the void and steal your soul!"
Her glare intensified, and Le Wei realized he'd just compared her husband's eyes to a void demon.
'Not smart.'
Mei-Ling's husband, Chen, was a mid-level enforcer in the Neon Syndicate, a sprawling criminal network that thrived in the chaos following the global coup three years ago.
The coup had toppled governments overnight, replacing them with corporate warlords and syndicate overlords who carved up cities like New Kowloon, where Le Wei now scraped by.
Chen's eyes weren't demonic, but they were cold, calculating, and backed by a reputation for breaking kneecaps over minor issues.
"And…" Mei-Ling said, her voice dropping into a deadly calm.
"If you ever pull something like this again… I won't just slap you."
Le Wei swallowed, wide-eyed. "You… won't just slap me?"
Her lips curled into a smirk. "Nope. There are worse things than slaps. And trust me… I know them all."
Le Wei clutched his cheek, muttering, "Why did I agree to this job? Why does every life choice lead to pain, spit, and potential soul-theft?"
****
By the time he stumbled out of the decrepit office building, Le Wei looked like a war refugee. His cheek glowed red, his shirt was damp with spit, and his dignity was probably somewhere in the stairwell, curled up in a ball crying.
The neon-lit streets of New Kowloon buzzed around him. Holographic billboards flashing ads for bio-augments, street vendors hawking synth-meat skewers, and drones whirring overhead, scanning for curfew violators. The city was a labyrinth of steel and light, a place where the old world's rules had been ground to dust.
Once, Le Wei had been Detective Le Wei, a rising star in the city's police force. He'd had sharp eyes, a sharper wit, and a badge pinned proudly to his chest. His team—Jia, Marcus, and Li—had been his family, working cases that kept New Kowloon's streets from spiraling into total anarchy.
They'd busted smugglers, tracked serial killers, and even taken down a rogue AI running a black-market organ trade. Le Wei had lived for the thrill of the chase, the puzzle of a case snapping into place.
Then came the coup. A global shadow network—nobody knew who'd orchestrated it—struck in a single night.
Governments fell, militaries fractured, and New Kowloon's police force was wiped out in targeted strikes. Le Wei's team hadn't stood a chance. Jia took a bullet to the chest. Marcus was vaporized in a drone strike.
Li… Le Wei still didn't know what had happened to Li.
He survived by sheer luck, hiding in a dumpster while the city burned. All he had left was a battered snub-nosed pistol, a handful of scars, and a gnawing guilt that ate at him like rust.
Now, he was a private investigator.. if you could call it that. More like an errand boy for people like Mei-Ling, who paid him in crumpled credits to tail cheating husbands or dig up dirt on rivals.
It was a far cry from chasing criminals through rain-soaked alleys. His skills like observation, deduction, a knack for reading people were wasted on petty grudges and domestic disputes.
Lighting a cheap cigarette, he exhaled smoke into the cold night.
"From detective to errand boy. From chasing criminals to chasing mistresses. This world can burn."
The universe, apparently, was listening. Fate, or whatever cruel bastard controlled it, loved to twist his path, forcing him down roads he didn't choose.
His next step landed on something soft and slick.
Fwoop!
A banana peel, of all things, glistening under a flickering streetlight.
"Oh, come on…"
BAM!
His body pitched sideways, head slamming into a gnarled tree growing through a crack in the sidewalk. Pain exploded through his skull like fireworks. The cigarette tumbled from his lips. His last coherent thought before blacking out was:
'This is it. This is how Detective Le Wei dies. Death by potassium.'
****
Except… he didn't die.
He fell. Not down, not sideways, he fell through? His body dissolved into weightless strands of light, spinning endlessly through a void. Colors bled into each other.. crimson, indigo, a sickening green, like he was being pulled inside out. His mind screamed, but no sound came. Time stretched, then… snapped.
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying flat on his back in a small, dimly lit room. The bed beneath him was hard, the mattress thin and lumpy. The air smelled of mildew and old metal.
A single bulb flickered overhead, casting shadows across bare concrete walls. No windows, no decorations, just a rusted metal door in the corner and a faint hum vibrating through the floor.
Le Wei's head throbbed, but the pain from Mei-Ling's slap was gone. He touched his face, expecting blood or bruises, but found nothing, though his skin felt rougher.
His cigarette was long gone. He sat up slowly, every muscle protesting. His clothes were still.. Wait where are his clothes?
"Wait! Why are my legs shorter than usual? Did Chen do this? I keep telling him, I'm a detective, not into his wife… it's the other way around, right? Except she's got those round, big… ugh, focus, Le!"
"Where the hell…" His voice trailed off.
The room felt wrong, like it didn't belong in New Kowloon or any of Chen's prisons for enemies.
The hum in the floor wasn't the familiar buzz of the city's power grid—it was deeper, almost alive.
He swung his legs off the bed, noticing his boots were gone.
'What was that? A hallucination? A dream? And why am I wearing shorts? I keep telling Chen, I don't wear shorts…'
He hissed, staring at the brown shorts, oblivious to his teenage legs and arms.
He stood, steadying himself against the wall. The door was his only exit, but it had no handle, no keypad—just a smooth, metallic surface with a faint seam. He pressed his ear to it, hearing nothing but the hum.
His detective instincts kicked in, scanning the room for clues. No cameras, no vents, no signs of surveillance. Just the bed, the bulb, and the door.
Le Wei's mind raced. The last thing he remembered was the tree, the peel, and the void.
'The void?'
Had he been drugged? Kidnapped? The Neon Syndicate had the tech to pull off something like this. Teleportation experiments were rumored to be their latest obsession, but why him?
He was nobody now, a washed-up detective scraping by on petty jobs.
Unless… Mei-Ling's husband, Chen, had orchestrated this. Le Wei's stomach knotted. He'd been careless, mouthing off about Chen's mistress to Mei-Ling. If Chen had found out, this could be his revenge. But a room like this? It wasn't a syndicate holding cell. It felt… otherworldly.
He pounded on the door.
"Hey! Anyone out there? I'm not in the mood for games, Chen!" His voice echoed, unanswered.
Le Wei slumped against the wall, his mind drifting to his old team. Jia would've kicked the door down by now. Marcus would've cracked a joke to lighten the mood. Li would've analyzed the hum, figured out its source. But they were gone, and he was alone.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. Whatever this place was, he'd survived worse.. the coup, the streets, Mei-Ling's slaps. He'd find a way out.
He always did.
But as he sat there, the hum grew louder, vibrating through his bones. For the first time since the coup, Le Wei felt something new: fear, not of pain or death, but of the unknown.
Wherever he was, it wasn't New Kowloon.
'So where am I?'
The thought was cut short as the hum intensified, followed by the sound of creaking metal.
The door. It was opening.
He scrambled up, twisted his body, and sent a sharp kick toward the incoming visitor.
Surprisingly, his foot was caught. Not in air, but by a hand.
Le Wei felt the warmth of the palm on his ankle, soft and weirdly… relaxing?
For a second, he wished it would never end.
The grip loosened, and with a casual shove, Le Wei was sent sprawling onto the cold, gritty floor. His back hit the ground with a dull thud, knocking the breath out of him. He groaned, blinking up through the flickering bulb… and froze.
Standing in the doorway was not Chen, not some syndicate thug with brass knuckles, but a woman.
A young woman.
She was… beautiful in a way that made his brain stutter and reboot. Her features were sharp, symmetrical, framed by dark hair pulled into a neat tail. Her skin was pale, her lips set in a line that radiated authority and boredom.
She wore a formal uniform, deep navy with silver trim, snug enough to hint at her figure but pressed to rigid perfection. A badge glinted faintly against her chest pocket.
The outfit screamed officer, but not police. Too clean. Too sharp. Too… otherworldly. Too… tempting.
Her stance was relaxed, one hand at her side, the other brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. She regarded him like a teacher eyeing a troublesome student with irritation wrapped in nonchalance, with a faint undercurrent of amusement she didn't bother to hide.
'Did Chen start a crime-fighting organization?'
Le Wei coughed, scrambling halfway upright.
"Uh… hi." He raised a hand, then thought better of it and slapped it back down against his knee.
"I'm not in the mood for another round, Zeph," she said, scowling with an indifferent gaze.
Le Wei tilted his head, confused and slightly disgusted.
"Another round? Wait… I'm Zeph? When did Chen change my name, and when did we have previous rounds?!"