February 17, 2026. 3:15 PM. Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai, Thailand.
"Bang—Boom!!!"
The estate's tin-and-wood door, usually meant to keep out wild boars and melon thieves, was shredded like paper under the violent impact of a heavily modified P-Pharma pickup truck.
Wood splinters and iron shards filled the air. A few free-range chickens strolling in the yard were instantly swept under the tires, crushed into a bloody pulp before they could even let out a squawk. The air was immediately choked with the pungent stench of diesel and burning rubber, accompanied by a heart-palpitating "buzz" similar to a high-frequency electric current—the sound of the military-grade signal jammer mounted on the truck's roof running at full power.
"Ah!!!" Sasa screamed in terror. The coconut slipped from her hands, its sweet juice spilling into the filthy mud.
"Wife! Hide under the table!"
Zhengnan (Steven) felt his bladder violently contract, his legs turning to jelly. He was just an honest, law-abiding Malaysian-Chinese man whose biggest hobbies were tending to his plants, hosting evening BBQs in the yard, knocking back ice-cold Singha beers, and scrolling his phone for bikini babes on Pattaya Beach.
He had never even slaughtered a sheep in his life. When had he ever seen a spectacle like this, which looked like a full-blown anti-terrorist raid?
Seven or eight black Toyota Hilux pickups completely surrounded the bamboo shed. The doors swung open, and out poured over thirty thugs clad in full black biochemical tactical gear. Wearing gas masks, what they leveled at them were by no means police batons or handguns, but HK416 assault rifles equipped with red-dot sights, alongside specialized tranquilizer rifles fitted with thick, menacing needles.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We are law-abiding citizens!"
Zhengnan didn't know where his courage came from—perhaps out of fear they would hurt Sasa, or perhaps out of heartbreak for a shed full of his life's work. He scrambled up from the dirt, practically rolling and crawling toward the nearby tin safe. His hands shook so violently that he entered the password wrong three times before the heavy door finally clicked open.
He grabbed a thick stack of documents and dashed out as if clinging to a lifeline. Holding them high above his head, he shouted in a trembling mix of Thai and English:
"I have a permit! Look closely! This is a gold-medal planting license issued by the Thai Ministry of Public Health! I'm a major taxpayer! Cannabis is a completely legal agricultural project here! You can't just do whatever you want! I'm calling the cops!"
Zhengnan's voice echoed across the empty estate, carrying a laughable sense of subservience and naivety.
The door of the center pickup pushed open, and a white man in a white haute couture suit stepped out. In the over forty-degree Celsius heat, he hadn't broken a single drop of sweat. Wearing a scarlet tie around his neck and holding a pristine silk handkerchief, he covered his nose and mouth in deep disgust.
His name tag read: Marcus - Senior Director, Biological Asset Recovery Department, P-Pharma.
"Legal?" Marcus acted as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. He walked right up to Zhengnan, his leather shoes mercilessly stepping on a newly fallen "Malaysian Golden Thunder" seedling, grinding it into the dirt.
Marcus extended a hand clad in a white rubber glove and snatched the "legal certificate" bearing the gold-painted national emblem from Zhengnan's grasp. Without sparing it a single glance, he pulled out a windproof lighter and set the corner of the document ablaze.
"In the face of capital and the grand blueprint of 'The Great Reset,' so-called national laws are nothing more than scrap paper we rule-makers use to shine our shoes." Marcus smiled, casually tossing the burning certificate right into Zhengnan's face.
Terrified, Zhengnan frantically swatted the sparks from his face and slumped hard onto the ground. A rusty parang knife lay less than half a meter from his hand, but he didn't dare touch it. He had chickened out. Completely and utterly broken.
"Marcus, you P-Pharma running dog, you really know how to make a scene."
Snoop Dogg sat in the shadows of the bamboo shed, unhurriedly blowing a smoke ring. His four Black bodyguards had already drawn their weapons, shielding him and Sasa behind them, but against dozens of assault rifles, their firepower was a drop in the bucket.
Seeing Snoop, Marcus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Big star, instead of waiting in your Hollywood mansion for your fourth booster shot, what are you doing wading in this mud pit? Aren't you afraid your name will appear on the next released batch of the 'Epstein list' tomorrow?"
Hearing the name "Epstein," Snoop's expression instantly turned lethal.
"Don't threaten me with that disgusting list." Snoop gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his golden Desert Eagle. "I might be a hustler, but I've never set foot on your 'Epstein Island' to prey on minors! You perverted politicians and tech moguls, harvesting that bullshit 'Adrenochrome' to slow down aging—the crimes against humanity you commit will send you straight to hell sooner or later!"
"Hell? We are the masters of hell." Marcus sneered and snapped his fingers. "Clear the area."
Just as the words left his mouth, ear-piercing police sirens suddenly wailed outside the estate.
A spark of hope ignited in Zhengnan's eyes. He saw two familiar Royal Thai Police patrol cars park outside the gate. It was the local Chiang Mai police chief, Charn. Zhengnan paid him his "tea money" on time every single month; the two had even shared drinks together.
"Chief Charn! Help! They're trespassing! They're terrorists!" Zhengnan yelled as if he had caught his savior, even trying to crawl toward him.
However, what happened the next second completely shattered Zhengnan's entire worldview.
Chief Charn stepped out of his car, his beer belly protruding. He didn't draw his weapon. He didn't set up a perimeter. He didn't even cast a single glance at the despairing Zhengnan lying in the dirt.
He walked straight up to Marcus and bowed deeply, like an obedient servant.
Marcus's subordinate handed over a black briefcase. The case popped open, revealing not stacks of Thai Baht, but rows of cold-gleaming encrypted hardware wallets, alongside several transparent liquids housed in cryogenic vials.
"Chief Charn, this is your precinct's 'stability maintenance fund' for the month, containing 500 Bitcoins. And these three vials are the 'Immortality Serum'—a special edition vaccine personally formulated in Dr. B's lab. It's guaranteed to make your organs ten years younger, without any of those nasty side effects." Marcus smiled, patting Charn on the shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr. Marcus! For the sake of global health security, we will absolutely cooperate to the fullest!" Chief Charn greedily accepted the briefcase, then turned and barked at his officers: "Seal off the road! A super-spreader source of the 'Omicron-X' variant has been discovered here! No one is allowed to approach! Quarantine everyone inside on the spot!"
The police immediately strung up yellow caution tape, turned their backs, and turned a completely blind eye to the impending massacre behind them.
"No... No! Charn! You took my money! I'm legal!" Zhengnan roared in absolute despair, his voice tearing. His stomach churned violently; the corruption and pitch-black darkness of this world had vastly exceeded the cognitive limits of an ordinary civilian like him.
"Stop shouting, brother." Snoop hauled Zhengnan up from the dirt, a deep sorrow in his eyes. "In the game they rigged, the cops are just the guard dogs they keep on a leash."
Marcus turned around, gazing at the rows of "Malaysian Golden Thunder" exuding their bizarre fragrance inside the greenhouse. A flash of unconcealable fanaticism and fear darted through his eyes.
"Do you know why Dr. B and P-Pharma are so utterly determined to destroy this weed?" Marcus pulled a miniature detector from his pocket; the numbers on the digital display were skyrocketing wildly.
He pointed a finger straight at Zhengnan: "Because this lowly Asian farmer actually managed to blindly crossbreed a mutant gene that can destroy our 'Sacred Plan'!"
Marcus locked his eyes onto the unfinished joint in Snoop's hand. "That fourth mRNA vaccine shot contains absolutely zero viral antibodies! Those are nanoliposomes encapsulating Graphene Oxide! Once injected, they cross the blood-brain barrier and construct a receiver antenna right on the human pineal gland. When the time comes, the moment Dr. B presses the transmit button on the 5G signal towers, billions of people worldwide will turn into obedient biological zombies! No anger. No resistance. Only absolute submission!"
"And this plant..." Marcus pointed at the greenhouse. "The high concentration of D-limonene and special pinene it emits can actually dissolve that nanoliposome layer! It neutralizes the graphene in people's brains! It makes people... wake up!"
Marcus's expression twisted into something monstrous and cruel. "Therefore, this thing must go extinct! The people in this estate must die! Uproot the live plants and load them into the freezers! As for these lowly workers..."
Marcus gestured toward the local Thai farmhands, who were cowering in the corner, shivering in absolute terror.
"Load them into the trucks. Dr. B's 'Future Protein' factory in Geneva happens to be running critically short on Biomass raw materials."
"What do you mean?!" Zhengnan's eyes bulged.
"Don't you get it yet, you idiot?" Marcus laughed ruthlessly. "Did you really think that 'eco-friendly plant-based meat' sold in supermarkets—the garbage that sterilizes men and eradicates testosterone—was made from soybeans? Do you know how high the cost of soybeans is?! On this planet, the cheapest, most abundant source of protein is you bottom-tier human garbage!"
"Capture them, drain their blood to extract the hormones, shred the remaining flesh, enzymatically digest it, add artificial colors and preservatives, and you can churn out thousands of 'plant-based burgers' to feed to those idiots who think they're saving the planet! Ruin their bodies and castrate their male genes by feeding them!"
"Do it!"
At Marcus's command, dozens of black-clad thugs raised their tranquilizer rifles and pulled the triggers on the unarmed farmhands.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Darts laced with high-grade sedatives bit into the workers' necks and backs. In mere seconds, the honest villagers who usually helped Zhengnan fertilize and water his crops collapsed to the ground, as if their bones had melted away. The thugs grabbed them and dragged them toward the freezer-marked pickups like they were hauling dead pigs.
"Ah Ming! Son!" Zhengnan watched his workers being dragged away like livestock, his eyes turning blood-red. He wanted to rush forward and fight to the death, but his legs felt like they were cast in lead, firmly nailed to the earth.
He was afraid of dying. He was truly terrified of death. He was just an ordinary guy; staring down the barrels of those guns made it hard to even draw breath.
"Fuck you, you psycho! I'll take you to hell with me!"
Snoop Dogg suddenly erupted, the golden Desert Eagle in his grip letting out a deafening roar!
Bang!
A .50 caliber Magnum round instantly blew away half the head of a bodyguard standing right next to Marcus! Blood and brain matter splattered all over Marcus's pristine white suit.
"Open fire! Protect the boss!"
Snoop's four Black bodyguards instantly kicked over the bamboo table for cover, their submachine guns spitting frantic, furious tongues of fire.
A brutal firefight erupted instantly inside the cramped estate! Bullets shredded the air and shattered the greenhouse glass. Those priceless "Malaysian Golden Thunders" were ripped to pieces in the crossfire, branches and leaves flying everywhere, emitting a tragic yet overwhelmingly rich aroma.
"Run! Idiot! Take your weed!" Snoop grabbed the paralyzed Zhengnan by the collar and violently hurled him toward the backyard.
"Sasa! Where's Sasa?!" Zhengnan scrambled and crawled through the hail of bullets, his face smeared with mud and other men's blood.
"I'm here! Steven!" Sasa was huddled in a mud puddle nearby, clutching the black velvet bag containing their 90-day aged masterpiece for dear life. Though terrified, she hadn't lost her wits; she knew this was their only bargaining chip to stay alive.
Zhengnan lunged over desperately, pulling his wife into a tight embrace. A stray bullet grazed his scalp, slicing off a patch of hair and leaving a searing burn.
"Run! Toward the back mountain!"
Zhengnan dragged Sasa up. His mind was entirely blank, stripped down to nothing but the primal animal instinct to survive. Legal certificates, dreams of returning to Malaysia a wealthy man to build a villa—all of it, in this singular moment, was ground into dust by P-Pharma's bullets and Dr. B's human meat grinder.
"Trying to run? Grab the woman holding the jar! Dead or alive!" Marcus shrieked hysterically from behind an armored car.
Three black-clad thugs immediately pivoted their rifles and gave chase in the direction Zhengnan and Sasa were fleeing.
Zhengnan was just a civilian who chronically lacked exercise; dragging Sasa along the muddy edge of the jungle, they simply couldn't run fast enough. He watched helplessly as the thugs closed in like killing machines, already raising their assault rifles to aim directly at Sasa's back.
Zhengnan fell into total despair. He squeezed his eyes shut and instinctively spun around, shielding Sasa with his own body, fully prepared to use his flesh to absorb the incoming bullets.
Right in this life-or-death microsecond.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three consecutive, extremely muffled, yet rhythmically flawless gunshots rang out. It wasn't the spray of an automatic submachine gun, but the precise burst-fire of a heavy-caliber pistol.
The three pursuing thugs didn't even have time to scream. Dead center in each of their foreheads, a precise, bloody hole had materialized. Driven by their own momentum, their massive bodies pitched forward, slamming heavily into the mud right at Zhengnan's feet.
Zhengnan snapped his eyes open in sheer terror.
From the shadows of the bamboo forest ahead, a figure stepped out, wearing a white tank top and stepping lightly in flip-flops.
It was Uncle Fa.
In one hand, he casually carried his birdcage with the thrush inside. In his other hand, impressively, he gripped a vintage M1911 pistol. The gun's blueing was severely worn, but it bled an aura of endless, lethal intent. Wisps of blue smoke curled lazily from the muzzle.
Uncle Fa's face still bore that mild, genial smile—the exact same look he had when asking, "Have you eaten yet?"
"Young people, making such a massive racket in broad daylight... you're going to scare my bird," Uncle Fa said faintly in fluent Cantonese. Then, his eyes turned razor-sharp as he pointed the muzzle toward a hidden, overgrown mountain trail behind him. "Follow this path. Keep running up. And remember—from this moment on, do not trust anyone wearing a uniform."
Zhengnan stared at the fresh corpses at his feet, then looked up at this neighbor who had hidden his terrifying depths so flawlessly. His legs finally gave out, and he collapsed onto his knees in the dirt.
His ordinary, mundane, yet stable civilian life had been completely executed on this afternoon of February 17, 2026, punctuated by the echo of that gunshot. What awaited him now was a Ragnarok completely overrun with demons, conspiracies, and an endless, breathless hunt.