Francis To, as a young and talented overseas-educated professional, does not believe in Hecticity people's superstitious beliefs. He would only find it funny for taboos such as no "deadly 4" for floor numbers and not giving a clock as a gift to avoid ringing the death knell.
But now he really feels that he should try the folk sorcery of "Villain hitting" to get rid of the bad luck first.
"Please stand back from the doors. Beep, beep, beep ......."
Soon after he steps out of the train compartment, the Metro announcement sounds, the gates slam shut behind him, and the train whizzes away.
He stands on the platform for fifteen minutes with a dead mobile phone and a single ticket in his hand, before he can realize what has happened to him in the past few hours.
It all starts when Francis orders a Gin Martini after listening to some music on his headphones in the business class of the plane.
The smile on his ¼ British mixed-race face, his native British accent and a "thank you" in Hecticity's local dialect have fascinated the flight attendant. She bats her eyelashes at Francis and hands him the Gin Martini like a love letter.
Ah, here comes a beauty. The golden body ratio is quite eye-catching, thought Francis, appreciating without being flirty. He praised her mixology skills, "A nice cocktail."
To chat up the good-looking gentleman in front of her, the flight attendant observes with all her attention and sees that his fingers are particularly long with rough fingertips. She asks him in a low voice in English if he is a musician.
Francis smiles and says that he is a doctor returning to Hecticity to work. He plays the cello as a hobby.
The flight attendant is eager to chase after this handsome doctor. She immediately seizes the chance to ask for his clinic's phone number.
Her eyes behind the colour contacts are beaming, and Francis cannot help but think of a she-wolf that has been hungry for a long time.
Are women nowadays so... aggressive? A moment ago, she is still acting like a little girl in her first crush!
He has always been able to speak well, but he is dumbstruck for a while. A bright idea suddenly comes to him, so he takes out a pen and writes down three digits on the palm of the flight attendant.
"999" (Note: Hecticity's police hotline)
The flight attendant stared blankly at her own palm, wondering whether this guy was joking or if there was something wrong with his brain. And then this is when Francis takes out his business card and hands it to her with a perfect smile.
"Well, if you'd like a special place to date a forensic pathologist..."
The flight attendant does not get the black humor. She does not take the business card and hardly manages to maintain her professional smile while backing away. A whoosh, and then she flees to the washroom, frantically washing her hands.
Ah, here comes another one scared away by him. Francis shrugs his shoulders. He was just about to say that he dates with corpses every day...
This is just the first of the many unlucky incidents.
Upon arrival, the time in Hecticity has passed 7 p.m.. Francis decides to find a hotel to settle down for the night, and then he will freshen up tomorrow morning and report to the Hecticity Police in the Police Headquarters Building.
As a gay and a stickler for his appearance, Francis has been a school hunk since studying abroad in the UK. He definitely will not allow himself to rush around and show up in front of his colleagues with a sloppy look.
No need to hurry - it is the best time for peacocking. He connects his phone to the free WiFi of the airport and leisurely leans against a pillar with one hand on the handle of the luggage trolley and the other hand holding his phone. He takes a few selfies and posts them on social media. With just a few slides refreshing the page, he soon receives a lot of likes from his alumni and former colleagues.
Well, not all are praises. An ethnic Chinese senior, who courted him and failed, left a salty comment under his post.
"Working as a forensic pathologist in Hecticity? You will get PTSD - poor, tired, smelly, dirty. A cream puff like you will not be able to stand it. Pfff, just get back to London and find yourself a sugar daddy."
Francis recalls that in his first year of university, that senior had been flirting with him, just wanting to lure him into getting down and dirty. Now reading the unpleasant comment, he cannot hold his anger any longer, so he blocks that prick at once.
When he puts away his mobile phone and looks at his luggage trolley, he is stunned with eyes wide open.
Where are his briefcase and luggage?
His luggage is for keeping clothes only, so it is fine even if it is lost, but he cannot lose his briefcase with his wallet and identification documents inside!
Frustrated, he approaches the security guard stationed nearby and tells him that his baggage has been stolen.
Although the security guard understands what he says, his spoken English is poor. He smiles nervously and stutters, "I... I... you... you... Where? Colour?" This makes Francis even more anxious, and he finally cannot help but switch to the Hecticity dialect.
"Find your manager." (Note: sounds like "fuck your mother" in the Hecticity dialect)
The security guard gasps and gives him a dirty look.
"Come on, oh please, just go and find your manager!" (Note: sounds like "Son of a bitch, just go and fuck your mother!" in the Hecticity dialect) Francis manages to squeeze out a smile, adjusts his tone, and raises the volume.
The pronunciation is correct, right? The meaning is simple and clear, isn't it? He even makes sure the tone is courteous by adding "please" before the request!
The security guard grits his teeth and retaliates in English.
"FUCK!"
The swear word is "clearly" stunning. Francis is very confused.
The security guard lets out a breath of air, as if he finally does something heroic, and then looks at his watch and leaves without turning back - Duty time is over, no more rude travellers!
Francis takes a couple of seconds to figure out what happened. "Hey, I mean 'get your boss'! What's wrong with that?"
A group of Hectican lads is watching and sniggering. Francis then realises he probably said something wrong.
Well, he has not spoken in the Hecticity dialect for more than 20 years. Unless he gets a sense of the language, it will be really hard to communicate with people here to describe where exactly he lost his luggage, the appearance of it, and whether he sees the thief's face or not...so on and so forth.
The level of difficulty in communication is probably the same as when he went to Japan to attend a conference, the receptionist at the hotel panicked when hearing English and hurried away to ask her colleague for help.
He roots through his pockets and is more desperate than ever. He has no passport, and no bank card, there is only a fifty-dollar note that he put in his pocket planning to buy a cup of coffee before everything is stolen.
He can neither afford to stay in a hotel nor to take a taxi.
Francis has to change his mind to buy a ticket and take the Metro to the Hecticity Police Headquarters Building, to report duty and at the same time to report a case.
The ticket is expensive - It costs him more than 30 dollars. He has not felt such psychological pain shelling out the cash for a long time.
Francis walks out of the train compartment, takes out his mobile phone, and is about to turn the GPS function on when his phone is out of battery.
"What the..."
So this is what happened.
He stands on the platform, holding his forehead and taking deep breaths to force himself to calm down. Passers-by probably think that this guy's spirit has been broken by some sort of unfortunate event, such as a career setback, bankruptcy, or being cheated on by his wife, etc., and might jump off the railway track at any time. They hurriedly pass by and cast curious and sympathetic glances at him.
An old man idling on the platform comes over to comfort him with heavy accents.
"Ooh arr, son, a'im sorry somethin' bad's 'appening to you. Needa some 'elp, eh?"
Francis does not want to say anything wrong and offends the locals again. He asks in his fractured Hecticity dialect while gesturing frantically, "Oh, no, no, I, I mean, I just want to check the map. Do you have a mobile phone? A mobile phone - do you get what I mean?"
"Ohhh, ya wanna make a phone call, ya?"
This time, the old man fully understands what he means, and searches in his pocket for a while. Then he takes out a mobile phone - a nostalgic old brick with the most advanced function being a pixel game.
Francis smiles wearily and thanks the old man for his kindness. In the midst of the surging crowd, he struggles to find a map of the station, takes a look at the location, and finds the nearest exit. He squeezes his way through the off-duty crowd, experiences the shockingly fast operating speed of the escalator, and finally reaches the ground level.
But now he realizes that he has underestimated the difficulty of finding the right way to the destination.
New offices and hotels, old apartments, and ground-floor shops are all crammed in this small city. Large billboards shoot out blinding white light, advertising the latest smart electronic products, and neon signs in different shapes and colours, such as "Pawnshop", "Foot Massage", and "Golden Sparrow Entertainment Centre", are struggling to survive in the white light.
There are street performers singing pop songs in foreign languages, and pushcart hawkers are selling local snacks in fluent Hecticity dialect. The interwinding light, shadows, and sounds create a bizarre feeling just like experiencing a time and space travelling.
It is too complicated - this side of the road is closed for road works, and that side has no traffic lights. To cross the road, pedestrians must use footbridges and tunnels...
Francis gets lost. He gets into an alley that does not have a name, surrounded by pubs, neon lights, and all kinds of music.
Suddenly, someone grasps him by his waist.
Francis turns back and sees a young man in his early twenties, tall and thin, ears pierced by several diamond stud earrings. This young man is wearing a leather jacket of a top brand, but his ripped jeans are only a cheap counterfeit product. With a cigarette between his teeth, he sizes up Francis and smirks when noticing his tailor-made suit.
"Let me buy you a drink, little hottie."
In the UK, Francis has been chatted up in pubs quite often, so when he hears this tone, he knows that this guy wants to hook him up.
He is quite sure that this young man is taking him as a bottom. However, he, Francis To, is a top.
Francis smiles out of courtesy, refuses, and is about to leave.
The young man makes a "pfff" sound and blows a whistle. Two tall and strong men soon arrive and seize Francis, and one of them even takes out a stun gun and presses it against his wrist. What they are going to do is self-evident.
Francis curses his bad luck, but he can do nothing except trying to explain, "I've got no money. It was all stolen at the airport."
"Don't ever try to fool me!"
The young man in the leather jacket blocks the road while directing the two men to search Francis all over. They snatch his designer watch, but they only find around ten dollars on him.
"So, you don't have any money with you, do you?"
The three men take him into a nightclub. The young man smashes a glass with a clang, threatening Francis with a fierce look.
"Dressing like some rich guy, but doesn't bring money for a drink? And how dare you smash this glass? Do you know how expensive it is? You have to pay for it! Don't tell me you can't afford it, you'll have to pay for it no matter what. Let's be fair, right, everyone?"
"Of course! Everyone has to pay their debts!" A customer with tattoos on his arms, legs, and neck shouts.
"Ming Jr., why don't you take him to bed and teach him a lesson?" Another customer's comment is met with more laughter.
Francis looks around quickly. This nightclub is located at the end of the alley and is not open to the public. Waiters are dressed in skimpy clothing and ignore what is happening to him. And he hears noises coming out from a VIP room - probably someone's having a sex party there.
Francis frowns and his eyelids twitch, and finally seems to begin to feel the danger. He cowers and begs in a low voice.
"I have no money to pay for it...I'm so sorry..."
Ming Jr. grasps Francis and sizes up him again. The more he looks at his face, the more he likes him.
This mixed-race guy is homeless and now in trouble. He seems to have grown up in a rich family, so well-protected and naive. Maybe he can lure him into taking some drugs and train him like a puppy? Then, he can get his overseas bank account for more money...
Ming Jr. knows that he has to act tough and talk soft to control the mind of his prey, so he rolls his eyes and softens his tone to coax Francis.
"Well, I am not that sort of evil guy. What a poor little thing...having no passport, no ID card, and no money. It's so cruel to throw you out to sleep on the street. I'll take you in for one night. As long as you obey me, you'll be fine. How about waiving half of your debts first, and we figure out the rest later? Come on, take off your clothes now, they are worth some hundred dollars."
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