(Working Title) Kowloon

(This is a work in progress and does not reflect the final draft. These are the first two sample chapters.)

I

The Kowloon Walled City; once upon a time it was an ungoverned, forgotten, densely populated city with the highest rate of drug abuse, triad activity and prostitution in Kowloon. The Walled City grew over the past couple hundred years. The Chinese government restructured their policies that would allow less restricting child birth rates. At the same time, the policies restructured the city in a way to migrate homeless or lower income residents to the expanded segments.

The entire area of Kowloon City eventually became a part of the new Walled City. Houses stacked upon houses upon commercial structures, Chinese manufacturing organizations dominated the rooftops, and the borders managed by the military. With so many new additions, there was bound to be tension and unrest within the populace. The tight knit community grew into a network, and Triad activity tripled since the restructuring project. Somehow, the city was a lot worse then what it used to be.

I am Augustus Kale; I worked for the International Police. The last time I visited the Walled City was before my employment. I went to Kowloon for personal reasons. When I was there though, I felt the greatest tension and emotional distraught in the atmosphere. The natives were fearful of outsiders such as me, and frankly, I do not blame them. During my visit there however, I was able to connect with the populace. My Cantonese dialect was lacking concrete grammar, but I was able to make due enough to earn the respect and trust of the populace. When I talked with one of the city elders about this tension, he said something rather peculiar; 

            ‘The city is alive, festering as if it was a corpse; suffering as though it was kept alive.’

I took his words as though they were a metaphor. The city was as alive as the people who lived within it. Suffering and festering as the struggling residents within. He told me much about the changes Kowloon underwent recently. There was a strange feeling in the air; the atmosphere people once felt close and sheltered, was separated and vulnerable. I swore I sensed the fear emanating from him was affecting me at the time.

There was a legend that beasts populated the city: Rakshasas, Pretas, Jiangshi, Gus, all beasts of Chinese legends. The elder told me they hunt in the darkest of nights, in regions blind to the rays of the sun and moon. Triads strewn across the streets and alleys, their blood painting the walls, their skin made into banners with markings etched upon them. Children go missing, and amalgamations of them return, bearing indescribably grotesque changes to their very beings. Bloodied bones of unfortunate wandering prostitutes or clients were all that would remain in where they were last seen.

I thought these stories to be crude and superstitious myself. Kowloon was no stranger for having bands of psychopaths who grouped together. Illegal prosthetic and genetic engineers roamed the streets at nights taking children, as they were easy prey, in whatever insane experiments they obsessed with in perfecting human cognitive and motor functions. In addition, there were starving and weak animals turning feral.

It was around the time I came into Interpol did I pay a second visit to the impossible city. I was to delve within the deep confines of the new Walled City to deal with potential threats befalling upon foreign visitors coming to Kowloon. The Chinese government allowed me investigation rights, but they seemed adamant to believe there were any incidents since they had the keenest ‘observation’ over every corner of the city.

I was curious however, as to why they would allow me the rights in the first place. China did lack the investigation tools that the organization had. A multi-tool computer applied to my wrist; it allows one to conduct forensics and analysis of bodies and other substance of interest; drugs, alcohol, blood, the works. It comes included a black light for elements hiding in plain sight. I assumed they were stumped and it was the only reason why they allowed me to investigate. They never told me the specifics of their investigation attempts.

Therefore, I delved in the heart of unyielding madness. What I witnessed, what I experienced, what I endured had unearthed an unfathomable feeling of despising emotions for the city. Emotions I had hidden in my heart and never spoken. My only wish was for that accursed city to burn into glass. This was my travels in Kowloon.

II

            Since restructuring, the government never bothered to put up signs about where what street is and what level the residential and commercial structures were located. The populace made good work on establishing their own names for their street. One in particular, Juéwàng, nested deep in the heart of the Walled City. It was there where the Triads operate, where the workers sleep and work, where the corporations did their shady dealings away from the eyes of the law. It was here where the death rates and disappearances were at their highest.

The sky was thick and dense with pollution. My amazement was how Kowloon had done so much more damage to the atmosphere around the region than Hong Kong itself ever could. However, the city occasionally blessed me with the great majesty that was the orange colored sun, peering through the gaps of the sprawling urban towers. It was absolutely beautiful. It also meant nightfall was coming.

Since the new Walled City did not account for vehicular movement, I left my car on the parking garage nested beside the main road. There was hardly much vacancy. No one around here used cars so much. I treaded towards Juéwàng on foot, which took me more time getting there than I like.

The locals said there was one place to go to if you are looking for a safe spot, or to find someone on Juéwàng. Third platform, a kilometer, or two higher above the ground level that was fortunate enough to be protected by the natural light. The Green Way Café... how adequately named given that most of what they serve is alcohol. It was a bar more than a tea parlor. It was not a big spot either. For the patrons who visit this place, they mainly come to use the lodgings rather than stick to the bar, whatever makes cash I guess.

It was not safe out at night here. But then again, it was not just Juéwàng. The whole of Kowloon seemed like it was a hunting ground… not for the Triads, but something else. If there were monsters in the city, they must had good eyes and good coverage.

It was not my initial choice to stay in The Green Way, but I was not keen on going out at night. The bar was in pristine looking condition. Peculiar given the kind of city this place is. I knew some places were better than others. Green wallpapers plastered across the sitting area which was separated by the bar counters. Nothing but shelves full of liquor and little space filled the area for the bartender’s end. The walls had stone flooring of an arousing display of comfort living that one would mistake as green carpentry. In the middle of the bar was a holographic projector that displays simple but effective media entertainment: virtual dancers, musicians, storytellers and more. There were no news or sports channels of the likes of course.

I took my seat at the closest booth that was free and ordered myself something light. I wanted to work and sleep with a light head tonight rather than a heavy drunken one. Thanks to the Chinese, I was able to have access to their prolific database of Kowloon residences. While the government by all means, ‘regulates’ everything that goes on in and out of the city, they failed to attest for all the residences living inside. Every wall, top to bottom, platform to platform, all stocked with surveillance cameras watching the residences’ every move… almost everyone that is. Triads paid top cash for a few cameras to go offline.

In the event that a murder were to occur or a disappearance that would leave a trail, my wrist computer would give me all the details I need: who the victim was, what blood that splotch on the ground belongs to, who’s prints were on what object or weapon, what was damaged or move, instant crime scene replication. All this achieved with a simple tap on the keypad. If I could find anything or anyone behind all these atrocities in Juéwàng, I could put an end to it all in one night. However, it will not necessarily be this night. Too many questions. With the government unable to track down their perps even with their extensive surveillance network, what chances do I have?

            “Long night eh?” An unfamiliar voice woke me from my trance. I realized I had been staring at my wrist computer for a while. I failed to notice an aged one-eyed elderly Chinese man who was standing beside the booth seat opposite of me. With courtesy, I closed my computer and reply to him, “You could say that. I’m investigating the atrocities that have been occurring in the city.” My Cantonese still needed some work.

            “Oh. You mean the murders, the kidnappings, and the poor younglings coming back as misshapen horrors. Have you not seen one of them yet?” I did not feel right humoring that line of thought.

            “I have not. I am here to investigate because several American and European visitors have been brutally murdered in the same fashion others in this city before had.”

            “Oooohh…” he said and nodded his head slowly up, and down, up, and down, “Ah yes, the foreigners. Most of them relief workers, volunteers. Those poor souls… poor, poor unfortunate souls. I wish them safe passage unto the heavens.”

            “Perhaps you can give me some information. You live here on Juéwàng Street?”

            “Ah yes I do, only here on the third platform though. The residence section is further up the street. That is where I live. However, the monsters seem to risk the dimly illuminated walkways as much as they do the pitch-dark alleys of the bottom level. Nasty, nasty stuff happens down there.”

            “Even in daylight?”

            “They don’t call it the Dark Below for nothing.”

I reached for my drink when it finally arrived and guzzled it down. In between my conversations, I took little sips.

            “Is there anything else I should know about before going down there?”

            “Hmm? Oh, yes definitely. There… there is a group, a cult really, nested deep in the Dark Below, closer to the center of Kowloon.”

            “A cult? How long have they been here?”

            “About five years now.”

So this cult appeared way after my first visit. It was a potential lead, a group of interest, maybe the culprits of this case. I decided to press the issue on the elder. He told me the cult never showed itself directly, but those who encountered them, never really came back. A few survivors did of course, and they said they controlled the monsters. Ridiculous I think. For all he knows, this cult was the real monster behind these tragedies, these cultists guising themselves as mythological demons and restless beings to hide their identity, able to avoid the law.

Course when I told him, he promptly laughed at my face. “You have not been here long have you Englishman?”

            “Not my first time in Kowloon,” I replied.

            “Then let me assure you, the Kowloon you know is vastly different from what it is now. You best watch your back my friend. I’d hate to see another unfortunate soul claimed by the city.”

I was determined to prove him wrong. I wasted no time with my drink and setting myself up in this bar as my base of operations. Well, at least the lodging the owner offered me. I spend the evening reading through all old news outlets and pictures of incidents that happened within Kowloon. It was very rare for these incidents to occur anywhere other than the ground floor level of the city. The results were all the same. Half-eaten bodies tossed asunder across the streets and platforms, the look of unimaginable pain and horror, suffering, ever present on their faces, triads eviscerated and their parts decorating their last location which I can only assume were threats or warnings. Horribly grotesque imagery that I can only imagine that whoever did this had some sick fascination or obsession with the suffering of others. Lord knows Kowloon had enough to suffer. I never saw however, the imagery of these transformed children kidnapped and returned. Probably because how ‘sensitive’ images of them were.

I placed it aside from my mind for the evening. I had a lot on my plate and I needed a good rest going before I got to work. However, I did not get a good night’s sleep. I was never a restless sleeper, but I never had too many dreams. What I saw though, made my stomach churned.

I was in Kowloon. At least I thought it was. Instead of the decrepit brick and stone structures and shanty stacks of houses, there were blood, rust, and metal, chains reaching to the top where the roofs were, cages in place of houses, walls made of bone and hooks dangling in mid-air. Great cries echoed from deeper in the city. The colors were dim and dark, but further down a great red mist peered from the elongated alleyway. I made my journey towards the red mist.

Howls of pain and sobs of fear echoed as though they were far, far away. Some sounded like whispers of warning, others an invitation of something greater. However, the melding of Cantonese made it difficult for one to understand clearly. There was no other path but forward.

In my travels down the illuminated red alley, I heard noises coming from behind. They occur occasionally but there was no mistaken the feeling I had. I knew that someone… or something was following me. The breathing was heavy and labored the closer it got. The heat of the breath hitting the back of my neck prompted me to turn behind to see. Every time I did, I saw that there was no one there. I turned my head back and made way down the alley. I carried with me of course, a great tension… a great fear. I had a feeling that if I were to ignore that presence from behind, it would consume me.

I reached for my gun, until I realized that the holster is missing its weapon. It was a dream after all, but I had no way of knowing. The feeling of tension grew greater now that I was without protection. Even if I did had it on me, it would not make a difference of this dreadful feeling. I was prey. Something was hunting me.

The voices grew louder and more desperate as I continued. The screams of the Kowloon residence echoed from all corners of the city. They were from both the living and the dead.

When I saw that I finally reached the exit of the alleyway, a massive stairway leading downwards, bore a great metal door, covered in chains and bars. Bones paved the rim of the outer edges, and charms dotted the door. There was no way I could open it.

When I placed my hand upon the door to push it, just to test it was secure and locked, I found that the door was not cold metal, but warm. The door was warm and the door pulsed in my palm. As though a beating vein against my hand, the sensation was all too familiar, and all too oppressive. It was the heart… the heart of Kowloon. The city was alive.