The rain came down hard enough to bruise the city.

Neon bled across wet pavement, signs buzzing in Cantonese and English, advertising sins you could buy by the hour or the gram. The streets of Hong Kong didn’t sleep,they waited. 
Every alley had a memory, every stairwell a debt. Wei Kwan moved through it all with his collar up, knuckles taped, breathing slow. He had learned long ago that hesitation got you buried and confidence got you hunted.
Tonight, both were useful.
He passed a noodle stand closing for the night, steam rising like a ghost leaving the body. Somewhere above him, an apartment window slammed shut. Somewhere ahead, bass rattled glass, low, violent, expensive. 
The Black Lotus Triad didn’t hide anymore. They didn’t need to. Fear had done the job for them.
Wei crossed the street and felt the weight in his jacket shift. Not the gun. The badge. He didn’t touch either.
The club doors were carved wood, dragons biting their own tails. Two guards flanked the entrance in tailored suits, earpieces glowing faint blue. 
They saw him immediately. Everyone did. Wei had the posture of a man who had already decided how this was going to end.
One guard stepped forward. “Members only.”
Wei smiled, just enough to show teeth, and stepped into him. The smile vanished as Wei’s elbow crushed into the man’s throat, lifting him off his feet. 
The second guard went for his piece, Wei pivoted, heel snapping up into the man’s knee with a dry, final sound. He grabbed the first guard by the collar and hurled him through the doors.
Music cut. 
Glass shattered. 
Screams followed.
The club exploded into motion. Red lanterns swung wildly, shadows stretching and snapping as men surged forward. Wei didn’t rush. He let them come.

A fist flew. 
Wei slipped it, palm striking the attacker’s jaw so hard the man spun and dropped. Another came low, Wei stepped over the sweep, drove a knee down into the attacker’s face, and felt bone give. Someone tried to grab him from behind. Wei hooked the arm, rolled his shoulder, and slammed the man headfirst into a pillar. The pillar cracked.

A knife flashed. Wei caught the wrist, twisted until the blade clattered to the floor, then smashed his forehead into the man’s nose and followed with a kick that sent him sliding across the dance floor.
He moved like water taught to hate.
Bodies piled up. Blood smeared the polished floor. The music didn’t come back.

At the far end of the club, behind smoked glass and gold trim, a door opened. Lin Zhaoyu stepped out, immaculate in a white suit, hair untouched by the storm outside or the violence inside. He clapped slowly, mockery wrapped in silk.
“Still sloppy, Wei,” Lin said. “You were always better when you weren’t angry.”
Wei wiped blood from his knuckles. “You always talked too much.”
Lin smiled. “And you always hit too hard.”

The guards around Lin raised their guns.
Wei raised his hands, not in surrender, but in invitation.
The first shot missed as Wei lunged forward, flipping a table into the line of fire. He vaulted over it, kicked off a wall, and drove both feet into a shooter’s chest. Another swung his rifle like a bat, Wei ducked, elbowed the man’s ribs, then tore the weapon free and smashed the stock into his face.
Gunfire tore the room apart. Wei moved through it, closing distance, making bullets useless. He grabbed a man’s arm mid-aim and snapped it backward, then shoved the body into another shooter. A pistol clattered across the floor. Wei kicked it away and crushed the man’s throat with a short, brutal punch.
When it was over, only Lin remained standing.
They circled each other among the wreckage, breathing heavy, eyes locked. The rain outside hammered the windows like an audience demanding blood.
Lin shrugged off his jacket. “You could’ve had everything,” he said. “Power. Respect. You chose a badge instead.”
Wei’s jaw tightened. “I chose not to be you.”
They collided.

Lin was fast, faster than Wei remembered. His strikes were sharp, precise, meant to cripple. Wei absorbed them, countering with bone-breaking force. They crashed into walls, into tables, into memory. 
Lin caught Wei with a spinning backfist that split his lip. Wei responded with a headbutt that staggered Lin backward.
Lin laughed, blood on his teeth. “There he is.”
Wei drove forward, unleashing everything he’d kept buried. A flurry of strikes forced Lin back step by step until his spine hit the glass wall. It cracked but didn’t break.
Lin reached inside his suit and pulled a small black case from his pocket. He flicked it open just long enough for Wei to see the glow.
A micro-bomb. Military grade. Old money.
Wei froze for half a second, long enough to calculate distance, angles, outcomes.
Lin smiled wider. “We both die. Or you walk away.”
Wei lunged.
Lin thumbed the trigger.
Wei slammed his shoulder into Lin’s chest and drove him through the glass. They fell together, shattering into the rain-soaked night. The explosion hit an instant later, a white-hot roar that tore the club apart and hurled Wei across the street like a broken toy.
He hit the pavement hard. The world went silent.
When sound came back, it was distant, sirens, shouting, the crackle of fire. Wei tried to move. His body refused. Rain filled his mouth. He tasted blood and smoke and something like relief.
Lights surrounded him. Someone knelt beside him, shouting his name. Hands pressed against his wounds. A stretcher slid under his back.
Wei stared up at the burning building, flames licking the sky where dragons once watched. Lin Zhaoyu was gone. The Black Lotus with him.
As the ambulance doors closed, Wei finally exhaled.
The city kept breathing.
Weeks later, the rain returned, softer this time. Wei stood on a rooftop overlooking the harbor, bandages hidden under his jacket. The badge was gone. So was the gun. He didn’t need either anymore.
Below him, the city moved on, boats cutting through black water, lights flickering, deals being made and broken. New gangs would rise. Old ones would rot. Violence never left. It just changed addresses.
Wei turned away from the edge and disappeared down the stairs, footsteps fading into the hum of the city. 

Somewhere, a fight was waiting. Somewhere, a debt hadn’t been paid.

And Wei Kwan was still breathing.
For now.