Mad Dog - I

The oppossum is a talented animal. It knows that, against a superior opponent, it is sometimes best to avoid fights altogether. I am an oppossum. The oppossum is me. Though I do not know if they are stronger than I, I know there is no reason to try. So I waited. Waited some more. And when I realised that Notanobu left with Yuura, I did not follow.

Because I knew there was no point. I knew that I would find them regardless. I am like a dog. I always know where the meat is.

And because most importantly—Zhang stopped me.

“I have four friends in the building. They know where Yuura and Nobu are. But they don't know about you. So don't follow them.”

“Zzzz.” I snored.

“Between Ohori Park and Fukuoka’s castle ruins is an abandoned area. There’s a small red house there. You’ll recognise it—there’s graffiti of a white cat on the side. If you care about those friends of yours, show up.”

Why did Zhang help me?

What is his intention?

I do not know.

But I am following the instructions Zhang gave me. It is in the heart of the city. The centre. I will be there soon. I have roamed these streets before, in the heart of day, in the heart of night. I have slept on the pavements, on the benches, and on the patches of grass.

I know.

My walk takes me past Fukouka’s castle ruins. It’s located a bit before Ohori Park. The big island in the middle of an even bigger pond. Close to that. But far enough to be its own thing. That’s where I am. This somewhat empty area.

Abandoned. It looks like a park in the making, with bushes, paths, and the sorts. But the lack of construction equipment and the half-done infrastructure tells me what I need to know. That’s what you get for building a park next to a park in the middle of a pond.

I make my way through the undeveloped park. Soon enough, I stumble into a rundown residential area. I make my way deeper inside. I see the house Zhang mentioned.

Looking at the white cat on the side, I’m certain this is the place.

It’s an old apartment block. Two storeys high. The walls are the colour of old blood. There’s rust down its side. Trailing like drool down my lips when I see a large morsel of meat (preferably chicken).

I crouch and move to the house’s side. The curtains are drawn, making it impossible to see inside. I lift one foot onto the window’s lower ledge and bring myself up. I continue from that, going to the upper ledge, and maintaining balance on its chicken-foot length. It’s so small that I have to align my feet horizontally and lean against the wall just to not fall.

I have confidence in my grip strength. I can make a hole in the wall with my fingers. Small enough to use and pull me with. But I would rather be quiet, like little mouse looking for little cheese.

The next part will be more difficult. There is a window, and a ledge above me, the length of two Chinese hares away. I will go from there. But how?

Should I make a war cry and run in with the element of surprise?

Or, should I be sneaky like cat? Tip-toe, lie flat, and hide in the shadows?

I decide on cat. I take out a key from my pocket and slam it into the window. It makes a loud noise, shalalaling, and a sound like ‘What was that?’ in Chinese. I now hear distant footsteps. I think someone is coming.

My response is to keep quiet. Their response is to draw open the curtains, and check what has happened. A black-haired man with black war-paint looks at the glass window with an annoyed expression. He does not poke his head out the window. He does not see me.

“What was that?” sounds another man’s voice.

“Don’t know. I think some bird flew into the window.”

“You sure you didn’t just decide to punch it because you’re an emotionally unstable idiot, who can’t help himself?”

“Go kill yourself, you piece of shit.”

“Just proving my point here.”

The man stomps away with loud, and emotionally unstable footsteps.

“Close the door, idiot. It’ll get cold.”

I hear the man stomp back with loud and emotionally unstable footsteps, before shutting what I think is the room’s door.

I sniff the air for good measure. The scent of emotional instability is gone. The smell of wet tissues and low-pitched singing.

Reaching a hand through the broken glass, I quietly pull the handle, and drag the window open. I get on the ledge and enter. I make myself small. I settle myself in, and keep low to the ground, blending the darkness of my jacket, with the darkness of the unlit floor.

As I do, my eyes end up falling on my feet. And as they fall on my feet, they fall on what’s below it. A strange drawing sits on the ground, lines and lines of coloured chalk. A circle as large as the room, with the words for wood (木), fire (火), earth (土), metal (金), and water (水), at each of the ends. Each of the elements is connected to another in a circle, and each of the elements is connected to another in a star in the centre.

It’s a Wuxing circle. Illustrating the five Chinese elements. A woman I once beat up for drawing grafitti explained it to me.

For some reason, I end up growling quietly at the thing. I don’t know why. It’s not alive, nor a threat. But, for a moment, I imagined it transforming into some great beast and eating me alive.

I move around some more, and as I do, bits of dust kick into the air. White specks in yellow sun. There are a lot of tables lining the edge of the room, and there’s something on those tables.

Lots and lots of objects line the tables, featuring strange shapes, lines, and diagrams.

Cookware?

No.

That’s not right. To be precise, these things remind me of chemistry class back in middle school… Little cauldrons. Little bottles. Little things to put other little things with other littl-er things.

So, science, I think. Making something. A process of alchemical configuration, dilution, and creation. I look back at the drawing on the floor, recognise the elements, and look back at the alchemy stuff.

And I realise something very important.

I don’t understand anything.

I prepare myself to leave.

Pressing my back against the door, I listen for any sound outside. Somewhere, people are speaking. Close. The next room, I think.

I grip the doorknob. Tight. Like teeth in meat. I lift it fast and open it faster, avoiding the grind of wood on un-oiled hinges.

I see another room. Door open. Two men play mahjong on a square table. The click of cheap acrylic against each other, the shuffle and arrangement of the square tiles. Man with black war-paint, man with shaved hair.

It is the only other chamber on this floor. I wait for a bit. I listen to their presence and wait to hear something useful.

Mr Emo slams the mahjong table. “Fuck! Great Winds? Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?!”

Mr Normal laughs. “Hey. Easy on the language. It’s not good for your health.”

“Good for my health?” Mr Emo seems to cool a bit. “What are you, Brother Hong?”

“I wish!” Mr Normal laughs again. Very fond of laughing this one is. “Well.” He stops to think. “Maybe not.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m just saying. Brother Hong’s skilled. Probably second only to Senior Stillwater. And yet, he’s stuck cleaning dead bodies and apartments. Kinda underselling his potential, wouldn’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he says after a moment. Mr Emo looks outside the room, staring absent-mindedly into space.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing important.” He doesn’t see me. “I was just thinking about something Iolanda said.”

“Well, think on it another time. Let’s set the table and play another round. You’re funnier when you’re pissed.”

The two re-arrange the mahjong pieces in a two-player setup. I ignore it and make my way down the stairs. Before long, there's a scissor in one hand, and a raised palm in the other.

One stance of the Mad Dog Fist. Designed by Grandmaster Me, and made to grab and stab in one quick motion.

I am quiet. Light like a malnourished mouse.

One step. Two steps. Three. Just after the fourth step, a door comes open. They emerge from the left side into the corridor. Two people. Both in some sort of rush or frenzy. One man. One woman.

Woman, blonde and pale. Wearing big coat.

Man, Zhang. In flesh, bone, and familiar likeness. But face a little different. Maybe a bit stressed. Maybe a bit hungry.