Early morning.
Barricades and warning signs had been set up at both ends of the road. Police cars stretched across the road, their lights flashing to warn passing vehicles to take another route.
"Officer Chan, your coffee!"
He Jia'an, a CID badge hanging from his chest, watched Chen Guibin get out of a police car and hurried over to hand him a cup of coffee.
"What's the situation at the scene?"
Chen Guibin wore a black cotton shirt and rubbed his aching forehead. He took the coffee from He Jia'an and asked him about the situation.
"We found two vehicles at the scene: a six-meter dump truck and a Honda sedan. There are six victims in total. Three suffered injuries from blows and the crash, but they died because someone snapped their necks.
"Two suffered severe injuries to their lower bodies. One died from a blow to the chest that broke his ribs, which punctured his heart and lungs. Another suffered a severe blow to the head. The last one was struck hard in the heart, and someone cut the skin off his face. We found the skin and a small knife used for flaying in a plastic bag at the scene—"
He Jia'an hurried after Chen Guibin, recounting what he had learned after arriving early at the crime scene.
"Have we identified the victims?"
Chen Guibin took a sip of coffee. His anxious expression seemed to ease a little before he asked another question.
"We've identified four of them from the ID cards they were carrying: Wu Xingsha, Dang Hongbo, Li Bang, and Shen Maode. According to information from the Anti-Triad Unit and the Narcotics Division, they were all gang members. The victim whose face was skinned was Wu Xingsha." He Jia'an handed Chen Guibin the information he had prepared earlier.
"And the other two?"
Chen Guibin handed his coffee to He Jia'an and took the file, flipping through it.
"One was a white man, and the other looked Asian. Both were extremely muscular, but neither had anything on them that could prove their identities," He Jia'an replied quickly.
"What about the vehicles?"
Chen Guibin skimmed through the file, handed it back to He Jia'an, and strode toward the crime scene, which was enclosed by a second line of barricades.
"The sedan belonged to Wu Xingsha. The dump truck was registered to a transport company, which reported it stolen to the police yesterday morning." He Jia'an followed behind Chen Guibin, still speaking quickly. "Oh, and we found an M1911 pistol in the car. It hadn't been fired."
"Good work."
Chen Guibin paused and praised He Jia'an, then strode into the wreckage-strewn scene.
Shattered car windows and fragments of parts littered the ground. Black tire tracks were clearly visible everywhere.
Chen Guibin crouched and studied the ground carefully, occasionally looking up at the dump truck and the overturned black Honda sedan. He looked pensive, his brows knitted tightly together.
"Officer Chan, have you found any clues?" He Jia'an stood behind his superior, asking with some anticipation.
"Judging by the dump truck's angle, the crash was probably caused by the white man and the muscular guy. Their target was the people in the sedan. But there are clear signs of a struggle at the scene, so something must have gone wrong. The white man and the unidentified muscular man failed to complete their mission and fought fiercely with a mysterious person."
As he spoke, Chen Guibin walked over to the side of the intersection and carefully examined the plastic fragments scattered on the ground. Several of them had been neatly pressed flat. "A vehicle stopped here."
Suddenly, Chen Guibin went over to the horribly mutilated white man and crouched to look at his sunken chest. He continued, "An Zai, do you remember the case involving that psychopathic taxi driver that Tuen Mun Police Station reported earlier?"
"I do."
He Jia'an nodded. The case had recently caused quite a stir across Hong Kong Island. Not only police officers like them but ordinary people, too, had been talking about it.
Suddenly, as if realizing something, He Jia'an blurted out, "That driver also died of internal bleeding after a severe blow to the chest broke his ribs and drove them into his organs. Officer Chan, are you saying these two cases—"
"Once the autopsy reports are out, contact Tuen Mun Police Station and get me their files. I want to see them. Also, find out who those two white men and the muscular guy were. Anyone who's been somewhere leaves traces. They couldn't have appeared out of thin air."
Chen Guibin spoke rapidly as he stood up. Then he looked past He Jia'an, his expression displeased. "An Zai, ask the officers what they're doing. Why has a kid wandered in here?"
"A kid?"
He Jia'an had been trying to follow Chen Guibin's line of thought. The question left him baffled. He turned to look at the empty space behind him, then stared at Chen Guibin in confusion. "Officer Chan, what are you—"
Chen Guibin's brows were tightly furrowed, his eyes fixed on the space behind He Jia'an.
"Officer Chan!" He Jia'an called out, looking puzzled.
Only then did Chen Guibin look away. He slowly closed his eyes and tapped the spot between his brows. "It's nothing. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I probably haven't been getting enough rest lately. Oh, have the officers check around for witnesses."
The deep, humming whir of electronic equipment echoed continuously.
In a room connected to some damp, dimly lit basement, rows of computers stood side by side. Thick cables and fiber-optic lines ran along the walls, while glass sleep pods over two meters tall, advanced operating tables connected to unidentified monitors, and all kinds of strange high-tech instruments filled the room.
The equipment alone made it clear that the basement was an extremely high-tech secret facility.
"Captain, the people who went on the mission last night haven't returned."
A woman in a red trench coat, alluring and seductive, walked in from outside and approached a black-clad man with long hair who was standing with his back to her, facing the wall.
The man was looking at two maps: a map of the world and a map of Hong Kong Island. The map of Hong Kong Island was covered in circles and crosses drawn in red ink.
After hearing the woman in the red trench coat's report, the long-haired man didn't turn around. He merely tapped the map with his finger. "We don't have many people left. This plan is crucial. I don't want any complications. Send someone to finish them off for good."
"Understood." The woman in the red trench coat nodded and left the room.
After she had gone, the long-haired man turned his gaze from the map of Hong Kong Island to the map of the world.
His finger traced a large area near the top of the world map. In a low voice, he murmured to himself, "Great ideals can never withstand the ravages of reality. Tovarishch, Stalingrad is no longer on the map. And failed experiments like us will never return to the pigsty."