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The bar was an easy to miss hole in the wall―small and nestled between two other buildings in a dingy backstreet slum. Afternoon light cast a hazy bloom through the thin fog of cigarette smoke that clung to the ceiling, which the lazily spinning fans did nothing to clear. There were only a few people drinking this early in the day, which made one patron stand out in the sparse crowd; a sharp-eyed man dressed in flashy colors, his style resembling a gangster, seated alone at a table tucked into a corner of the room.
He arrived one day like a stray cat, drawn in by the simple promise of alcohol, and could have continued bar hopping never to be seen again, if not for the gratitude he was shown upon ousting some rowdy drunks. That wasn’t for their sake, the man groused, those assholes were just loud and he was hungover, they were ruining the atmosphere while he tried to get a little hair of the dog that bit him, so he made them leave. Excuses like that stopped working once he caught some other gangsters trying to rope the bar into a protection racket and kicked them out on their ear.
This part of town was teeming with lowlifes but the bar and its patrons were honest, and this man, who looked precisely like the kind of mafia-type who would just as soon keep them all under his thumb, was more interested in maintaining the congenial atmosphere while he drank. That was all he asked for in return―a place to relax and unwind, away from the world’s troubles.
Since then, those types started coming around less and less. Just one glance from him could have the most pathetic of them turn tail. Whenever things were quiet like this, the man minded his own business, kept to his drink, and for the most part everyone let him be while he absorbed their ambient chatter.
A different sort of quiet took over the almost empty bar when a new stranger walked in that day. Conversation ceased and all attention fell to a woman dressed conspicuously in a full black suit, sporting sunglasses like some kind of government agent. The man sitting in the back eyed her warily, just like everyone else, until her sights set upon his table. He didn’t bother hiding his suspicion as she stood before him.
“Are you Shenlong?” the stranger asked.
Shit. He must have gotten sloppy if someone like her tracked him down this openly. Upon closer inspection Shenlong confirmed he had no recognition of her at all―at least he was reasonably sure he could rely on his memory now―but somehow she knew him.
“Who’s asking?” he returned to his drink, pretending to be unfazed by this predicament.
The stranger reached into the breast pocket of her suit jacket and sparked his nerves. Rather than withdraw a weapon, she produced a business card. He glanced at it briefly, enough to catch English script over some type of beast crested insignia.
Her name didn’t matter; she was only a messenger.
“What’s this about?”
“I’m here with a proposition.”
He scoffed. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“You shouldn’t feel threatened.” Shenlong glared at her over the rim of his glass. She continued, “We both know I wouldn’t be walking out of here if it came to that. May I have a seat?”
The woman’s shades were too dark to see her eyes; Shenlong stared her down anyway. She was nothing but concise and professional, not a hint of nerves, bemusement, or any malicious intent to be seen. After a prolonged moment of further scrutiny he jerked his chin to the seat across from him and emptied his glass.
Shenlong signaled the bar for another drink, but when the waitress came to replace his whiskey the messenger ordered nothing. She must have wanted this meeting to be quick and efficient, which meant she expected him to go along with whatever she offered. Awfully presumptuous.
Her hands folded on the table, fingers neatly entwined. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news… about an isolated territory that formed as a haven for zoanthrope refugees during the Liberation Front’s reign.”
Shenlong listened quietly, red eyes stern and heavy.
“Recently,” she said, “that place has gone public in search of freedom. With the kingdom’s sovereignty recognized, we could finally become a true nation for all zoanthropes.”
Once upon a time, Shenlong might have been interested in a place like that―even without taking charge as its ruler―but the allure of a zoanthrope ethnostate had been purged from him since then, along with all the mental conditioning for self-righteously leading such a charge.
“What’s this got to do with me?” he asked, a warm buzz from the alcohol starting to settle in.
“You’re considered a… person of interest.” She seemed to choose those words carefully.
Shenlong huffed at the thought as whiskey soured on his tongue. Whatever their interest, these people already knew a hell of a lot more about him than he liked, especially when all he had on them in return were from news broadcasts. The whole thing made him uneasy.
“I was sent to extend a formal invitation for an upcoming event.” the messenger continued.
“By your government?” he sneered.
“On behalf of the royal family, yes.”
Shenlong paused, sarcasm waning. “What kind of event?”
“Amid celebrating our upcoming independence, the king has chosen to host a special tournament. Someone like you participating would be incredible publicity for the event, and our nation. People will be coming from all over the world. If you were to win, you would go down in history as the strongest zoanthrope of our age. And,” she added, after noting Shenlong’s less than enthused expression, “there’s a handsome cash prize for the winner, courtesy of the royal family.”
“All of that, huh?” Shenlong idly swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Sorry, not happening.”
“...Is there some reason you can’t?” the messenger asked, slow and dubious. “Arrangements could be made to remove whatever obstacles are keeping you from taking part in the competition.”
“I’m not interested in entertaining the rich.”
Shenlong appreciated a good throwdown―and hell, that prize money was more than tempting―but a cage match sponsored by someone far up his own ass enough to establish a monarchy and declare himself king in the 21st century would be nothing more than a glorified cock fight. They couldn’t pay him enough to line the pockets of cowardly aristocrats while they got their sick kicks watching other people bleed from a safe, comfortable distance.
“Is that so? That’s a pity…” The messenger offered her business card once more. “If you change your mind, you’ll know how to contact me.”
Shenlong eyed the card with marked disinterest, even as she nudged it closer. He only took it once the woman removed her hand and, with a passing glance at the back to confirm there was a phone number, Shenlong tucked the card into his vest pocket. The messenger accepted that as her cue and left the building without further comment.
His eyes never left her back until she disappeared out the door, and once the messenger was gone Shenlong found the entire bar’s attention had fallen to him. They were unsettled by the woman’s presence, uncertain what had transpired between them and what they should do now. Too many times people caused trouble in this place and he was the one to clean it up, but rarely was a situation handled with such subtle diplomacy.
Tapping his empty glass, a waitress came by shortly after with a replacement―neat whiskey in a lowball.
“Do you know each other?” she asked, exchanging the new glass for the old one.
“Not really,” he moved right for the drink.
The waitress lingered awkwardly, head dipped and crestfallen. After a moment, she said, “...I’ll only be working here until the end of the month.”
“Oh yeah?” Hardly relevant, he thought.
“I’m getting married…”
“I see.”
“My fiance has a lot of money. I heard he also owns a lot of villas…”
“Good for you.”
“Yes…” she dawdled, as if trying to find something else to say, then bowed. “Thank you for listening…”
The waitress walked away, leaving Shenlong even more drained and listless. He tipped his glass and stared into the amber liquid.
What a mess.
He needed to leave soon, assess his surroundings and find how that woman managed to track him. Most likely she came with a group. They were probably still watching, waiting for him to leave so they could corner him privately. Then again, if his location was already compromised then he could afford to indulge himself here a while longer.
That was what he hoped, anyway―and at least he had enough time for the drink to warm his skin and ply his nerves before someone else approached his table. This intruder was a local boy with freckles, far too young to drink. He sat down without a word but the boy’s eyes begged for acknowledgement from the seat beside him. Shenlong’s attention was split between the whiskey and his thoughts.
“Excuse me…” the boy tried after some silence.
“What?” Shenlong replied without looking at him.
“My sister’s leaving soon…”
Not this again. “I heard.”
“But―she doesn’t really want to get married…”
“Eh?” Didn’t he just congratulate her on the happy engagement?
“...If she doesn’t get married, this place will go out of business…”
Shenlong frowned. “I see.”
“It’s awful…”
“Yeah,” he tiredly agreed, “it is.”
The boy grew quiet, shoulders slumped. “If I was older, I could work harder…”
“It’s not that easy.”
They both fell silent, then. The kid hunched over, staring helplessly at the same hands that were too small and weak to pull in the kind of money his sister needed. That must have been why he singled Shenlong out―his hands were big and rough, working hands, and this boy had seen the kinds of things they were capable of. From where he stood his sister’s fiance was just another troublemaker, but the solution to this problem wasn’t as simple as throwing the guy out.
Without money this place would go under; the bar would have to close and they would be alone, out on the street. The bar was their livelihood and over time it had become a pillar of the local community. Outsiders easily dismissed this humble place as nothing but a trash heap when in reality it was an urban ecosystem that brought people together. Everyone here would suffer the loss of this social support network―their second home, in a way. That’s what the waitress hoped to avoid, and why she chose to sacrifice her freedom for financial stability.
This boy understood, on some level, that his sister was becoming a martyr.
Shenlong knocked back the rest of his drink and left money under the empty glass. He stood up and the kid followed him to the door.
“Where are you going, Mister Shenlong…?”
“Just going to meet some strong guys to kill time…”
Maybe that was the alcohol talking. Maybe this was a stupid, reckless impulse that would bite him in the ass. Shenlong didn’t really care.
Tight pathways weaved through the alley clustered between tall buildings. Barely anyone came through here this early in the day, so he was guaranteed some privacy even without an enclosed booth. The payphone was as dingy as anything else in this backstreet, a dark green color that stood out against the surrounding gray. Shenlong tucked the receiver between his ear and shoulder and called the number.
Whatever this was really about, if the damn Zoanthrope Kingdom wanted him to participate in their little game badly enough to hunt him down all the way out here, then they had better be prepared to negotiate his terms.
“State your business,” the messenger from earlier answered with a flat, detached tone.
“Following up on that business card,” he responded coolly while turning the card over in his hand.
“Ah… Shenlong, then?” Her voice relaxed. “You’re having second thoughts?”
“Looks like I could use some money after all.”
“Really? What changed your mind?”
“This bar I like’s gonna close down otherwise.”
Fame and fortune were lifelong ambitions for many, so he couldn’t blame these people for thinking he’d be swayed so easily, but he didn’t need them. Didn’t even want them if they weren’t taken on his terms.
If his name went down in history as the strongest zoanthrope of their lifetime then it would be from carving his own path, not because some self-proclaimed king bestowed him the honor. And money, well, he could take it or leave it. Shenlong’s tastes often ran luxurious despite rarely affording them but he could get by just fine with the cash in his pocket. He’d never be caught dead dancing for anyone’s amusement just to get paid, and he damn sure wasn’t about to trouble himself for anyone who wasn’t willing to get their own hands dirty.
He didn’t need any of the shallow rewards they offered him… but someone else did, someone who couldn’t take that opportunity herself no matter how hard she tried―someone who would rather risk a lifetime of unhappiness than watch her community fall apart―and he didn’t mind breaking a few bones to get her there. They wouldn’t be his bones, anyway.