“Enough nonsense. Don't ask what you shouldn't. Close the hatch!" The captain, a wiry man, yelled, "Once we enter the site, fire directly at anything that moves without reporting!"

"Anything can happen inside. Remember, no matter what we see or hear, it's all fake!" the captain emphasized. "I'll say this only once: even if you see the Regimental Commander standing there, blow that son of a bitch away!"

"Understood!"

…

In the suburbs, a semi-abandoned building.

Inside a room decorated in a style reminiscent of the last century, an old man slowly opened his eyes from the bed. A simple wooden bed was pressed against the wall, which was mottled and stained with faded green paint.

Beside his pillow lay a silver handgun.

The cold moonlight streamed in through the window, casting itself on Gong Zhe's haggard face. He was old, unbelievably old. His eye sockets were sunken, and his skin had an unnatural pallor, like a corpse left out for too long.

He stared quietly at the handgun. It belonged to one of the few men he could call a friend. The gun was the man's life; he never parted with it.

Now the gun was here, which meant his friend was dead.

"Hehehe..." A strange laugh came from nearby. A woman dressed as a nurse sat in the shadows with her back to him, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "What's wrong? Do you recognize the gun?"

The laughter grew stranger, seeming to come from all directions. "After all, this Minister was your best friend, hehehe... You'd never guess, in his dying moments, he was hoping you would come to save him."

"Bone Carver, such a big name, but now you're washed up, a useless old man. You need to be hidden here, protected. How pathetic..."

The voice continued, each sentence more venomous than the last. Gong Zhe simply looked down at the gun beside his pillow. No one knew what he was thinking.

"Remember my name. I am the Puppeteer. My master and my two senior brothers died at your hands. Today, I will make you pay the price. You can go down and keep..."

A shadow flashed across the floor of the room. The next moment, Gong Zhe was standing by the window, holding a short, strangely dressed figure.

Blood trickled down the man's taut instep, splattering onto Gong Zhe's leg.

The Puppeteer held his hands up in front of him, twisted and deformed like chicken claws. His body trembled constantly, and the sound of bones about to break could be heard from time to time.

His head was tilted upwards, his neck stretched taut, his bloodshot eyes almost popping out, his mouth gaping open, bubbling with blood, making a "glug-glug" sound.

Gong Zhe grabbed his head with one hand, lifting him up, his five fingers digging into his skull like steel bars.

"If trash like you can't kill him, who can?" Gong Zhe's fingers tightened, and the Puppeteer's head was squeezed out of shape, almost bursting.

"The Magician! The Dancer! And... and Saber Demon, the Singer! The Singer went too! But he died. He was killed by the Minister!" Only now did the Puppeteer realize the true extent of the gap between him and Gong Zhe. He hadn't even seen a shadow before he was found and dragged out of the darkness.

"Don't kill me. I'll give you back the gun... I have good things on me, the contract, the contract you need, right? It's all yours. Let me go, let me go, it's all yours!"

Feeling the chill on Gong Zhe's face, the Puppeteer begged loudly, "You can't kill me. I'm still useful. We have a big plan. Not us, the Night Watch. They plan to use us to attack major cities. I know their plan. Keeping me alive is useful to you!"

"I will find these people," Gong Zhe said, looking at the desperately pleading Puppeteer, his pupils turning blood red. "You're right. I... do need you now."

Hearing that he was needed and barely clinging to life, the Puppeteer gasped for breath. But the next moment, in his vision, Gong Zhe suddenly opened his mouth wide and bit down on his neck.

About half an hour later, a sharp alarm suddenly echoed throughout the building. A dense, heavy footsteps approached.

"Knock, knock, knock."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Mr. Gong, are you alright?" Although the person was anxious, their tone was still polite. "Mr. Gong?"

Hearing no response, the men didn't hesitate and forced the door open together. The old wooden door collapsed, and when they shone their flashlights inside, they were shocked by the scene before them.

The floor behind the window was covered in a thick layer of blood.

The blood dripped, dripping all the way to the bed.

And on the bed, a person was huddled under the covers, their head also buried. One of the men mustered his courage and stepped forward, pulling back the covers. Inside was a twisted, shriveled corpse, its head shattered, its neck bitten off, the remaining half of its face filled with terror.

More importantly, none of them recognized this person.

It wasn't Gong Zhe...

"Quick, quick, send a telegram to headquarters! The base has been invaded, Mr. Gong is missing!"

…

In Rong City, a small and cozy studio.

Jiang Cheng was eating a hamburger with red wine. There was also an opened bag of fries and a family bucket on the table. "You really don't want to eat something?" Jiang Cheng turned his head. He ordered takeout, a lot of it, enough for him and Fatty.

Fatty had just finished his workout, sweating profusely. He wiped his face with the towel around his neck and shook his head firmly. "No thanks, Doctor. You eat. I'm going to practice kung fu later, review the fighting moves you taught me."

In the conflict with the Night Watch at the bar, Fatty used the moves the doctor taught him, and they worked well.

Seeing Fatty resolutely refuse his favorite junk food, Jiang Cheng was deeply gratified. He took out a can of ice-cold soda, popped the tab with a "snap," took a sip, and squinted his eyes in bliss. "Ahhh~"

Watching Fatty exercise, he felt as if he was exercising himself, without any guilt.

Because of the last ghost movie, Fatty had stopped watching movies to build up his courage. Instead, he was reading horror novels, alone at night.

One night when Jiang Cheng couldn't sleep, he suddenly saw Fatty on the sofa through the half-open bedroom door, quietly tucking his feet into the blanket before gently crawling out of the bedroom, planning to scare him.

But halfway there, he suddenly realized that this Fatty was different from before. He knew kung fu. Thinking about Fatty's flying kick last time, Jiang Cheng's molars still hurt. So, after thinking it over, he crawled back the way he came.

It wasn't because he was afraid, it just wasn't worth taking a flying kick in the middle of the night.

Just as Jiang Cheng was quietly crawling back, he suddenly caught sight of a black shadow standing on the wall. Jiang Cheng looked up. The shadow first tilted its head to look at Fatty outside, then looked down at him, grinned, and smiled.

Jiang Cheng: "..."