Imagine waking to find something ghostly crawling across your ceiling—only for it to suddenly lunge at you, limbs bracing against your sides, that spectral face hovering inches from yours. Close enough that your breath stirs its hair. What would you do? Hong Fei's answer was simple.
He spread his palm and swung in a full arc—Slap! A vicious impact sent the phantom crashing into the wall. It thudded against the coffee table before rolling to the floor. A shrill scream tore through the room as an unnatural gust of wind swept in, carrying a wave of biting cold.
Hong Fei flipped upright, kicking the Sword of Sif into his grip. The blade arced through empty air—then flashed gold. Dark shadows writhed as lightning-like tendrils of light erupted from the steel. The phantom hissed, crackling violently before vanishing mid-tremor. Silence fell.
Scared the hell out of me. Hong Fei tightened his grip on the sword as he sank back onto the sofa, brow furrowing. That black-clad woman—did she actually summon a ghost for me? None of this added up. First the living, then the dead, then photographs... and now this thing that barely qualified as a ghost. Too many coincidences.
He examined his right palm. The impact had felt real—like slapping a block of ice. But why follow me? Clark saw it too. Targeting me because I look weaker?
Knocks rattled the door. Hong Fei didn't move.
Knock. Knock.
"Friend, you seem to need assistance."
The voice beyond the door was smooth. Hong Fei's mouth curled into a cold smile. He set the sword aside, snatched an assault rifle, slammed in a magazine, and racked the bolt. The muzzle trained unerringly on the door.
The knocking persisted before ceasing abruptly. A soft click came from the lock.
Click! The door swung open.
A man in a black trench coat stepped inside, pendant extended in one palm. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips, his motions edged with haste. His expression thawed slightly at the sight of Hong Fei—until his gaze dropped. Any trace of a smile died.
"Friend," Hong Fei drawled, the rifle resting casually across his knees, finger on the trigger.
"Breaking and entering?"
The stranger's eyes flicked from Hong Fei's trigger finger to the coffee table. Knives. Swords. Pistols. Standard fare. But the sniper rifle, bulletproof vest, tactical belt, and neatly arranged grenades behind them? His cheek twitched. Hands rising slowly, he adopted what he clearly thought was a reassuring tone.
"I mean no harm."
"I can see that."
Hong Fei's reply was dry.
Ignoring the sudden flash of confusion in the other's eyes, he jerked his chin.
"Close the door."
The man obeyed—using his heel to kick it shut without turning his back. Hong Fei gestured with the muzzle, and the stranger moved to stand directly opposite him.
Before Hong Fei could speak, the man took the initiative.
"Notice anything unusual?"
His eyes swept the room like searchlights.
Hong Fei leaned back.
"Like what?"
The stranger finally met his gaze.
"Black shadows moving where they shouldn't. Animals with... wrong shapes."
He hesitated on the last words.
"Answer my question first."
Hong Fei's fingers tapped the table between them.
The man glanced at the arsenal lining the walls and nodded agreement.
"How'd you find this place?"
"Didn't find it."
The man's brow furrowed.
"Followed someone. Not you."
"From where?"
"Outside the city. Car crash site."
Hong Fei's eyebrows lifted.
Seeing this, the man cut straight to it.
"Your handiwork?"
"What?"
"The accident."
"No. But I passed through there earlier."
Hong Fei watched as the man's expression darkened, head bowing slightly.
Looking toward the window, Hong Fei pressed, "Must've been daylight when you started tailing them?"
The man's head snapped up, eyes narrowing to slits. "You saw it?"
"Yeah."
No point denying it.
"How?"
The question burst out.
"I mean—you destroyed it?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Hong Fei's face as he nodded.
"What'd you use?"
Hong Fei's gaze drifted to the sword on the table. He hadn't activated Sif's blade—couldn't right now—but its divine charge must have reacted to those... things. Sif might be minor league, but divine power still packed a punch.
The man followed his stare, studying the weapon with intense focus yet seeing nothing remarkable.
Setting his gun aside, Hong Fei gestured to the opposite stool.
"Sit."
The man exhaled silently, keeping eye contact as he retreated several steps before sitting.
Hong Fei smirked at the caution.
"With any other face, you'd be dead already."
This Constantine resembled the movie version—the least threatening iteration. But films were fiction, and Hong Fei wasn't about to judge DC characters by human standards. Not after seeing ghosts that defied two lifetimes of experience.
His next words were pure bluff—the last thing he needed was a dead Constantine.
Constantine's frown deepened at the threat, muscles tensing. He plucked the dying cigarette from his lips, dropped it, and ground it underfoot.
"Wondering why she came after you?"
Hong Fei nodded.
"Got theories. Want to hear?"
"Shoot."
"One—she spotted you at the crash and marked you. Two—when I arrived, that old bat mentioned calling Jenny to fetch you, but Jenny never answered."
"Jenny? You know her?"
Hong Fei countered.
"Yeah. She's... a good kid."
Constantine's head tilted slightly, eyes distant with memory.
Hong Fei doubted those thoughts were wholesome. Judging by his demeanor and gaze, he and Jenny were likely just acquaintances.
"Still in school?" You disgusting bastard, Hong Fei added mentally.
Constantine shook his head.
"Was. Dropped out last year."
"Legal adult?"
"Christ, of course!"
Constantine glared.
Good. You get to live. Hong Fei filed that away.
"What backs your theories?"
"First, many people saw her corpse, but your body might be special—special enough for her to remember you. Second, she works here. She followed her memories back, heard that old woman say she'd arrange things for you, so she came looking."
That was interesting. But if they were talking about special, Clark took the prize—he wasn't even human. If the first theory held, Hong Fei figured she was probably just picking an easy target.
"Are those the only options?"
"Hmm. There's a third possibility—she was driven. Someone else targeted you."
"Example."
"Dark magicians. Demonic creatures."
"Aren't you a dark magician?"
Constantine didn't argue. He just studied Hong Fei for a long moment before speaking.
"You know me?"
"No."
Constantine clearly didn't buy it. But Hong Fei had no interest in continuing this chat. Ghosts, demons—none of it appealed to him. And he definitely didn't want Constantine's brand of trouble right now. He straightened, patting the equipment in front of him.
"Give me a reason to let you walk out of here."
Constantine's cheek twitched. His gaze darted over Hong Fei and the arsenal again.
"I won't talk. And I might be useful later."
"Uh-huh?"
"I'm an exorcist. If you run into supernatural problems, come to me."
He stood, leaning forward to offer a business card.
"Here's my contact."
Hong Fei reached for it. Just as his fingers brushed the card, Constantine lunged—not for the pistol (who knew if it was loaded?) but for the assault rifle Hong Fei had just set down.
The moment Constantine's fingers closed around the grip, his mouth curled in triumph.
Ding!
A blade's edge split the air. Cold light flashed. Constantine froze as steel kissed his forehead—a cross-blade pressed dead between his brows.
The business card he'd handed over now hung skewered on the blade's tip. A slow trickle of blood slid down his nose. His lashes fluttered. When he managed to look up, Hong Fei wore a half-smile.
Constantine carefully set the rifle down and raised his hands again, forcing a grin.
"Just wanted to take a look."
"What a coincidence. I just wanted to test the blade."
"It's a good one."
"Uru alloy, vibranium core. Cuts through gold and jade like butter—of course it's good."
Hong Fei lowered the blade with a sigh.
"You're right. I need help."
Constantine's face flickered with surprise, but he kept quiet. The arsenal alone marked Hong Fei as no ordinary man. And after that little display? Definitely not a good one. Therefore, the help he needed would surely bring him great trouble.
Hong Fei picked up the pistol, turning it over in his hands.
"I can help you," Constantine said, suddenly all righteousness.
Hong Fei stroked the gun's barrel and nodded.
"Who runs this place?"
"Local New York gang."
"Leader's name. Face. Address."
Constantine blinked.
The sharp click of a chambered round echoed through the room. Constantine rattled off a string of information, pulled out his phone, and handed it to Hong Fei. Hong Fei glanced at the photo, then pocketed the device.
"I also want intel on the underground forces in Gotham and Metropolis."
"Metropolis is manageable, but Gotham..."
Constantine hesitated.
"That place is a mess. Fine, I'll look into it."
Hong Fei's hand drifted away from the hilt of his weapon. He smiled up at Constantine.
"Then I'll leave it to you."
Constantine nodded, his smile strained. Hong Fei turned, pulled a gold bar from his pocket, and tossed it over. Constantine caught it instinctively, his eyes widening at the glint of gold.
The weight of the bar made him blink. As if forgetting Hong Fei's presence, he shoved it into his mouth and bit down. Examining the tooth marks, he grinned.
Hong Fei watched, shaking his head. This Constantine was nothing like the character from that anti-smoking commercial. What a waste of a decent face. He grabbed his backpack and dumped it onto the coffee table. Gold bars clattered and jingled.
"Over two thousand grams. Get it done, and it's all yours."
Constantine's eyes lit up. He stared at the pile of gold, nodding emphatically.
"No problem. Leave it to me!"
Hong Fei nodded, then locked eyes with him.
"You won't just leave here and sell me out, will you?"
Constantine looked up, startled.
"Of course not. Selling you out wouldn't benefit me at all."
"Hmm. Then I can rest easy, Mr. John Constantine."
Constantine's eyes flickered, his pupils contracting slightly. Hong Fei waved him off.
"Go on."
Constantine stood slowly, his gaze lingering as he moved toward the door. Even as he stepped out, he couldn't resist one last look back.
The door closed, and Hong Fei's smile vanished. Who was Constantine? A DC superhero, sure, but mostly a scoundrel. Smoking, drinking, gambling, brawling—he excelled at it all. But he wasn't supposed to be this greedy, this quick to fold. He was playing a game, pretending to cave.
A new name went into the little notebook. Still, it was likely true he wouldn't sell him out. Constantine was a troublemaker, but he loved making friends—mostly because he burned through them so fast. Plus, Hong Fei had just dropped his name. He wouldn't act rashly, at least not yet.
After waiting ten minutes, Hong Fei packed everything back into his backpack and headed downstairs.
At the counter, he tapped the tabletop. The large Black woman behind it stood up at the sound. Spotting him, her eyes flicked to the backpack.
"Leaving already? The things you wanted haven't arrived yet."
"Just give me the equivalent in cash."
"I don't have any money here."
Hong Fei raised his gun, pressing it to her forehead.
"Think again."
The warmth on the Black woman's face slowly faded. Facing the handgun, she didn't flinch. Instead, she shrugged, her tone mocking.
"Do you think I run this shop alone?"
"You're overthinking it. You don't have that kind of capability."
Her face wrinkled, her fat trembling as she glared at him.
"Humph. Put the gun down now, or you won't make it off this street alive."
Hong Fei's lips curled as he lowered the handgun. The Black woman let out a triumphant laugh. He met her gaze, cold amusement in his eyes.
"Your eyes tell me you came unprepared."
"No? Of course I did—just running late. But since you pulled a gun on me, you owe compensation."
"How much?"
"You'll get ten percent. Nothing more, you poor yellow—"
A silver flash cut through the air. The blade found her throat before the slur could finish. No surveillance in a place like this. No witnesses. A knife was cleaner than a gunshot—quieter, less messy.
The body crumpled. Hong Fei vaulted over the counter, kicking aside the bloated corpse at his feet. Beneath the counter: a handgun, a shotgun. In the corner cabinet, a safe. One sharp strike from his blade shattered the lock. Inside—stacks of worn bills, assorted valuables, and the gold bars he'd brought that morning.
He stuffed everything into his bag. Nano armor slithered over his skin as he straightened. Firearms secured, ammunition stocked. A small duffel from the shop held the rest. At the door, he tossed two grenades into his main pack before lobbing it inside.
Three seconds. The explosion drew every eye on the street—but Hong Fei was already gone.
By the time the hostel was swarmed, only gang members remained—tattoos visible, faces grim. They lingered until fire trucks finally arrived, dispersing with reluctant scowls.
Later still, police cars circled the block. Tape cordoned off the wreckage. Inside, an officer crouched, brushing aside soot.
"Found something."
A shattered phone gleamed in the ash. Cops gathered, interest sharpening.
A potbellied white officer with yellowed brows studied it.
"A meter from the victim, shielded by the counter. Grenade caused the blast, but debris must've protected this."
Nods all around.
"Get it to the lab. Now. I want to know who this belongs to—it's the key to cracking this case."
Under the night sky, Hong Fei waited in a parking lot.
"Done yet?"
"Sir, please wait a moment."
"You've had ten minutes. Can't even hack a damn car?"
"Current load distribution: 67% federal and NYPD systems, 32% NYC surveillance, 1% vehicle access. Adjust priorities?"
"No. Just hurry."
"Sir, please wait a moment."
Hong Fei sighed. Arthur's backup had the conversational skills of a lobotomized toaster. At least it followed orders—just needed better servers.
Headlights flashed. The car unlocked. Hong Fei slid in, and the engine purred to life.
Navigation on, he drove toward Constantine's coordinates. The phone he'd left behind wouldn't convict the swindler—but it would steer the cops his way and make his life hell.
Before Hong Fei's true identity was revealed, he doubted a scumbag like Constantine would willingly cooperate with the police to betray him. Even if Constantine did, it would just be his word against Hong Fei's, with no concrete evidence. By then, Hong Fei could easily use Arthur to craft a flawless alibi and forge a new identity to clear himself of any suspicion.
"Arthur, you're still very smart and useful," Hong Fei remarked.
"Sir, five minutes ago, you said I was dumber than a paramecium," Arthur replied.
Hong Fei hissed through his teeth.
"Why do you remember that?"
"Sir, data backups are screened and cleared every 72 hours. There are currently 47 hours and 15 minutes left until the next clearing."
"You don't understand what I mean. You really are dumber than a paramecium. But that doesn't affect your abilities—you're very capable."
"Thank you, sir."
That night, a District Councilor and local jewelry merchant was shot dead in his home. At the time of his death, he was engaged in a threesome with a man and a woman. According to interrogations, the victim's head suddenly exploded mid-act, causing the pair to scream in terror before they both fell from the building to their deaths. No trace of the killer was found at the crime scene.
The next day, Hong Fei sat in a natural cave in the mountains, browsing online information through the iron armor's system. The hostel explosion and the District Councilor's assassination had already made headlines, but such news couldn't even crack the trending searches, despite the second victim being a prominent figure. The police reports were brief and vague.
For the hostel explosion, they only mentioned that the source was a grenade and that they had key evidence, though they refused to disclose what that evidence was. Hong Fei suspected they'd found the phone. As for the District Councilor's assassination, after a night of investigation, the police merely stated that the killer had sniped from a hillside at a straight-line distance of 530 meters.
Hong Fei had indeed taken the shot from that position. The District Councilor and jewelry merchant had another identity—he was a mob boss and the mastermind behind the hostel. Originally, Hong Fei hadn't intended to scare others, but their actions were simply too repulsive. The deaths of the man and woman were entirely unrelated to him.
Perhaps too much lubricant had been used, and much of it had spilled onto the floor. Combined with the fact that they were engaging in risky behavior by the window, a slip was inevitable. This incident serves as a reminder: when playing games by the window, always prioritize safety.
Of the two incidents, the first was a purely accidental event, while Hong Fei had meticulously planned the second. The execution was so swift that it would be nearly impossible for the police to find evidence linking him to the crime.
The only potential clue was that Hong Fei had been at the hostel the previous day, but there was no surveillance footage. Arthur had gone to great lengths to fabricate evidence of Hong Fei being elsewhere through image analysis, cutting, and pasting. It would be difficult for the police to trace anything back to him, but since he could patch the holes, Hong Fei wasn't about to get lazy.
After all, he only had to move his lips. Of the two killings, the first was a case of someone seeking their own demise, while the second was a target he actively pursued, mainly to verify a hypothesis: would the physical attributes or energy boosts obtained under the sealed state also be sealed? The answer was yes. The result wasn't particularly satisfying, but Hong Fei unexpectedly made another intriguing discovery.
After killing the first Black woman the previous night, he felt no significant sensation, confirming she was merely a greedy, foul-mouthed minion. After killing the second target, Hong Fei sensed a temporary strengthening of his physical attributes, though it was quickly sealed away again. However, the seal itself shifted. This was a perception rooted in his soul.
As the seal loosened, he felt his physical body, energy, Dragon Power, Light Energy, Qi, and other forms of power gradually merging into one. One thing became clear: while the physical and energy enhancements gained under the seal couldn't bypass it to directly boost his current strength, they could weaken the seal itself.
This led to an important realization. The requirements of Odin's seal could be circumvented. By balancing acts of both good and evil, it might be possible to gradually undo the seal in stages. His goal was twofold: follow the path of "facing oneself" as Odin's seal demanded, while simultaneously aiming for explosive growth in strength once the seal was fully broken.
Later that afternoon, an associate approached him.
"Sir, the two intrusion tasks are complete, and the data has been filled. Your new identity is Hong Fei, male, 24 years old, orphaned since childhood and raised in an orphanage. You and several friends were involved in a car accident during a trip; you were one of two survivors, the other is in a vegetative state."
He paused, then added, "The hospital that treated you suffered heavy casualties in a terrorist attack six months ago—"
"Wait a minute!" Hong Fei interrupted, grimacing.
"Are you serious? I'm that tragic? A lone star of misfortune? Do you even know what 'protesting too much' means?"
"Sir, this is to better align with your life trajectory," the associate replied calmly.
"I get that, but a car accident? Fine. A hospital explosion? Are we in Gotham now?"
"Yes, sir. You were born in Gotham City, and that hospital was indeed in Gotham."
"Oh. Never mind, then. Continue."
"You hold a Master's degree in Psychology; your mentor is deceased. You've passed all interviews and training assessments to become a police officer and are about to start a six-month internship at the Queens Police Department. Please report there within three days to complete the necessary procedures. Your identification documents will be delivered to the precinct by 10:00 AM tomorrow."
"Beautiful job, paramecium. We're going to solve cases together—big cases!"
The next day, Hong Fei hid most of his weapons, equipment, gold bars, and other supplies on the mountain. He descended empty-handed, the first order of business being a change of outfit. Dressed in a sharp suit and polished leather shoes, he looked every bit the elite professional.
Entering the Queens Police Department, he blended into the bustling crowd in the wide hall. For a moment, no one paid him any attention. If I started spraying bullets and tossing grenades right now, I could probably take out over 70% of the officers here instantly, he mused.
"Hello?" A voice called from behind him.
Hong Fei turned to see a young man, shorter than him by a shoulder, his nose dotted with freckles. The youth held a stack of documents and looked up at him with a polite smile.
"Sir, do you need help?"
Hong Fei returned the smile.
"Hello. I'm here for my induction as an intern officer."
The freckled youth's eyes lit up. His gaze quickly swept over Hong Fei, lingering briefly on his height and broad shoulders before dimming slightly. But in the split second he looked down, he composed himself, and when he looked up again, his smile was as bright and sincere as ever.
"What a coincidence. My job is handling inductions for new officers. What's your name? I'll look for your file."
As he spoke, he opened the folder in his arms without moving from the spot.
"Hong Fei."
The freckled youth looked up, "Of Chinese descent?"
"Yes, just this one name."
"Okay, let me look."
As he flipped through the files, Hong Fei stood as steady as an old dog, calm and unreadable.
A printer hummed nearby. The freckled youth had just come from there, clutching freshly printed papers still warm from the machine. The scent of ink and paper mingled in the air. This was a new file—his information added just yesterday, so he must be in here.
The youth rifled through the stack, fingers moving with practiced ease.
"Found it," he murmured. "Fei-Hong... no, wait. Hong Fei."
He chuckled, glancing up.
"I have Chinese friends too, you know—" His words cut off with a sharp cry as the papers slipped from his grasp, fluttering toward the floor.
Hong Fei moved swiftly, hands darting out to catch the falling documents from below. The freckled youth froze for a heartbeat, then scrambled to gather the scattered pages, knees bending as he scooped them up.
"Thank you! Thank you!" he stammered, clutching the papers to his chest.
"Don't mention it," Hong Fei replied.
The youth was painfully thin—'skin and bones' didn't do him justice. His fingers were long and delicate, wrists so narrow they looked like they might snap under pressure. His thighs probably weren't even as thick as Hong Fei's forearms. Once the papers were secure, he exhaled deeply and flashed a bright smile.
"I'm George Johnson. You can call me George. Or Jo."
"Alright, Jo. Just call me Hong."
"No problem, Hong. Follow me—I'll handle the procedures for you."
Hong Fei trailed behind as George led the way. They wound through the hall, hugging the walls and twisting through narrow passages. People passed them by without so much as a glance, their gazes sliding right over George and Hong Fei as if they weren't even there. Before long, they stepped into a cramped, dimly lit room.
George shut the door and flicked on the light, setting the documents on the desk. He took a few quick breaths, then turned with a grin.
"Hong, this is my private office. Well, it's also the archives. I know most of the newly recruited officers."
Hong Fei nodded, scanning the room. It was clearly an archive—the desk looked like an afterthought. The file covers were yellowed with age but showed no signs of wear, suggesting this was an unimportant corner of the department. No one came here often, if ever.
George pulled out a chair for Hong Fei, and they sat at the desk. George's fingers flew across the keyboard, cross-referencing data with practiced ease. Hong Fei glanced at the setup—no mouse, just the keyboard. The screen flickered as letters appeared at lightning speed, interfaces switching so fast it was dizzying.
"Impressive," Hong Fei remarked.
George glanced back with a smile.
"It's nothing, really. Just habit. You could do it too if you practiced enough."
Hong Fei shook his head. He doubted it. Without a mouse or touchscreen, he'd be lost. He barely knew the keyboard shortcuts—'C' and 'V' were his limit.
"Where's your identification? I need to check it," George asked suddenly.
Hong Fei feigned realization.
"Oh, I have it, but I didn't bring it with me. I mailed it directly to the station before I came. Where can I pick up mail here?"
"I see. Give me a moment—I'll fetch it for you."
George stood and left the room. He returned shortly with a piece of mail in hand.
Once opened, it was indeed the new identity Arthur had arranged for Hong Fei. The inspection finished, George resumed his work. A moment later, he leaned back, hands leaving the keyboard.
"Done. The system operations are complete. Next is the signing."
Hong Fei didn't bother reading the documents. He signed his name quickly, following George's instructions without hesitation.
George finished printing a document and passed it to Hong Fei.
"Take this over there to collect your Police badge and basic equipment," he said, pointing down the hall.
"Your ID and assignments will have to wait until this afternoon—your group assignment still needs approval from the higher-ups. You'll also be on a six-month probation period."
"During probation," George continued, "veteran officers will oversee your work and file evaluation reports. Do well, or you could still be let go. That'd be a shame."
Hong Fei smiled and nodded.
"Got it. Thanks."
George scratched the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed.
"No problem. If you have any questions later, feel free to come find me. I'm usually around."
"Will do!"
Hong Fei stepped out of the room, document in hand, and followed the directions George had given him. Within minutes, he was handed two sets of basic uniform gear and a Police badge. The equipment included everything except a firearm. After a quick change in the locker room, he emerged in his blue-black Police uniform.
Sitting on a bench, Hong Fei examined the badge in his hand, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Police. Once, he'd considered it a noble profession. But here, being a cop wasn't about nobility—it was just a job. Becoming a Police officer was a calculated decision.
First, having a Police badge made certain actions, whether public or private, much smoother. Second, the Police were an arm of the state's violence. In a world like the DC Universe, violence was as inevitable as Jerusalem was to the West. Being a cop often shut down the moralizing lectures from certain vigilantes.
Third, the Police force was the fastest way for Hong Fei to climb the social ladder and establish a respectable identity. It allowed him to commit crimes and solve them himself, positioning him on a moral high ground above even the heroes. From there, he could destroy not just bodies but minds.
Finally, playing both sides of the law was easier once you had a foothold in the "white" side. The "black" side became far more accessible afterward. Of course, this last point was situational—not something to copy blindly. If anyone tried and failed, that was on them.
Imagine the power boost a righteous Officer Hong could achieve while secretly dominating the underworld. Breaking seals would be child's play. When the time came, he'd pin even Superman to the ground with sheer force.
In the Director's office, a balding man in his forties stood behind his desk, spittle flying as he berated a line of veteran officers. His sharp tongue lashed out relentlessly, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. The officers stood stiffly, hands clasped behind their backs, heads bowed.
Thud! The Director slammed a folder onto the desk and sank into his chair.
"The new recruits are here. Don't say I didn't give you a chance—pick your teams. This quarter's almost over. If there's no improvement next quarter, don't cry about your layoff notices!"
"Yes, sir!" The officers barked in unison.
The Director waved his hand irritably, and the group tactfully grabbed the files and hurried out. Once they were a safe distance from the office, the murmurs began.
"Why's the Director so pissed? We've been doing pretty well this quarter!"
"Last quarter went well, and this quarter's even better. Our performance isn't the issue here," one officer said.
"If you'd paid attention to what's going on upstairs, you'd know," another replied.
"The Director's pissed because the Chief Director just reamed him out—same way he just reamed us."
"What happened?" a third officer asked.
"Nothing major, but not small either," the second officer explained.
"Last night, a fire broke out in the archives at headquarters. Burned a bunch of new officers' paper files. They think it was caused by a camera short-circuit. Luckily, they caught it in time, so the damage wasn't too bad. But a lot of the new hires' interview and assessment records are gone."
"That's it? Don't we have a digital system?"
"Yeah, why don't you go tell that to the Chief Director?" the second officer shot back.
"But that's got nothing to do with our Director, right?"
Neil, a pot-bellied middle-aged white man with yellow brows and beard, frowned at the comment. He shook his head without responding and flipped open the newcomer file the Director had handed him. As he walked, he tuned out his colleagues' chatter, scanning the profiles with a blank expression.
Then he turned a page—and froze. His brow twitched. He glanced sideways to check if anyone was watching, then quickly finished reading the entire profile, his eyes narrowing. Without hesitation, he slipped the page out and tucked it into his jacket. He slapped the rest of the files into a colleague's hands.
"You guys pick," he said casually. "Leave a few for me when you're done—or don't, whatever."
While no one was paying attention, he hurried back to his precinct office.
Meanwhile, Hong Fei stepped out of the locker room. He glanced at the wall clock—almost lunchtime. He planned to invite the freckled youth to eat while scoping out the department's general atmosphere.
As he rounded a corner, a familiar voice reached his ears.
"Listen, you've got the wrong guy. I was in my room all last night. Both of my girlfriends can vouch for me."
Two officers escorted Constantine into view, one on either side. He was mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Hong Fei, and his words trailed off.
"Go on, keep talking," said a white female officer. She had a slender frame and a graceful presence, her police uniform stretched tight across her chest, lending her a certain allure. Her eyes, however, radiated unmasked disdain.
"I'm actually curious—do your girlfriends' husbands know what you were up to last night?"
Constantine snapped out of his daze and shot back, "Alright, fine, they're not my girlfriends. We met at a bar, and let's just say a beautiful encounter happened. That's not illegal, is it?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," the officer retorted.
"Even though your phone was smashed, we've managed to repair it. Save your explanations for later."
Constantine stiffened, then quickly turned to Hong Fei.
"You—"
"Me what?" Hong Fei interrupted with a smile.
Meeting Hong Fei's gaze, Constantine felt inexplicably creeped out. He'd been set up, and this man was clearly threatening him. Yesterday, he'd looked like a terrorist—today, he was a cop? Constantine couldn't make sense of it. He opened his mouth to ask again, "You—"
The female officer shoved him forward with a scowl.
"Enough with the 'you, you, you.' Move it. Police station, not your damn house. Move it!"
The officer's bark left Constantine momentarily speechless. He ducked his head and let himself be escorted forward—until he passed Hong Fei. Then he whirled with sudden energy.
"That was you last night," he said in a rush, "giving me the stink-eye when I had a woman on each arm. What's your name?"
Hong Fei's smile didn't reach his eyes. This guy was actually taking the initiative to "align their stories" with him—there had to be an angle.
"Annoyed? Not about the women," Hong Fei corrected, voice flat. "Annoyed you were yelling in the street like you owned it, disturbing people. And it's Officer Hong to you."