8 hours ago
CHAPTER 35
OCTOBER 10, 2004 VLADIMIR, RUSSIA
The unfinished skeleton of the high-rise groaned in the freezing Vladimir wind, steel beams rattling like bones against the darkening Russian sky. From the twentieth floor, Hemant watched the glowing expanse of Royal Plaza through the fractured frame of an unfinished wall. Rain threatened overhead, clouds hanging low like bruises. Beside him, Thomas “Trigger” Livingston lay prone behind his sniper rifle, his breath slow and measured, eye fixed through the scope.
King hated every second of this.
"This is bullshit" he muttered, adjusting the strap of his rifle.
"Two men for a Russian Mafia hit? No backup, no exfil? Smells wrong"
Trigger didn’t look away from his scope.
"We’re not paid to smell things, mate. Just point and shoot"
"That’s exactly my problem" Hemant stared through binoculars at the quiet plaza below.
"Sniping a man from half a kilometer away? Never liked sniping. Feels equal to backstabbing!"
"This the safe way mate , no international incident caused!" Thomas gave a dry chuckle.
Before Hemant could reply, the silence shattered.
A convoy rolled into Royal Plaza with military precision—black armored SUVs surrounding riot-control BTRs, their hulking silhouettes growling over wet pavement. In the center came a polished black limousine that moved like royalty entering conquered land. Men in dark suits flooded outward, rifles hidden beneath jackets. Professionals. Disciplined.
King narrowed his eyes.
"Confirm Target?" he muttered.
Trigger adjusted the scope.
"Target confirmed. Waiting for the glass to lower"
The limousine stopped. Slowly, deliberately, the tinted window rolled halfway down. Yosef Tarasov leaned forward. Hemant froze. At this distance, there was no way—absolutely no way—the man could see them. But Yosef was staring directly at them. Smiling. A predator’s smile.
Trigger’s finger hesitated above the trigger.
"…Tell me he ain’t looking here" Thomas said quietly.
Then the hidden speaker crackled alive behind them. Static. A low laugh. And a voice, speaking in thick Russian.
"You are fucking with the wrong man!"
King’s blood turned to ice.
"MOVE!"
He tackled Thomas just as the floor erupted.
The explosion tore through the overwatch nest with apocalyptic force. Steel screamed. Concrete disintegrated. Fire punched through the structure like the fist of God itself. The shockwave launched both men through unfinished wooden scaffolding, splintering beams beneath them as gravity dragged them downward.
Hemant hit first. Hard. His shoulder smashed into broken timber, pain detonating through his ribs. Dust swallowed the world. His ears rang violently.
Then—
"Mr.King…"
Thomas.
Hemant forced himself upright through the agony and found Trigger crumpled beneath shattered planks, blood dripping from his forehead.
"Up, Now!" Hemant barked, hauling him over his shoulder.
Outside, flames devoured the upper floors. And there—standing beside the convoy like some smug king of hell—was Yosef Tarasov. Watching. Smiling. Like he had planned every second. Doors slammed open around him as black SUVs spilled armed men into the streets. Then Yosef raised one hand. And pointed directly at Hemant. The hunt had begun.
Gunfire exploded around them.
Hemant sprinted through alleyways and skeletal buildings, boots slamming across wet concrete as bullets sparked against steel around him. Trigger, barely conscious over his shoulder, fired blindly behind them with his handgun.
"Left!" Thomas coughed.
King swerved as automatic fire shredded the wall beside his head. He kicked through a rusted maintenance door and barreled into another unfinished structure, weaving through corridors still wrapped in scaffolding.
"Bloody hell…" Trigger muttered weakly, firing again.
"You always know how to pick holidays"
Hemant almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he grabbed a metal pipe and hurled it through a window. The crash redirected enemy fire for just enough time to escape down a maintenance stairwell. By the time they reached the safehouse, both men were soaked in blood and dust.
Hemant slammed the door shut and locked every bolt.
"Medic" he muttered, fumbling for his comms.
"I need a fucking medic—"
Then he looked down. Thomas was pale. Too pale. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking the couch. Three bullet wounds. No. Four. King dropped beside him immediately.
"No, no, no—stay with me" His hands pressed desperately against the wounds.
"Trigger, look at me"
Thomas gave a weak grin, blood staining his teeth.
"Guess…guess the Russians finally got tired of my accent" he wheezed.
"Shut up" Hemant’s voice cracked.
"You’re fine. I’m calling extraction"
"No point"
"There is a point!"
Thomas coughed violently, red staining his lips.
"You pushed me back there" he whispered.
Hemant froze.
"You saved my life"
"You’re not dying" Hemant snapped.
But Thomas just looked at him quietly. A soldier already knowing the truth.
"Mission’s gone to hell" Thomas whispered.
"So don’t waste this"
His breathing weakened.
"Yosef needs to die!"
King gripped his shoulder harder.
"Thomas"
"End Him!!!!"
The silence afterward came suddenly. Cruelly. Thomas Livingston exhaled once—And never inhaled again. Hemant sat there motionless. His hands still pressed uselessly against wounds that no longer mattered. The room felt impossibly quiet. Outside, snow began to fall over Vladimir. Slowly. Softly. Like the world hadn’t just ended. Hemant lowered his head. And for the first time in years—He broke.
His shoulders trembled as grief crashed into him like artillery. Rage followed right behind it, hot and unbearable. He had known Thomas for just a few missions , he had dragged Thomas through hell, promised they would make it out, and still failed. With shaking hands, he reached for the comms device. Static buzzed. Then command answered.
"This is SENTINEL Actual. Report"
Hemant stared at Thomas’s lifeless body for a long moment before speaking. His voice was hollow.
"…Mission failed."
Silence. Then:
"Head Count Status?"
King closed his eyes. Every word felt like broken glass.
"SENTINEL operative Trigger KIA"
The line went quiet. Across the room, Thomas’s pistol still rested where it had fallen. Unloaded. Spent. Just like the man who carried it.
DAYS LATER AT HEREFORD
Rain swept across the old stone grounds of Hereford like the sky itself had come to mourn. Black umbrellas stood like silent sentries around rows of coffins dbangd in faded regimental flags, each bearing the weight of men who had once laughed, fought, and bled beside one another. Hemant stood motionless before Thomas “Trigger” Livingston’s casket, his gloved hands clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned pale beneath the leather. Trigger’s photograph sat near the flowers—confident grin, sharp eyes, the kind of man who walked into hell and somehow made everyone believe they would walk back out. But Hemant knew better now. He had been there. The alley in Moscow. The gunfire. The betrayal. The mission to eliminate Yosef Tarasov had collapsed into chaos as if the enemy had known every move before it happened. Trigger had taken a bullet meant for him. Hemant still remembered the blood soaking through his hands as Trigger’s breathing weakened in the freezing snow.
"This shouldn’t have happened"
Hemant said quietly, voice cracking beneath the steady rhythm of rain.
Beside him, Will stood staring at the line of graves prepared for his own men—three ex-SAS operators buried before their time after a covert operation near the Russian border went catastrophically wrong, tangled in the violence of the Russian Mafia and the growing shadow of the AZRAEL syndicate. Sharon stood silent, her grief buried beneath discipline, while Sachiko lowered her gaze toward the wet grass, saying nothing. A few paces away, Jackson Shephard removed his beret, his face unusually hollow for a man who had survived so much. Even he looked defeated. Will exhaled slowly, rain dripping from his jaw as he finally spoke.
"It shouldn’t have" He said, voice cold with restrained anger.
Hemant turned toward him, confused by the certainty in his tone. Will’s eyes hardened.
"Because this wasn’t bad luck"
He looked toward the gathering of SENTINEL officials standing under shelter, distant and untouched by the rain.
"SENTINEL command is compromised"
Hemant froze. For a moment, even the sound of the funeral faded behind the pounding in his ears.
"Compromised?" he repeated. Will nodded grimly.
"The UN pressured SENTINEL not to move against Tarasov. The typical political fallout. Usual diplomatic nonsense excuses. We were told to delay"
His jaw tightened.
"But someone higher up leaked movement details anyway. Tarasov knew we were coming. Trigger died because somebody wanted the Russian Mafia left untouched"
Sharon looked away bitterly while Jackson muttered a curse beneath his breath.
"The higher executives?" Hemant asked, disbelief warring with fury.
"You think they’re involved?" Will looked toward Trigger’s coffin one final time.
"I think SENTINEL’s running on borrowed time. The people who built it stood for doing the right thing. Somewhere along the line, power became more important than principle"
Hemant felt something inside him fracture—not just grief, but faith itself. Hours later, back at headquarters, the silence felt colder than any battlefield. Hemant stood across from Will in the operations room, still carrying the weight of the funeral in his chest.
"So what now?" he finally asked.
Will didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he placed several thick books onto the table—Business Administration. Management Studies. Corporate Structures. Hemant stared at them in confusion.
"What is this?" Will leaned against the desk, exhaustion etched into his face.
"Improvisation" he said quietly.
"If the higher-ups are compromised, we stop thinking like soldiers alone" His eyes sharpened.
"SENTINEL was built to do what’s right. If it can’t anymore, we build something smarter. Better cover. Better influence. A different way to get justice"
Then his gaze settled firmly on Hemant.
"Your China operation. The deal with SunOnYee. It’s time you stop thinking like a SENTINEL operative and start thinking like the shadow bringing justice"
Hemant said nothing at first. But as he looked down at the books, at the ashes of trust left behind by Trigger’s death, understanding slowly settled into place. He could no longer rely on SENTINEL. If justice was going to survive, it would have to come from somewhere else. And perhaps, somewhere in the shadows of the Triads and fractured loyalties, his future had already begun.
OCTOBER 18 2004 , SHANGHAI, CHINA.
The smell of soy, ginger, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the damp Shanghai evening as Vincent Ma pushed open the narrow alley gate toward the Shu Koi Restaurant at Shuangqiao Nancun. Usually, this walk was the highlight of his day. His mind wandered toward Min Ka—the sharp look in her eyes whenever she caught him flirting, the playful scoff she gave every terrible pickup line he tried. Vincent smirked to himself, rehearsing another stupid compliment about how even the city lights looked dull compared to her smile. But the second he turned the corner, every warm thought died in an instant.
The restaurant looked like a battlefield waiting to erupt. Tables were overturned. Plates shattered across the floor. Customers had scattered into corners while terrified staff hid behind counters. In the middle of it all stood Min, cornered near the register as half a dozen men wearing the arrogance of the 18K Triad laughed around her like vultures. One thug gripped the counter with a smirk while another leaned too close to her face.
"Sun On Yee can’t protect this place anymore" one sneered.
"Maybe your boss should start paying tribute"
Min shoved one away, fury burning through her fear, but the man only laughed harder. That was when Vincent stepped in.
"Back off" Vincent barked, his voice cutting through the room like broken glass.
Every eye turned toward him.
One of the 18K men burst out laughing.
"Look at this" he mocked.
"Sun On Yee sends a boyfriend?"
Vincent didn’t answer. He grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him against a table hard enough to splinter wood. Chaos exploded instantly. Chairs crashed. Bottles shattered. Vincent fought like a cornered wolf, fists flying fast and vicious, but numbers were cruel. A chair cracked across his back. Another thug buried a punch into his ribs. Someone slammed him into the floor, boots crashing against his stomach. Blood ran from his lip as they circled him, laughing while Min screamed for them to stop.
"You got guts" one thug sneered, grabbing Vincent by the jaw.
"But tell me something…" He slammed a fist into Vincent’s face again.
"Who the hell’s saving you now?"
BOOM.
The restaurant’s front door flew off its hinges. Silence swallowed the room. A man stepped through the wreckage like he owned gravity itself. Gone was the tactical armor of SENTINEL. No military plates. No combat rig. Instead, Hemant walked in wearing a black racing jacket with red streaks running down the sleeves, red-and-black cargo pants tucked into combat boots, his expression unreadable and cold enough to freeze blood. Rainwater dripped from his shoulders as he surveyed the damage, his eyes pausing on Vincent bleeding on the floor.
Hemant sighed once.
"I’m gonna say this exactly once" he said calmly, voice terrifyingly steady.
"Get out of this restaurant"
The 18K members exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.
"Oh, look!" one mocked.
"Another hero!"
Two of them rushed him instantly, believing sheer numbers would overwhelm him. That mistake lasted less than three seconds.
The first thug lunged—and caught a brutal spinning kick square to the face. Teeth scattered across the floor as he dropped like dead weight. The second barely raised his fists before Hemant shifted low, instinct taking over. Kalari moved through him like flowing violence—precise, savage, effortless. A sharp elbow shattered ribs. A sweep kick folded knees. A heel strike cracked into a jaw with horrifying force.
Then the whole restaurant erupted.
Bodies crashed into tables as Hemant moved like controlled destruction. One man swung a bottle—Hemant ducked, grabbed his wrist, twisted hard enough to dislocate it, and slammed his forehead into the counter. Another charged from behind only to eat a devastating sidekick into the chest that sent him flying through stacked chairs. Blood, broken wood, screams—it all blurred into motion.
Vincent, coughing blood, grinned despite the pain. He dragged himself up and joined the fight. Now it became slaughter. Vincent smashed a chair across one thug while Hemant dismantled another with terrifying efficiency. Side by side, Sun On Yee stood unbreakable. Punches landed like thunder. Bones cracked. One by one, the confidence drained from the 18K soldiers until fear replaced arrogance. Within minutes, the restaurant floor looked like a graveyard of pride.
![[Image: Hemant-In-Action11.png]](https://i.ibb.co/D6FbC4G/Hemant-In-Action11.png)
"RUN!" someone yelled.
And they did. The surviving thugs staggered out limping, bruised, bleeding, dragging their wounded behind them. Silence returned. Min rushed toward Vincent instantly, kneeling beside him.
"Vinnie" Her hands trembled as she checked the cut on his face.
"Are you okay?"
Vincent laughed weakly, wiping blood from his mouth.
"You checking on me?" he teased painfully.
"Guess I almost dying worked"
Min smacked his shoulder, eyes wet with frustration.
"Idiot"
From the doorway, Hemant shook his head.
"You're flirting after getting your ass kicked?" he muttered.
Vincent looked up, smiling wide despite everything.
"Desperate times, desperate measures was your saying right Mr.King?"
Among the Sun On Yee, everyone whispered the same title when speaking of Hemant—the man who fought like a storm and disappeared like a ghost.
Mr. King.
Later that night, beneath glowing neon and rain-slick Shanghai streets, Vincent and Hemant walked in silence toward the towering Golden Dragon Hotel far off from the district chaos. The city buzzed beneath them, unaware war was already brewing beneath its surface. Civil war among the Triads had begun.
Inside the hotel, guards stepped aside immediately.
The manager’s office doors opened.
Behind a polished desk sat Jiu Mey, the feared Red Pole of Sun On Yee. Sharp-eyed, elegant, dangerous.
She looked up—and smiled faintly.
"Well" Mey said, leaning back in her chair.
"If it isn’t our newest ghost" Her eyes gleamed.
"Welcome back, Michael King"
Hemant stopped mid-step.
"…the What King?"
Vincent immediately burst out laughing. Mey folded her arms.
"Didn’t expect you in Shanghai this soon"
"You can expect me more often now" Hemant replied dryly.
"But who came up with that ridiculous name?"
Mey smirked.
"Father Dominic" Hemant blinked.
"The priest from Macau?" he asked.
"The same one" Mey replied.
"Apparently after you saved him a few weeks ago, he referred the name Michael King"
She paused.
"Said he saw the Archangel Michael in you"
Vincent nearly choked laughing. Hemant looked deeply uncomfortable.
"I really don’t like theatrics" he muttered.
Mey’s amusement and smirk faded slowly as her expression turned serious in her response.
"It has its qualities....anyways tell me why you’re really here"
The room grew quiet. Hemant stepped closer to the desk, eyes hardening with purpose. Outside, thunder rolled across Shanghai.
"I’m here" he said coldly
"To strengthen the Sun On Yee"
His gaze sharpened.
"To make us the prime faction of the Triads"
A dangerous smile crossed his face.
"And win this civil war"
The office inside the Golden Dragon Hotel fell quiet after Hemant’s declaration. Rain tapped steadily against the windows overlooking Shanghai’s neon skyline while Jiu Mey leaned back in her chair, studying him with narrowed eyes. Vincent stood off to the side with folded arms, bruised but alert, watching the exchange like he already knew trouble was about to get bigger.
"You want Sun On Yee to rise?" Mey asked evenly.
"Then tell me something useful"
Hemant stepped toward the city map stretched across the wall. Colored pins marked territory, businesses, gambling dens, safehouses, and routes running like veins through Shanghai. Several areas had been marked in red ink—territories where the 18K had grown unusually bold.
"The 18k are taking the SunOnYee for granted , which explains their bold attacks because they know the shortage in your numbers. Your faction is struggling with recruits"
Hemant said, tapping two fingers against the map. Mey crossed her arms.
"That’s an understatement"
"Which is why they are pushing in , because they know you don't have the manpower to tackle them!"
Hemant continued.
"Harassing restaurants. Leaning on local businesses. Making the city know who is actually in charge"
His finger moved eastward across the map.
"And worse—they’ve started reaching toward our strongholds. That means they think Sun On Yee’s getting weak"
"Those bastards been acting like they own half the city" Vincent scoffed.
"Because nobody’s hit back hard enough" Hemant nodded once.
He pointed toward the transport route running between Tangzhen and Gaodongzhen.
"This"
Mey’s expression sharpened instantly.
"The transport corridor?" she asked.
Hemant nodded again.
"It matters more than they realize. Its one of their prime routes for their ketamine racket movement. Whoever controls movement controls pressure. If Sun On Yee takes over this route, the 18K won’t just lose their drug route—they’ll understand something important"
His voice lowered, steady and cold.
"That we’re no pushovers!"
"A message" Vincent grinned.
"When they push , We shove!" Hemant replied.
Mey walked toward the map, studying it in silence. Her sharp mind worked through the implications immediately. The route linked supply movement, local influence, and visibility. A victory there wouldn’t end tensions, but it would shift momentum.
Then slowly—A smile crossed her face.
"I like it"
"That quick?" Vincent blinked.
Mey shot him a look.
"When the plan’s good, I don’t waste time pretending to think"
She turned back toward Hemant.
"You have my go-ahead"
The next morning, Shanghai woke beneath a gray sky heavy with rainclouds. And the city felt different. Tension buzzed beneath the streets. At the Tangzhen Petrol Station, engines idled while nervous workers kept their heads down. Word had spread overnight—Sun On Yee was moving. Leading the operation was Ricky Tan, Mey’s most trusted lieutenant, a man whose calm face hid dangerous instincts. Beside him stood Vincent Mao, bruises from the restaurant still fresh but pride untouched. Around them gathered loyal Sun On Yee men, waiting.
Ricky adjusted his gloves and looked toward Vincent.
"You sure you’re ready?" he asked.
Vincent cracked his neck with a grin.
"I already got my ass kicked yesterday. Might as well make someone else miserable today"
The laughter didn’t last. Because across the station, vehicles rolled in. 18K. The atmosphere shifted instantly. One side staring down the other. No speeches. No negotiations. Just old anger meeting fresh ambition. The first shove became chaos.
What followed spread like wildfire through the route from Tangzhen toward Gaodongzhen. Rival crews clashed across intersections, warehouses, and roadside businesses as fear rippled through nearby streets. Loyalty was tested block by block while both sides fought desperately for presence and control. Ricky kept the Sun On Yee men organized through the pressure, while Vincent threw himself into every confrontation with reckless determination, refusing to give an inch after what happened at Shu Koi Restaurant.
By late evening, exhaustion hung over the city like smoke. But the result had become impossible to ignore. Sun On Yee banners returned to places where 18K influence had crept in. Tangzhen held. Gaodongzhen held. The route belonged to Sun On Yee again. Back at the Golden Dragon Hotel, Mey stood near the office window overlooking the city lights when Hemant entered quietly. She looked over her shoulder.
"You were right" she admitted.
"They pushed too far"
Hemant walked to the table and unfolded another map.
"That was only step one"
Mey raised an eyebrow. Without a word, Hemant placed his finger on their next objective. The eastern coastline. A place bigger than neighborhood turf. Bigger than street influence. His finger stopped over Shanghai Waigaoqiao Port. Mey’s expression shifted immediately.
"Thats....a very bold move....the port is one of their prime base of operations!" she said carefully.
Hemant’s gaze stayed fixed on the map.
"Guess that's the price the 18k will have to pay for messing with the SunOnYee....the port will be the SunOnYee territory now...and the beginning of our faction's fishing business"
He said quietly. His eyes lifted toward her.
"And besides , its the perfect spot for Howard Tsao to run his operation of smuggling since he is almost compromised in Macau with his business. Shanghai is the perfect spot for him!"
Mei grinned as the room fell silent again.
THE NEXT NIGHT
Night settled over Shanghai Waigaoqiao Port in layers of cold fog and industrial silence. Cargo cranes stood frozen against the skyline like giant steel skeletons, their shadows stretching over stacked containers and dimly lit warehouses. Inside the main storage building, a cluster of 18K men lounged around battered tables, cigarettes burning low while card games dragged into the early hours. A radio hummed softly in the background. Business had been quiet lately, and tonight felt no different.
One thug leaned back in his chair and laughed.
"Sun On Yee won’t touch this place" he scoffed.
"Not after Tangzhen"
Another raised his bottle.
"They’re scared"
Then the sound came. At first, distant. Low. Like thunder rolling in from the city. Engines. Too many of them. The laughter stopped. Outside, headlights burst through the fog. A convoy of black SUVs and trucks thundered toward the port entrance, tires screeching across wet pavement. Before anyone could fully react, the harbor erupted with another shock—boats cut through the dark waters, engines roaring as armed figures surged toward the docks from the sea.
The port lights reflected across steel and rain. Sun On Yee had arrived. And they had come in force.
"MOVE!" one 18K lookout screamed.
Panic tore through the compound. Men scrambled for pistols, shouting over one another as warehouse doors slammed open. The first shots cracked through the night in desperate bursts. But desperation met preparation. The response came hard. Sun On Yee crews pushed forward in disciplined waves, forcing the 18K into retreat across loading zones and storage lanes. The sound of gunfire echoed violently across the harbor while shattered glass and sparks burst from metal containers. The 18K had expected intimidation.
Instead, they found themselves overwhelmed. Positions collapsed quickly. Cover disappeared. Fear spread faster than orders. From the rear of the advancing convoy, one SUV door opened.
Hemant stepped out. Gone was the casual calm of the restaurant fight. Tonight, he wore dark silk suit with its jacket having designs of the great Peng , a bird-like Guardian Deity in the Chinese foklore, rain collecting across his shoulders while chaos unfolded before him. He didn’t rush into the firefight. Didn’t shout commands.
He simply watched. Measured. Cold. Focused. Beside him stood Ricky Tan, giving orders through comms while Vincent moved with brutal determination through the frontline, refusing to yield even a single step of ground. A nearby port security guard, pale and shaking, ducked into an office and frantically grabbed the emergency phone.
"Shanghai Law Enforcement!" he yelled into the receiver.
"There’s a war happening at the port!"
But instead of emergency sirens—A familiar voice answered. Jiu Mey.
"Get to cover officer , and stand down" she said calmly.
The guard blinked in disbelief.
"Stand down? People are shooting at each other!"
Mey’s tone stayed frighteningly composed.
"Sun On Yee is clearing out leeches from the city"
Inside the Law Enforcement headquarters, several senior officials exchanged uneasy glances. One chief folded his arms.
"Are you hurting civilians?" He asked.
"No" Mey replied immediately.
"This operation is against organized criminal activity surrounding the ketamine trade near the port. We want what’s best for Shanghai"
Her voice hardened.
"The city deserves better than poison moving through its harbor"
The line went quiet. At Waigaoqiao, the fighting finally began to slow. The remaining 18K men broke ranks. Some fled deeper into the industrial maze. Others surrendered ground and vanished into the darkness. By dawn, the port stood silent except for distant sirens and the hum of cargo machinery restarting.
Sun On Yee held the harbor.
Hemant walked through the aftermath with steady steps, boots splashing through rainwater pooled across cracked pavement. Workers cautiously emerged from hiding as the first gray light of morning touched the shipping cranes. Beside him walked Howard Tsao, quiet and observant. Hemant stopped near the docks.
"This place" he said, looking over the harbor.
"Is your new duty now"
Howard glanced toward him.
"You’re putting me here?"
Hemant nodded.
"From now on, you handle the port"
Howard looked genuinely surprised.
"Shanghai's Fishing Trade gets rebuilt" Hemant continued.
"No smuggling of drugs. No poison running through these docks. We make something useful out of this"
Howard gave a slow nod.
"I won’t waste the chance"
Later that morning, inside the Golden Dragon Hotel, the atmosphere felt strangely calm. Television screens played endless news coverage of the violence at the harbor. Reporters stood in front of security officer barricades while headlines speculated about escalating tensions between rival organizations. Hemant sat near the window, coffee untouched. Vincent looked exhausted but pleased. Ricky remained quiet. Howard watched the screen thoughtfully.
Then Jiu Mey’s phone rang. Her expression changed the moment she saw the caller. She answered.
"Chairman"
The room went still. An older voice carried through the speaker. Rey Shen. The aging chairman of the Triads. Measured. Powerful.
"I’m calling a meeting" he said.
"The civil war has gone too far"
Mey listened quietly before ending the call. The silence afterward lingered. She looked toward Hemant.
"Well" she said dryly.
"This is the consequence for taking over Shanghai Port"
"That old man’s definitely pissed" Vincent muttered.
But Hemant looked entirely unbothered.
"It’ll be alright" he said calmly.
"Uncle Shen will see reason"
Mey raised an eyebrow.
"You sound very confident"
Hemant leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the city skyline beyond the glass.
"This?" he said quietly.
"This is only the beginning"
His gaze sharpened.
"The 18K pushed too far"
A faint, dangerous calm settled over him.
"And they’re going to lose a lot more before this ends"
THE NEXT DAY
The Golden Yang Hotel felt strangely quiet for a place standing at the center of a city spiraling into underground war. Midnight rain crawled down the glass windows overlooking Shanghai while Hemant sat near the lounge balcony with Vincent Mao, both waiting for news from the most important meeting of the year. Somewhere in the center of the city, inside Rey Shen’s towering headquarters, the senior figures of the Triads had gathered to decide what happened next after the chaos at Waigaoqiao Port.
Vincent rested against the couch with an ice pack over his shoulder, still carrying bruises from the last week of fighting.
"You think Uncle Shen’s gonna side with us?" he asked.
Hemant remained still, arms crossed.
"He’ll side with what keeps the city stable" he replied quietly.
Vincent snorted. The silence stretched for a moment before Hemant’s phone vibrated. Not a normal notification. Encrypted. Instantly, his expression shifted. A secure message flashed across the screen.
Meet at Ming’s Restaurant. Ten minutes. Alone.
No sender. No signature. Only a verification cipher known to a handful of people. Hemant stood.
"Problem?" Vincent frowned.
"Nah , just a casual meet , I'll be back in few minutes!" Hemant replied calmly.
The city felt colder outside.
Shanghai’s streets gleamed beneath neon reflections as Hemant moved quickly through winding roads toward Ming’s Restaurant—a small, discreet place tucked away from the city’s louder nightlife. His instincts sharpened immediately. Every shadow mattered. Every parked car became something worth noticing.
The restaurant looked nearly empty. Only one table remained occupied. And the moment Hemant saw the figure sitting there, he stopped cold. Civilian clothes. Dark jacket. Relaxed posture. But impossible to mistake.
"William?" Hemant said quietly.
The man looked up and smirked.
"Been a while"
William Irons. SENTINEL force partner. Brother in war. Hemant sat across from him slowly, disbelief still lingering.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
William stirred his tea casually.
"Just wanna meet my best man in the field!"
Hemant frowned. Will leaned back.
"I’m in a CIA training program now" he explained.
"Off the books. Low visibility"
"Perfect spot" Hemant blinked.
Will continued like he was discussing the weather.
"Sharon Reagan entered Homeland Security in America. She’s building influence through finance and logistics"
He paused.
"Sachiko’s in the UK making a name for herself too"
Hemant stayed silent. Will’s expression hardened.
"SENTINEL might be compromised but we can fix it! in time!"
He leaned forward. Hemant narrowed his eyes.
"How?"
"By gaining power over it!" Will replied.
The statement hung in the air.
"We rise" Will continued.
"Slowly. Quietly. Different sectors. Politics. Security. Finance. Influence"
His eyes locked onto Hemant’s.
"And eventually, we take back SENTINEL from the inside"
Hemant exhaled slowly.
"A long-term play"
"Not long if I consider your growth among the Triads. I'd say we'll achieve what we need way sooner than you expect!"
Will folded his hands.
"Which brings me to why I’m here"
Hemant already disliked the look in his eyes.
"You need to get involved with the Triads. Forget the SENTINEL uniform and act on your best capabilities in fixing Shanghai. This is the right path for you!"
Will said simply. Hemant frowned. He slid a small file across the table. On the cover the name was highlighted—MICHAEL KING. Hemant stared at it. Will grinned faintly.
"Oh, don’t look surprised. It has a nice ring to it!"
Hemant sighed.
"Father Dominic really started something stupid"
"Or maybe he gave us something we needed" Will said.
He opened the file.
"I want you to build Michael King as the next possible ally to the Triads. One that replaces AZRAEL and brings a different kind of profit and business to them"
Will tapped several documents. Hemant raised an eyebrow. AZRAEL has been bothering him since Ladakh , to realize there is a cold blooded syndicate that trades human flesh as business. Plus his hatred for its creator Tarasov was much more since Trigger's death.
Will leaned back again.
"We’ll help build Michael King’s legacy. Sachiko and I have already have some plans to build the outside connection of Michael King. For now , you're a mysterious rich figure who has taken over operations of Triad assets in Macau , you have a backing of some small gangs that form a larger empire that acts as your muscle!"
He paused. Hemant almost laughed.
"You’re proposing I become some underground kingpin?"
"No , not underground. I want you to become someone that the bad buys will be forced to second guess. You're a warrior Mr.King , I stated it before that you have the qualities of a leader, now its your time to become one , this world needs your kind of justice!"
Hemant rubbed his forehead.
"How exactly am I supposed to get the Triads interested after we just disrupted a major racket?"
Will smiled.
"You build a new trade, something that will not involve harmful items. The best option right now is Gold. Triads have shown interest in it and there are shareholders willing to invest in their ranks. You boost the smuggling business of this gold and soon it will become a high value trade for the Triads. It also has the potential and the opening for you to dismantle the connection between the Triads and AZRAEL!"
He lowered his voice.
"A cleaner, higher-value trade"
Hemant looked unconvinced.
Will continued.
"Sachika and I will build your outreach and your legend in the UK. Setting up potential contacts and support in the UK that will participate in your Gold trading. You can use the same AZRAEL network since their handlers and route guides are taken care of , everything overseen by you!"
He tapped the file again. Hemant leaned back heavily. Will’s expression softened slightly. Hemant looked up. Will continued carefully.
"Its time you embrace this new identity Mr.King. This new life will unleash the warrior within you and boost that tactical brain of yours. You will have your gloves off and become the man of your word , no one to authorize you. I am saying this because I have faith that you will do what is right. Because if you turned evil , I will loose faith in this world!"
He gestured around them.
"That is a lot of faith Will"
"You have that quality Hemant , now I actually believe what Mr.Bakshi told me once , the perfect warrior , that is you. Its not long before the Triad will become your personal armada!"
Will replied immediately. His voice steadied. He pointed toward Hemant.
"All this time , I was looking for the perfect weapon to end AZRAEL. Turns out that weapon was someone not something!"
He paused.
"Your gloves are off now big man....its time to show who you are truly made of!"
For the first time that night, Hemant had no answer. Only doubt. Only weight. And the terrifying realization that maybe this path had already begun. When Hemant finally returned to the Golden Yang Hotel, dawn had started creeping over the skyline.
Jiu Mey had returned. Ricky Tan stood nearby with crossed arms while Howard Tsao quietly poured tea. Vincent looked up immediately.
"There he is, tha savior of SunOnYee" Vincent said.
Hemant ignored the joke.
"How’d the meeting go?"
Jiu exhaled slowly.
"Better than expected"
She leaned back.
"Honestly? I’m relieved"
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"Uncle Shen sided with us"
That got everyone’s attention.
"The port officially belongs to Sun On Yee now" Jiu stated
"Seriously?" Howard blinked.
She nodded.
"We’re responsible for the Triad operations there moving forward"
Hemant looked toward Howard.
"Good"
He gave a small nod.
"You can start rebuilding tomorrow"
But Jiu’s expression turned thoughtful.
"Actually…..I had a different plan!" she said slowly.
Hemant froze slightly.
"What is it?"
Jiu walked toward the table.
"Howard used to have a fishing company" she explained.
"Small-scale. Useful for transport"
"Mostly dead at this point" Howard gave a shrug.
"Not anymore" Jiu replied.
She placed a folder onto the table.
"We boost it"
Vincent leaned closer.
"I was thinking we revive the shut down shipping business of the Triads and takeover Howard's fishing company and integrate it together to form a big Shipping Company for the private sector. A company run by you! Howard will be your VP!"
She tapped the folder.
THE GREAT PENG SHIPPING PVT LTD
Chairman/CEO: Michael King
The room went quiet. Hemant stared at the name for a long moment. One identity fading. Another beginning. He took a slow breath. Then another. Outside, Shanghai awakened beneath gray skies. Inside, Hemant prepared himself for the next chapter of his life.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
The unfinished skeleton of the high-rise groaned in the freezing Vladimir wind, steel beams rattling like bones against the darkening Russian sky. From the twentieth floor, Hemant watched the glowing expanse of Royal Plaza through the fractured frame of an unfinished wall. Rain threatened overhead, clouds hanging low like bruises. Beside him, Thomas “Trigger” Livingston lay prone behind his sniper rifle, his breath slow and measured, eye fixed through the scope.
King hated every second of this.
"This is bullshit" he muttered, adjusting the strap of his rifle.
"Two men for a Russian Mafia hit? No backup, no exfil? Smells wrong"
Trigger didn’t look away from his scope.
"We’re not paid to smell things, mate. Just point and shoot"
"That’s exactly my problem" Hemant stared through binoculars at the quiet plaza below.
"Sniping a man from half a kilometer away? Never liked sniping. Feels equal to backstabbing!"
"This the safe way mate , no international incident caused!" Thomas gave a dry chuckle.
Before Hemant could reply, the silence shattered.
A convoy rolled into Royal Plaza with military precision—black armored SUVs surrounding riot-control BTRs, their hulking silhouettes growling over wet pavement. In the center came a polished black limousine that moved like royalty entering conquered land. Men in dark suits flooded outward, rifles hidden beneath jackets. Professionals. Disciplined.
King narrowed his eyes.
"Confirm Target?" he muttered.
Trigger adjusted the scope.
"Target confirmed. Waiting for the glass to lower"
The limousine stopped. Slowly, deliberately, the tinted window rolled halfway down. Yosef Tarasov leaned forward. Hemant froze. At this distance, there was no way—absolutely no way—the man could see them. But Yosef was staring directly at them. Smiling. A predator’s smile.
Trigger’s finger hesitated above the trigger.
"…Tell me he ain’t looking here" Thomas said quietly.
Then the hidden speaker crackled alive behind them. Static. A low laugh. And a voice, speaking in thick Russian.
"You are fucking with the wrong man!"
King’s blood turned to ice.
"MOVE!"
He tackled Thomas just as the floor erupted.
The explosion tore through the overwatch nest with apocalyptic force. Steel screamed. Concrete disintegrated. Fire punched through the structure like the fist of God itself. The shockwave launched both men through unfinished wooden scaffolding, splintering beams beneath them as gravity dragged them downward.
Hemant hit first. Hard. His shoulder smashed into broken timber, pain detonating through his ribs. Dust swallowed the world. His ears rang violently.
Then—
"Mr.King…"
Thomas.
Hemant forced himself upright through the agony and found Trigger crumpled beneath shattered planks, blood dripping from his forehead.
"Up, Now!" Hemant barked, hauling him over his shoulder.
Outside, flames devoured the upper floors. And there—standing beside the convoy like some smug king of hell—was Yosef Tarasov. Watching. Smiling. Like he had planned every second. Doors slammed open around him as black SUVs spilled armed men into the streets. Then Yosef raised one hand. And pointed directly at Hemant. The hunt had begun.
Gunfire exploded around them.
Hemant sprinted through alleyways and skeletal buildings, boots slamming across wet concrete as bullets sparked against steel around him. Trigger, barely conscious over his shoulder, fired blindly behind them with his handgun.
"Left!" Thomas coughed.
King swerved as automatic fire shredded the wall beside his head. He kicked through a rusted maintenance door and barreled into another unfinished structure, weaving through corridors still wrapped in scaffolding.
"Bloody hell…" Trigger muttered weakly, firing again.
"You always know how to pick holidays"
Hemant almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he grabbed a metal pipe and hurled it through a window. The crash redirected enemy fire for just enough time to escape down a maintenance stairwell. By the time they reached the safehouse, both men were soaked in blood and dust.
Hemant slammed the door shut and locked every bolt.
"Medic" he muttered, fumbling for his comms.
"I need a fucking medic—"
Then he looked down. Thomas was pale. Too pale. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking the couch. Three bullet wounds. No. Four. King dropped beside him immediately.
"No, no, no—stay with me" His hands pressed desperately against the wounds.
"Trigger, look at me"
Thomas gave a weak grin, blood staining his teeth.
"Guess…guess the Russians finally got tired of my accent" he wheezed.
"Shut up" Hemant’s voice cracked.
"You’re fine. I’m calling extraction"
"No point"
"There is a point!"
Thomas coughed violently, red staining his lips.
"You pushed me back there" he whispered.
Hemant froze.
"You saved my life"
"You’re not dying" Hemant snapped.
But Thomas just looked at him quietly. A soldier already knowing the truth.
"Mission’s gone to hell" Thomas whispered.
"So don’t waste this"
His breathing weakened.
"Yosef needs to die!"
King gripped his shoulder harder.
"Thomas"
"End Him!!!!"
The silence afterward came suddenly. Cruelly. Thomas Livingston exhaled once—And never inhaled again. Hemant sat there motionless. His hands still pressed uselessly against wounds that no longer mattered. The room felt impossibly quiet. Outside, snow began to fall over Vladimir. Slowly. Softly. Like the world hadn’t just ended. Hemant lowered his head. And for the first time in years—He broke.
His shoulders trembled as grief crashed into him like artillery. Rage followed right behind it, hot and unbearable. He had known Thomas for just a few missions , he had dragged Thomas through hell, promised they would make it out, and still failed. With shaking hands, he reached for the comms device. Static buzzed. Then command answered.
"This is SENTINEL Actual. Report"
Hemant stared at Thomas’s lifeless body for a long moment before speaking. His voice was hollow.
"…Mission failed."
Silence. Then:
"Head Count Status?"
King closed his eyes. Every word felt like broken glass.
"SENTINEL operative Trigger KIA"
The line went quiet. Across the room, Thomas’s pistol still rested where it had fallen. Unloaded. Spent. Just like the man who carried it.
DAYS LATER AT HEREFORD
Rain swept across the old stone grounds of Hereford like the sky itself had come to mourn. Black umbrellas stood like silent sentries around rows of coffins dbangd in faded regimental flags, each bearing the weight of men who had once laughed, fought, and bled beside one another. Hemant stood motionless before Thomas “Trigger” Livingston’s casket, his gloved hands clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned pale beneath the leather. Trigger’s photograph sat near the flowers—confident grin, sharp eyes, the kind of man who walked into hell and somehow made everyone believe they would walk back out. But Hemant knew better now. He had been there. The alley in Moscow. The gunfire. The betrayal. The mission to eliminate Yosef Tarasov had collapsed into chaos as if the enemy had known every move before it happened. Trigger had taken a bullet meant for him. Hemant still remembered the blood soaking through his hands as Trigger’s breathing weakened in the freezing snow.
"This shouldn’t have happened"
Hemant said quietly, voice cracking beneath the steady rhythm of rain.
Beside him, Will stood staring at the line of graves prepared for his own men—three ex-SAS operators buried before their time after a covert operation near the Russian border went catastrophically wrong, tangled in the violence of the Russian Mafia and the growing shadow of the AZRAEL syndicate. Sharon stood silent, her grief buried beneath discipline, while Sachiko lowered her gaze toward the wet grass, saying nothing. A few paces away, Jackson Shephard removed his beret, his face unusually hollow for a man who had survived so much. Even he looked defeated. Will exhaled slowly, rain dripping from his jaw as he finally spoke.
"It shouldn’t have" He said, voice cold with restrained anger.
Hemant turned toward him, confused by the certainty in his tone. Will’s eyes hardened.
"Because this wasn’t bad luck"
He looked toward the gathering of SENTINEL officials standing under shelter, distant and untouched by the rain.
"SENTINEL command is compromised"
Hemant froze. For a moment, even the sound of the funeral faded behind the pounding in his ears.
"Compromised?" he repeated. Will nodded grimly.
"The UN pressured SENTINEL not to move against Tarasov. The typical political fallout. Usual diplomatic nonsense excuses. We were told to delay"
His jaw tightened.
"But someone higher up leaked movement details anyway. Tarasov knew we were coming. Trigger died because somebody wanted the Russian Mafia left untouched"
Sharon looked away bitterly while Jackson muttered a curse beneath his breath.
"The higher executives?" Hemant asked, disbelief warring with fury.
"You think they’re involved?" Will looked toward Trigger’s coffin one final time.
"I think SENTINEL’s running on borrowed time. The people who built it stood for doing the right thing. Somewhere along the line, power became more important than principle"
Hemant felt something inside him fracture—not just grief, but faith itself. Hours later, back at headquarters, the silence felt colder than any battlefield. Hemant stood across from Will in the operations room, still carrying the weight of the funeral in his chest.
"So what now?" he finally asked.
Will didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he placed several thick books onto the table—Business Administration. Management Studies. Corporate Structures. Hemant stared at them in confusion.
"What is this?" Will leaned against the desk, exhaustion etched into his face.
"Improvisation" he said quietly.
"If the higher-ups are compromised, we stop thinking like soldiers alone" His eyes sharpened.
"SENTINEL was built to do what’s right. If it can’t anymore, we build something smarter. Better cover. Better influence. A different way to get justice"
Then his gaze settled firmly on Hemant.
"Your China operation. The deal with SunOnYee. It’s time you stop thinking like a SENTINEL operative and start thinking like the shadow bringing justice"
Hemant said nothing at first. But as he looked down at the books, at the ashes of trust left behind by Trigger’s death, understanding slowly settled into place. He could no longer rely on SENTINEL. If justice was going to survive, it would have to come from somewhere else. And perhaps, somewhere in the shadows of the Triads and fractured loyalties, his future had already begun.
OCTOBER 18 2004 , SHANGHAI, CHINA.
The smell of soy, ginger, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the damp Shanghai evening as Vincent Ma pushed open the narrow alley gate toward the Shu Koi Restaurant at Shuangqiao Nancun. Usually, this walk was the highlight of his day. His mind wandered toward Min Ka—the sharp look in her eyes whenever she caught him flirting, the playful scoff she gave every terrible pickup line he tried. Vincent smirked to himself, rehearsing another stupid compliment about how even the city lights looked dull compared to her smile. But the second he turned the corner, every warm thought died in an instant.
The restaurant looked like a battlefield waiting to erupt. Tables were overturned. Plates shattered across the floor. Customers had scattered into corners while terrified staff hid behind counters. In the middle of it all stood Min, cornered near the register as half a dozen men wearing the arrogance of the 18K Triad laughed around her like vultures. One thug gripped the counter with a smirk while another leaned too close to her face.
"Sun On Yee can’t protect this place anymore" one sneered.
"Maybe your boss should start paying tribute"
Min shoved one away, fury burning through her fear, but the man only laughed harder. That was when Vincent stepped in.
"Back off" Vincent barked, his voice cutting through the room like broken glass.
Every eye turned toward him.
One of the 18K men burst out laughing.
"Look at this" he mocked.
"Sun On Yee sends a boyfriend?"
Vincent didn’t answer. He grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him against a table hard enough to splinter wood. Chaos exploded instantly. Chairs crashed. Bottles shattered. Vincent fought like a cornered wolf, fists flying fast and vicious, but numbers were cruel. A chair cracked across his back. Another thug buried a punch into his ribs. Someone slammed him into the floor, boots crashing against his stomach. Blood ran from his lip as they circled him, laughing while Min screamed for them to stop.
"You got guts" one thug sneered, grabbing Vincent by the jaw.
"But tell me something…" He slammed a fist into Vincent’s face again.
"Who the hell’s saving you now?"
BOOM.
The restaurant’s front door flew off its hinges. Silence swallowed the room. A man stepped through the wreckage like he owned gravity itself. Gone was the tactical armor of SENTINEL. No military plates. No combat rig. Instead, Hemant walked in wearing a black racing jacket with red streaks running down the sleeves, red-and-black cargo pants tucked into combat boots, his expression unreadable and cold enough to freeze blood. Rainwater dripped from his shoulders as he surveyed the damage, his eyes pausing on Vincent bleeding on the floor.
Hemant sighed once.
"I’m gonna say this exactly once" he said calmly, voice terrifyingly steady.
"Get out of this restaurant"
The 18K members exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.
"Oh, look!" one mocked.
"Another hero!"
Two of them rushed him instantly, believing sheer numbers would overwhelm him. That mistake lasted less than three seconds.
The first thug lunged—and caught a brutal spinning kick square to the face. Teeth scattered across the floor as he dropped like dead weight. The second barely raised his fists before Hemant shifted low, instinct taking over. Kalari moved through him like flowing violence—precise, savage, effortless. A sharp elbow shattered ribs. A sweep kick folded knees. A heel strike cracked into a jaw with horrifying force.
Then the whole restaurant erupted.
Bodies crashed into tables as Hemant moved like controlled destruction. One man swung a bottle—Hemant ducked, grabbed his wrist, twisted hard enough to dislocate it, and slammed his forehead into the counter. Another charged from behind only to eat a devastating sidekick into the chest that sent him flying through stacked chairs. Blood, broken wood, screams—it all blurred into motion.
Vincent, coughing blood, grinned despite the pain. He dragged himself up and joined the fight. Now it became slaughter. Vincent smashed a chair across one thug while Hemant dismantled another with terrifying efficiency. Side by side, Sun On Yee stood unbreakable. Punches landed like thunder. Bones cracked. One by one, the confidence drained from the 18K soldiers until fear replaced arrogance. Within minutes, the restaurant floor looked like a graveyard of pride.
"RUN!" someone yelled.
And they did. The surviving thugs staggered out limping, bruised, bleeding, dragging their wounded behind them. Silence returned. Min rushed toward Vincent instantly, kneeling beside him.
"Vinnie" Her hands trembled as she checked the cut on his face.
"Are you okay?"
Vincent laughed weakly, wiping blood from his mouth.
"You checking on me?" he teased painfully.
"Guess I almost dying worked"
Min smacked his shoulder, eyes wet with frustration.
"Idiot"
From the doorway, Hemant shook his head.
"You're flirting after getting your ass kicked?" he muttered.
Vincent looked up, smiling wide despite everything.
"Desperate times, desperate measures was your saying right Mr.King?"
Among the Sun On Yee, everyone whispered the same title when speaking of Hemant—the man who fought like a storm and disappeared like a ghost.
Mr. King.
Later that night, beneath glowing neon and rain-slick Shanghai streets, Vincent and Hemant walked in silence toward the towering Golden Dragon Hotel far off from the district chaos. The city buzzed beneath them, unaware war was already brewing beneath its surface. Civil war among the Triads had begun.
Inside the hotel, guards stepped aside immediately.
The manager’s office doors opened.
Behind a polished desk sat Jiu Mey, the feared Red Pole of Sun On Yee. Sharp-eyed, elegant, dangerous.
She looked up—and smiled faintly.
"Well" Mey said, leaning back in her chair.
"If it isn’t our newest ghost" Her eyes gleamed.
"Welcome back, Michael King"
Hemant stopped mid-step.
"…the What King?"
Vincent immediately burst out laughing. Mey folded her arms.
"Didn’t expect you in Shanghai this soon"
"You can expect me more often now" Hemant replied dryly.
"But who came up with that ridiculous name?"
Mey smirked.
"Father Dominic" Hemant blinked.
"The priest from Macau?" he asked.
"The same one" Mey replied.
"Apparently after you saved him a few weeks ago, he referred the name Michael King"
She paused.
"Said he saw the Archangel Michael in you"
Vincent nearly choked laughing. Hemant looked deeply uncomfortable.
"I really don’t like theatrics" he muttered.
Mey’s amusement and smirk faded slowly as her expression turned serious in her response.
"It has its qualities....anyways tell me why you’re really here"
The room grew quiet. Hemant stepped closer to the desk, eyes hardening with purpose. Outside, thunder rolled across Shanghai.
"I’m here" he said coldly
"To strengthen the Sun On Yee"
His gaze sharpened.
"To make us the prime faction of the Triads"
A dangerous smile crossed his face.
"And win this civil war"
The office inside the Golden Dragon Hotel fell quiet after Hemant’s declaration. Rain tapped steadily against the windows overlooking Shanghai’s neon skyline while Jiu Mey leaned back in her chair, studying him with narrowed eyes. Vincent stood off to the side with folded arms, bruised but alert, watching the exchange like he already knew trouble was about to get bigger.
"You want Sun On Yee to rise?" Mey asked evenly.
"Then tell me something useful"
Hemant stepped toward the city map stretched across the wall. Colored pins marked territory, businesses, gambling dens, safehouses, and routes running like veins through Shanghai. Several areas had been marked in red ink—territories where the 18K had grown unusually bold.
"The 18k are taking the SunOnYee for granted , which explains their bold attacks because they know the shortage in your numbers. Your faction is struggling with recruits"
Hemant said, tapping two fingers against the map. Mey crossed her arms.
"That’s an understatement"
"Which is why they are pushing in , because they know you don't have the manpower to tackle them!"
Hemant continued.
"Harassing restaurants. Leaning on local businesses. Making the city know who is actually in charge"
His finger moved eastward across the map.
"And worse—they’ve started reaching toward our strongholds. That means they think Sun On Yee’s getting weak"
"Those bastards been acting like they own half the city" Vincent scoffed.
"Because nobody’s hit back hard enough" Hemant nodded once.
He pointed toward the transport route running between Tangzhen and Gaodongzhen.
"This"
Mey’s expression sharpened instantly.
"The transport corridor?" she asked.
Hemant nodded again.
"It matters more than they realize. Its one of their prime routes for their ketamine racket movement. Whoever controls movement controls pressure. If Sun On Yee takes over this route, the 18K won’t just lose their drug route—they’ll understand something important"
His voice lowered, steady and cold.
"That we’re no pushovers!"
"A message" Vincent grinned.
"When they push , We shove!" Hemant replied.
Mey walked toward the map, studying it in silence. Her sharp mind worked through the implications immediately. The route linked supply movement, local influence, and visibility. A victory there wouldn’t end tensions, but it would shift momentum.
Then slowly—A smile crossed her face.
"I like it"
"That quick?" Vincent blinked.
Mey shot him a look.
"When the plan’s good, I don’t waste time pretending to think"
She turned back toward Hemant.
"You have my go-ahead"
The next morning, Shanghai woke beneath a gray sky heavy with rainclouds. And the city felt different. Tension buzzed beneath the streets. At the Tangzhen Petrol Station, engines idled while nervous workers kept their heads down. Word had spread overnight—Sun On Yee was moving. Leading the operation was Ricky Tan, Mey’s most trusted lieutenant, a man whose calm face hid dangerous instincts. Beside him stood Vincent Mao, bruises from the restaurant still fresh but pride untouched. Around them gathered loyal Sun On Yee men, waiting.
Ricky adjusted his gloves and looked toward Vincent.
"You sure you’re ready?" he asked.
Vincent cracked his neck with a grin.
"I already got my ass kicked yesterday. Might as well make someone else miserable today"
The laughter didn’t last. Because across the station, vehicles rolled in. 18K. The atmosphere shifted instantly. One side staring down the other. No speeches. No negotiations. Just old anger meeting fresh ambition. The first shove became chaos.
What followed spread like wildfire through the route from Tangzhen toward Gaodongzhen. Rival crews clashed across intersections, warehouses, and roadside businesses as fear rippled through nearby streets. Loyalty was tested block by block while both sides fought desperately for presence and control. Ricky kept the Sun On Yee men organized through the pressure, while Vincent threw himself into every confrontation with reckless determination, refusing to give an inch after what happened at Shu Koi Restaurant.
By late evening, exhaustion hung over the city like smoke. But the result had become impossible to ignore. Sun On Yee banners returned to places where 18K influence had crept in. Tangzhen held. Gaodongzhen held. The route belonged to Sun On Yee again. Back at the Golden Dragon Hotel, Mey stood near the office window overlooking the city lights when Hemant entered quietly. She looked over her shoulder.
"You were right" she admitted.
"They pushed too far"
Hemant walked to the table and unfolded another map.
"That was only step one"
Mey raised an eyebrow. Without a word, Hemant placed his finger on their next objective. The eastern coastline. A place bigger than neighborhood turf. Bigger than street influence. His finger stopped over Shanghai Waigaoqiao Port. Mey’s expression shifted immediately.
"Thats....a very bold move....the port is one of their prime base of operations!" she said carefully.
Hemant’s gaze stayed fixed on the map.
"Guess that's the price the 18k will have to pay for messing with the SunOnYee....the port will be the SunOnYee territory now...and the beginning of our faction's fishing business"
He said quietly. His eyes lifted toward her.
"And besides , its the perfect spot for Howard Tsao to run his operation of smuggling since he is almost compromised in Macau with his business. Shanghai is the perfect spot for him!"
Mei grinned as the room fell silent again.
THE NEXT NIGHT
Night settled over Shanghai Waigaoqiao Port in layers of cold fog and industrial silence. Cargo cranes stood frozen against the skyline like giant steel skeletons, their shadows stretching over stacked containers and dimly lit warehouses. Inside the main storage building, a cluster of 18K men lounged around battered tables, cigarettes burning low while card games dragged into the early hours. A radio hummed softly in the background. Business had been quiet lately, and tonight felt no different.
One thug leaned back in his chair and laughed.
"Sun On Yee won’t touch this place" he scoffed.
"Not after Tangzhen"
Another raised his bottle.
"They’re scared"
Then the sound came. At first, distant. Low. Like thunder rolling in from the city. Engines. Too many of them. The laughter stopped. Outside, headlights burst through the fog. A convoy of black SUVs and trucks thundered toward the port entrance, tires screeching across wet pavement. Before anyone could fully react, the harbor erupted with another shock—boats cut through the dark waters, engines roaring as armed figures surged toward the docks from the sea.
The port lights reflected across steel and rain. Sun On Yee had arrived. And they had come in force.
"MOVE!" one 18K lookout screamed.
Panic tore through the compound. Men scrambled for pistols, shouting over one another as warehouse doors slammed open. The first shots cracked through the night in desperate bursts. But desperation met preparation. The response came hard. Sun On Yee crews pushed forward in disciplined waves, forcing the 18K into retreat across loading zones and storage lanes. The sound of gunfire echoed violently across the harbor while shattered glass and sparks burst from metal containers. The 18K had expected intimidation.
Instead, they found themselves overwhelmed. Positions collapsed quickly. Cover disappeared. Fear spread faster than orders. From the rear of the advancing convoy, one SUV door opened.
Hemant stepped out. Gone was the casual calm of the restaurant fight. Tonight, he wore dark silk suit with its jacket having designs of the great Peng , a bird-like Guardian Deity in the Chinese foklore, rain collecting across his shoulders while chaos unfolded before him. He didn’t rush into the firefight. Didn’t shout commands.
He simply watched. Measured. Cold. Focused. Beside him stood Ricky Tan, giving orders through comms while Vincent moved with brutal determination through the frontline, refusing to yield even a single step of ground. A nearby port security guard, pale and shaking, ducked into an office and frantically grabbed the emergency phone.
"Shanghai Law Enforcement!" he yelled into the receiver.
"There’s a war happening at the port!"
But instead of emergency sirens—A familiar voice answered. Jiu Mey.
"Get to cover officer , and stand down" she said calmly.
The guard blinked in disbelief.
"Stand down? People are shooting at each other!"
Mey’s tone stayed frighteningly composed.
"Sun On Yee is clearing out leeches from the city"
Inside the Law Enforcement headquarters, several senior officials exchanged uneasy glances. One chief folded his arms.
"Are you hurting civilians?" He asked.
"No" Mey replied immediately.
"This operation is against organized criminal activity surrounding the ketamine trade near the port. We want what’s best for Shanghai"
Her voice hardened.
"The city deserves better than poison moving through its harbor"
The line went quiet. At Waigaoqiao, the fighting finally began to slow. The remaining 18K men broke ranks. Some fled deeper into the industrial maze. Others surrendered ground and vanished into the darkness. By dawn, the port stood silent except for distant sirens and the hum of cargo machinery restarting.
Sun On Yee held the harbor.
Hemant walked through the aftermath with steady steps, boots splashing through rainwater pooled across cracked pavement. Workers cautiously emerged from hiding as the first gray light of morning touched the shipping cranes. Beside him walked Howard Tsao, quiet and observant. Hemant stopped near the docks.
"This place" he said, looking over the harbor.
"Is your new duty now"
Howard glanced toward him.
"You’re putting me here?"
Hemant nodded.
"From now on, you handle the port"
Howard looked genuinely surprised.
"Shanghai's Fishing Trade gets rebuilt" Hemant continued.
"No smuggling of drugs. No poison running through these docks. We make something useful out of this"
Howard gave a slow nod.
"I won’t waste the chance"
Later that morning, inside the Golden Dragon Hotel, the atmosphere felt strangely calm. Television screens played endless news coverage of the violence at the harbor. Reporters stood in front of security officer barricades while headlines speculated about escalating tensions between rival organizations. Hemant sat near the window, coffee untouched. Vincent looked exhausted but pleased. Ricky remained quiet. Howard watched the screen thoughtfully.
Then Jiu Mey’s phone rang. Her expression changed the moment she saw the caller. She answered.
"Chairman"
The room went still. An older voice carried through the speaker. Rey Shen. The aging chairman of the Triads. Measured. Powerful.
"I’m calling a meeting" he said.
"The civil war has gone too far"
Mey listened quietly before ending the call. The silence afterward lingered. She looked toward Hemant.
"Well" she said dryly.
"This is the consequence for taking over Shanghai Port"
"That old man’s definitely pissed" Vincent muttered.
But Hemant looked entirely unbothered.
"It’ll be alright" he said calmly.
"Uncle Shen will see reason"
Mey raised an eyebrow.
"You sound very confident"
Hemant leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the city skyline beyond the glass.
"This?" he said quietly.
"This is only the beginning"
His gaze sharpened.
"The 18K pushed too far"
A faint, dangerous calm settled over him.
"And they’re going to lose a lot more before this ends"
THE NEXT DAY
The Golden Yang Hotel felt strangely quiet for a place standing at the center of a city spiraling into underground war. Midnight rain crawled down the glass windows overlooking Shanghai while Hemant sat near the lounge balcony with Vincent Mao, both waiting for news from the most important meeting of the year. Somewhere in the center of the city, inside Rey Shen’s towering headquarters, the senior figures of the Triads had gathered to decide what happened next after the chaos at Waigaoqiao Port.
Vincent rested against the couch with an ice pack over his shoulder, still carrying bruises from the last week of fighting.
"You think Uncle Shen’s gonna side with us?" he asked.
Hemant remained still, arms crossed.
"He’ll side with what keeps the city stable" he replied quietly.
Vincent snorted. The silence stretched for a moment before Hemant’s phone vibrated. Not a normal notification. Encrypted. Instantly, his expression shifted. A secure message flashed across the screen.
Meet at Ming’s Restaurant. Ten minutes. Alone.
No sender. No signature. Only a verification cipher known to a handful of people. Hemant stood.
"Problem?" Vincent frowned.
"Nah , just a casual meet , I'll be back in few minutes!" Hemant replied calmly.
The city felt colder outside.
Shanghai’s streets gleamed beneath neon reflections as Hemant moved quickly through winding roads toward Ming’s Restaurant—a small, discreet place tucked away from the city’s louder nightlife. His instincts sharpened immediately. Every shadow mattered. Every parked car became something worth noticing.
The restaurant looked nearly empty. Only one table remained occupied. And the moment Hemant saw the figure sitting there, he stopped cold. Civilian clothes. Dark jacket. Relaxed posture. But impossible to mistake.
"William?" Hemant said quietly.
The man looked up and smirked.
"Been a while"
William Irons. SENTINEL force partner. Brother in war. Hemant sat across from him slowly, disbelief still lingering.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
William stirred his tea casually.
"Just wanna meet my best man in the field!"
Hemant frowned. Will leaned back.
"I’m in a CIA training program now" he explained.
"Off the books. Low visibility"
"Perfect spot" Hemant blinked.
Will continued like he was discussing the weather.
"Sharon Reagan entered Homeland Security in America. She’s building influence through finance and logistics"
He paused.
"Sachiko’s in the UK making a name for herself too"
Hemant stayed silent. Will’s expression hardened.
"SENTINEL might be compromised but we can fix it! in time!"
He leaned forward. Hemant narrowed his eyes.
"How?"
"By gaining power over it!" Will replied.
The statement hung in the air.
"We rise" Will continued.
"Slowly. Quietly. Different sectors. Politics. Security. Finance. Influence"
His eyes locked onto Hemant’s.
"And eventually, we take back SENTINEL from the inside"
Hemant exhaled slowly.
"A long-term play"
"Not long if I consider your growth among the Triads. I'd say we'll achieve what we need way sooner than you expect!"
Will folded his hands.
"Which brings me to why I’m here"
Hemant already disliked the look in his eyes.
"You need to get involved with the Triads. Forget the SENTINEL uniform and act on your best capabilities in fixing Shanghai. This is the right path for you!"
Will said simply. Hemant frowned. He slid a small file across the table. On the cover the name was highlighted—MICHAEL KING. Hemant stared at it. Will grinned faintly.
"Oh, don’t look surprised. It has a nice ring to it!"
Hemant sighed.
"Father Dominic really started something stupid"
"Or maybe he gave us something we needed" Will said.
He opened the file.
"I want you to build Michael King as the next possible ally to the Triads. One that replaces AZRAEL and brings a different kind of profit and business to them"
Will tapped several documents. Hemant raised an eyebrow. AZRAEL has been bothering him since Ladakh , to realize there is a cold blooded syndicate that trades human flesh as business. Plus his hatred for its creator Tarasov was much more since Trigger's death.
Will leaned back again.
"We’ll help build Michael King’s legacy. Sachiko and I have already have some plans to build the outside connection of Michael King. For now , you're a mysterious rich figure who has taken over operations of Triad assets in Macau , you have a backing of some small gangs that form a larger empire that acts as your muscle!"
He paused. Hemant almost laughed.
"You’re proposing I become some underground kingpin?"
"No , not underground. I want you to become someone that the bad buys will be forced to second guess. You're a warrior Mr.King , I stated it before that you have the qualities of a leader, now its your time to become one , this world needs your kind of justice!"
Hemant rubbed his forehead.
"How exactly am I supposed to get the Triads interested after we just disrupted a major racket?"
Will smiled.
"You build a new trade, something that will not involve harmful items. The best option right now is Gold. Triads have shown interest in it and there are shareholders willing to invest in their ranks. You boost the smuggling business of this gold and soon it will become a high value trade for the Triads. It also has the potential and the opening for you to dismantle the connection between the Triads and AZRAEL!"
He lowered his voice.
"A cleaner, higher-value trade"
Hemant looked unconvinced.
Will continued.
"Sachika and I will build your outreach and your legend in the UK. Setting up potential contacts and support in the UK that will participate in your Gold trading. You can use the same AZRAEL network since their handlers and route guides are taken care of , everything overseen by you!"
He tapped the file again. Hemant leaned back heavily. Will’s expression softened slightly. Hemant looked up. Will continued carefully.
"Its time you embrace this new identity Mr.King. This new life will unleash the warrior within you and boost that tactical brain of yours. You will have your gloves off and become the man of your word , no one to authorize you. I am saying this because I have faith that you will do what is right. Because if you turned evil , I will loose faith in this world!"
He gestured around them.
"That is a lot of faith Will"
"You have that quality Hemant , now I actually believe what Mr.Bakshi told me once , the perfect warrior , that is you. Its not long before the Triad will become your personal armada!"
Will replied immediately. His voice steadied. He pointed toward Hemant.
"All this time , I was looking for the perfect weapon to end AZRAEL. Turns out that weapon was someone not something!"
He paused.
"Your gloves are off now big man....its time to show who you are truly made of!"
For the first time that night, Hemant had no answer. Only doubt. Only weight. And the terrifying realization that maybe this path had already begun. When Hemant finally returned to the Golden Yang Hotel, dawn had started creeping over the skyline.
Jiu Mey had returned. Ricky Tan stood nearby with crossed arms while Howard Tsao quietly poured tea. Vincent looked up immediately.
"There he is, tha savior of SunOnYee" Vincent said.
Hemant ignored the joke.
"How’d the meeting go?"
Jiu exhaled slowly.
"Better than expected"
She leaned back.
"Honestly? I’m relieved"
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"Uncle Shen sided with us"
That got everyone’s attention.
"The port officially belongs to Sun On Yee now" Jiu stated
"Seriously?" Howard blinked.
She nodded.
"We’re responsible for the Triad operations there moving forward"
Hemant looked toward Howard.
"Good"
He gave a small nod.
"You can start rebuilding tomorrow"
But Jiu’s expression turned thoughtful.
"Actually…..I had a different plan!" she said slowly.
Hemant froze slightly.
"What is it?"
Jiu walked toward the table.
"Howard used to have a fishing company" she explained.
"Small-scale. Useful for transport"
"Mostly dead at this point" Howard gave a shrug.
"Not anymore" Jiu replied.
She placed a folder onto the table.
"We boost it"
Vincent leaned closer.
"I was thinking we revive the shut down shipping business of the Triads and takeover Howard's fishing company and integrate it together to form a big Shipping Company for the private sector. A company run by you! Howard will be your VP!"
She tapped the folder.
THE GREAT PENG SHIPPING PVT LTD
Chairman/CEO: Michael King
The room went quiet. Hemant stared at the name for a long moment. One identity fading. Another beginning. He took a slow breath. Then another. Outside, Shanghai awakened beneath gray skies. Inside, Hemant prepared himself for the next chapter of his life.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)