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Location: Chicago, Illinois, USA
The black sedan slid along the highway, leaving Chicago airport, and headed into the city. Massive and densely packed glass buildings cut across the perfectly blue sky. Each pane reflected the building next to it until no individual structure was discernible. Instead, a mosaic of windows on a colossal scale lay before the Shan Chu.
The engine was barely audible over the clamor of his thoughts. Try as he might to channel his energy, he knew what lay ahead was going to be difficult, and it preyed on his mind. The Triads’ similarity and ancient allegiance were not going to work in his favor here. They didn’t function like that. They were not like the western Mafia. There was no ultimate father figure. Each Triad faction was autonomous and had its own profit and loss account. And did not, under any circumstances, answer to another faction. This was their main failing—something they could have learned from the westerners. They could embrace their common and noble heritage and become an unstoppable force on the planet.
Both the Triads and the Green and Red Societies had been born of an initial uprising against the tyranny of the Manchu Emperor in the Qing Dynasty almost three hundred years ago. The resistance force was known as the Tian Di Hui, the Heaven and Earth Society. However, as it had spread through China over time, the group had splintered and become known under several names. The San He Hui, the Three Harmonies Society, had been referred to as Triads by the stupid British authorities in Hong Kong. It had stuck.
Another faction had been the Red and Green Society. They had been more intelligent—more cunning than their San He Hui brothers. With the help of overseas Chinese and the Japanese imperial families, they’d managed to overthrow the last emperor and install Sun Yat Sen in his place. The Shan Chu clenched his jaw with anger at the thought their success had been in vain. The war with the communists in Shanghai some seventy years ago had driven them underground again.
So, the San He Hui pranced around in the public eye, flaunting their criminal activity and their decadence—the fools. The 14K were the largest San He Hui in the world, and the sub-faction of Chicago had grown particularly powerful. Their main sources of revenue—drugs, money laundering, and illegal alien smuggling—had enabled them to assemble a large army, much larger than was typical for these thugs. And now, their spawn, the second-generation gangs, were clumsily making their deals on the streets—idiots.
In the shadows, the Green and Red Societies had been plotting—and infiltrating. Yes, some of the members had involved themselves with the San He Hui, but many members had been at the very highest levels of the Chinese Government—until recently. Minister Li had fucked that up and put his moral beliefs ahead of the greater cause, killing Chairman Xi and stopping the Societies from taking the creature from the Americans.
The creature was theirs. They had found it in the first place, and the Americans had stolen it. But he would succeed. He would take the power and use it to unite the Triads, the San He Hui, and the Green and Red Societies all over the world—to destroy the Americans, the white supremacists.
The trick would be taking control of the 14K to start with. It was their lack of loyalty he planned to use. Frequently, members of one faction would leave for another that seemed more prosperous. Greed would be what he wielded—greed and fear.
The car rolled to a stop, interrupting his boiling anger. He breathed slowly, channeling his emotion into the task at hand. Take control of the Chicago 14K and then all of the 14K sub-factions.
There was a brief click and the door swung open. The Shan Chu stepped out into the brisk Chicago air. He pulled his overcoat collar up around his neck and slipped on his tailored leather gloves.
As he glanced around, his nostrils flared in disapproval. They were at some run-down building in the heart of Chinatown. Despite their power, the high-profile arrest and imprisonment in Macau of Wan Kuok-koi, the Dragon Head, had resulted in factions all over the world lowering their public profile. Perhaps this was a good thing, but it was no excuse for such disgusting abodes.
A short, stocky man, his demeanor shrewd and careful, approached him. He bowed briefly to the Shan Chu.
“Of course. The Straw Sandal. The liaison.”
The man seemed startled that the Shan Chu had chosen to speak English.
“We are in America, are we not, Straw Sandal?” continued the Shan Chu, sensing the man’s confusion.
He nodded. “Yes, Shan Chu. You have had a long journey. You must wish to rest.”
“No,” the Shan Chu said. “I only wish to speak with Wan Kuok-Lóng. Now.”
“Shan Chu, I beg your indulgence, but your visit is unexpected, and we are not prepared. We have many issues we must attend to first. Local business is our first priority.” He smiled, though it was more threatening than placating.
“Local business,” the Shan Chu replied, nodding. “Fair enough.”
In a single movement, he pulled his razor-sharp machete from under his coat and sliced off the man’s arm at the elbow. Blood sprayed the concrete sidewalk, and the air filled with a curdling scream as the man fell to his knees, clasping the severed stump.
“I would call this local and quite the priority, wouldn’t you, Straw Sandal?” He almost laughed at the end of his sentence.
The whimpering man scurried off into the decrepit building, leaving a trail of red behind him. The Shan Chu waited patiently—nonchalantly—brushing dust and lint from his coat.
Moments later, a much rounder man appeared, his face contorted in anger. His blue suit stretched across his stomach, barely able to stay buttoned. “Move inside,” he shouted.
“Gladly,” the Shan Chu replied. He signaled to his driver, to stay where he was.
Once inside, the rotund man stomped off down a corridor and into a large room that had been fitted out like an office, though the decor appeared to be mock-Chinese—an American reproduction of what the westerners believed China looked like. A desk of deep red wood sat in the middle of the room, set against a backdrop of ancient-looking sepia-colored oriental paintings that covered the entire back wall. A random room-separating piece, completely superfluous due to the fact it was just wooden latticework and, thus, didn’t separate anything, was plonked a few feet from the desk. A lone lamp, its base forged to resemble a Ming vase, adorned the monstrous bureau.
“You have become a parody. You are not San He Hui. You are Triads—American Hollywood stage props. Look at you. You are even fat like an American. You disgust me,” the Shan Chu said, waving his arms about the room, pointing at the gaudy furniture.
The fat man slumped into the chair behind his desk. “Who do you think you are? You may associate with high society in China, but you have no power here. This is America, and here, I hold all the cards.”
“This is America, but you don’t hold all the cards. You control a small part of one city. You play second fiddle to the Italians. You are nothing, Wan Kuok-Lóng. You are fat, old, and lazy, and there is more to be taken.” The Shan Chu sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, purposefully provoking the man.
“I do not listen to you, Jia-nghù Tsai. Yes, I know who you are. You are not even Chinese blood. You are Japanese. You bring shame to the Green and Red Societies.” He laughed long and loud, looking at his bodyguards standing on either side of the only door in and out of the room.
“Yes, my family is Japanese,” Jia-nghù Tsai replied. “But you pathetic Triads were not complaining when my Yakuza ancestors helped you overthrow the Manchu Emperor. Some Yakuza took positions within the Green and Red Societies to facilitate order.” He grinned. “You Chinese can’t be trusted to run things on your own.”
“But you are not with your Yakuza brothers now, Jap. You are alone. And I am not.”
The door swung open, allowing ten Triad soldiers to file in. They constructed a human circle around him, Wan Kuok-Lóng forming the critical link.
Jia-nghù Tsai closed his eyes and concentrated on the minute sounds and air movements that informed him of the position of every man in the room. He slowly slid his eyelids open and stared coldly at the Dragon Head.
“Why are you here, Jia-nghù Tsai?”
“To give the 14K an opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?”
“World domination.”
The Dragon Head laughed. “You are out of your little Japanese mind.”
“I am in possession of a great power—one that will allow me to control a magnificent weapon, a weapon the Americans have but do not understand. I will take it and use it against them.” He calmly crossed his legs and straightened his tie, allowing his words to sink in.
“You are crazy. And the 14K is under my control. We have built an army and wealth through my leadership. I will not lose everything to follow your crazy ravings. Go speak with your Yakuza scum, Jap.”
The Shan Chu sighed. “I do not have time to educate you, ignorant pig.”
Before Wan Kuok-Lóng could respond, Jia-nghù Tsai had sprung over the desk and somersaulted over the man’s chair. He tucked the blade of his machete firmly under the Dragon Head’s throat and pressed a hand on the back of his head.
“Let me make this simple. I need your army, and I need them now. We will go to New Mexico and take the weapon from the Americans, and with it, destroy them. Then we will use this power to unite all the Sen He Hui across the globe and establish a new dynasty. Mine.” His eyes flared with passion, his voice straining with rage.
The Triad Leader choked. “This is madness. Dreams of gold and a time past.”
“It is a time coming, Wan Kuok-Lóng. But you are too stupid and Americanized to see it. I am of the old world, and I will lead your men to great honor and wealth.” He eyed the room, ensuring that each soldier’s gaze was met.
The Triads’ resolve waned. They threw confused glances at each other.
“I am the Dragon Head here. The 14K follow me.”
The Shan Chu turned his attention to his captive and calmed his voice. “Yes, Wan Kuok-Lóng. There can be only one Dragon Head.”
The Shan Chu pulled on the machete with sharp and deliberate force, slicing through the Dragon Head’s neck muscles, trachea, and carotid artery. Wan Kuok-Lóng’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he choked on a voiceless scream. Blood spattered down his chin and across the desk in thick globules. The Shan Chu released his hold, dropping the Dragon Head lifelessly onto the bureau with a dull thump.
After climbing onto the desk, Jia-nghù Tsai stood with his feet on either side of his victim’s head. He fished inside his overcoat and pulled out a transparent, sealed, plastic bag that contained a strange gelatinous orb glowing with a furious cobalt light. He held it aloft, his eyes wild. “I will lead the 14K to victory. To power.”
The Triads looked on in awe and fear, unsure of whether they should move against the insane man. They eyed each other nervously but knowingly, making a silent agreement. Clutching their knives, swords, and side arms, they edged with deadly purpose toward him.
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Location: Dulce Base, New Mexico, USA
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Lurching from her deep slumber, Victoria yelped and fell from the bed, smacking her knees and palms on the cold tiled floor. The pain burned through her stinging skin into her very bones—through her forearms and thighs, surging into her spine.
She collapsed into a heap, the thin, sweat-soaked hospital gown clinging to her skin. Victoria sobbed deep breathless cries of frustration and fear. The nightmares were so vivid, so strong. But they weren’t hers. They were the animal’s. The animal’s overwhelming desire to escape was primal, without rational thought or language, just pure emotion—pure rage.
The door to the room hissed open. Dr. Parnham and Kelly rushed in, practically falling over one another to get to her. They fired lots of questions. Was she alright? Was she hurt? Could she hear them?
She could hear them, but their voices were muffled and distant as if she were watching the scene from outside her own body. They kept screaming, but she couldn’t answer. She was too weak.
Victoria tilted her head and rolled her eyes so her gaze fell upon the ever-swirling form of Wak. It was bouncing off the inner walls of the aquarium as it bolted from one side to the other. It stopped mid-stroke and locked its gaze on hers. Its deep red eyes drew her further and further into its mind. She exhaled and slumped into unconsciousness.