The rain fell in leaden sheets, a solid wall of sound that swallowed Gao Rui’s panicked curses. Pei San, soaked to the bone and shivering, hauled Rong Yin’s unresponsive body into the back of the dilapidated taxi. Her skin, where it hadn’t peeled, was clammy and cold, radiating a chill that bit deeper than the rain. The slick, obsidian scales beneath pulsed faintly, reflecting the strobing red of the tail lights. Her eyes were still vertical slits, unseeing, lost somewhere beyond the physical. Gao Rui, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, fumbled for his usual cigarette, his hands shaking so violently the pack scattered across the dashboard.
“She’s… she’s changing, boss,” he stammered, twisting to glance back at the prone form. “This isn’t just Yin energy. The eclipse… it’s pulling her back. She needs a place to hide. Dark. Quiet. Where no one will find her.”
Pei San’s mind raced through a kaleidoscope of neon signs and grimy corners. The mill was out, the apartment too vulnerable. He needed a place that offered shelter, but also concealment, a place familiar enough to him to navigate blind. And then a scrap of memory from his rebellious youth surfaced.
“The 'Mirage Game Hall',” Pei San barked over the rain. “On Silk Road. Abandoned for years. Boards over the windows, but the back door used to be a joke. And the power grid, it’s still live, last I heard. Just needs a kick.”
Gao Rui didn’t argue. He gunned the engine, the taxi’s old motor groaning in protest, tires spitting water as they swerved through the flooded streets. The journey was a blur of distorted streetlights and the constant, chilling awareness of Rong Yin’s fading humanity in the back seat. Each shift in her form, each subtle expansion of her scales, was a fresh spike of terror.
They found the Mirage Game Hall exactly as Pei San remembered: a faded monument to bygone pleasures. Its shattered neon sign, a ghost of a roaring tiger, sputtered weakly, spitting sparks into the downpour. The front windows were indeed boarded up, but the back alley was a twisted maze of overflowing dumpsters and rusted fire escapes. Gao Rui, surprisingly agile despite his bulk and fear, used a crowbar to pry open the padlocked service door, revealing a cavern of gloom and the stale scent of dust, old wiring, and forgotten dreams.
Inside, the hall was a time capsule. Rows of silent coin-ops stood like sleeping giants, their screens dark, their joysticks frozen in mid-game. The air hung thick with humidity, and the occasional drip of water from the decaying roof echoed in the vast space. Pei San helped Gao Rui haul Rong Yin toward the deepest shadows beneath a cluster of unplugged racing games. Her skin was almost entirely scaled, her limbs elongated, a thin, serpentine tail starting to unfurl from beneath her tattered dress.
“She’ll be safe here for a bit,” Pei San muttered, trying to convince himself more than Gao Rui. “The power… I remember the old circuit box. If I can get a few of these behemoths humming…”
He moved with feverish energy, fear lending him a strange focus. He found the main breaker, a rusty lever that required all his strength to throw. With a groan of ancient wiring, a few scattered bulbs buzzed on, bathing the hall in a sickly, amber glow. The sound of a compressor kicking on somewhere in the back was a small victory. Pei San then began to work on the consoles, intuitively seeking out the largest, most visually striking ones: a colossal Pac-Man unit, a hulking Donkey Kong, and a row of flashy score-tables. He knew nothing of their inner workings, but he knew enough about loose wires and exposed circuits to make them… interesting.
He was halfway through jury-rigging a frayed power cord to a particularly loud score-table, its back panel peeled open to reveal a spaghetti of wires, when Gao Rui suddenly tensed. The mystic’s cigarette, forgotten between his lips, dropped to the grimy floor.
“Boss,” Gao Rui whispered, his voice dry. “Company. From the alley. And they brought… toys.”
Pei San straightened, his hand still on the live wire. Three figures materialized from the rain-slicked alleyway, their forms silhouetted against the weak neon bleed from outside. They were Jin Dashao’s thugs, recognizable even in the gloom, but something was different. They moved with predatory confidence, and in their hands, gleaming faintly in the dim light, were long, wickedly curved cleavers. The steel was wrapped in strips of stained red cloth, small talismans tied to the pommel. Cursed blades, Pei San realized, copper taste coating his tongue.
“We know you’re in here, Serpent-Spawn’s husband!” one of them sneered, his voice echoing in the vast space. “Dashao wants the freak, and your head on a spike!”
Instead of seizing up, a raw, bitter irritation settled over Pei San. They wanted to interrupt his plans? To threaten Rong Yin while she was vulnerable? No. Not on his watch.
“Stay back!” Pei San yelled, pushing his bravado to the forefront. “This whole place is wired! One step closer and you’ll be playing high score with your own eyeballs!”
The thugs hesitated, but only for a moment. The lead thug, a brute named Dashi, chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “Empty threats, little servant. Those blades aren’t just sharp; they’re blessed. Nothing in this dusty old den can touch us.”
“Oh yeah?” Pei San grinned, a flash of white in the gloom. He gave the exposed copper wires a sharp yank. With a crackle and a shower of sparks, the chassis roared to life. Its flippers snapped, bumpers chimed, and a cacophony of electronic bells and whistles erupted, echoing deafeningly in the enclosed space. The glass-topped table, 'Galactic Racer,' pulsed with aggressive noise, its internal bulbs strobing wildly. This was the distraction. The first trap.
As the thugs blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden assault on their senses, Pei San scrambled back. “Now, Gao Rui!”
Gao Rui, despite his chattering teeth, proved his worth. He’d lit a fresh cigarette, and with a surprisingly steady hand, he flicked a stream of glowing ash at the approaching Dashi. The ash, instead of dissolving, hung in the air, swirling into a dense, sparkling cloud that flared with an eerie green light as it hit the thug’s eyes. Dashi roared, clutching his face, stumbling backwards as if struck by an invisible fist.
“What in the… my eyes! I can’t see!”
The other two thugs, momentarily confused, advanced cautiously, their heavy blades held high. Pei San, moving with the agility of a cornered rat, darted between the silent coin-op boxes. He knew these layouts, the blind spots, the narrow gaps. He grabbed a loose, heavy power cord he’d noticed earlier, its insulation frayed, and with a manic grin, he whipped it around Dashi’s legs. The thug, still blinded and disoriented, tripped, falling heavily onto the grimy floor, his cleaver clattering away.
“Get him!” one of the remaining thugs shouted, lunging at Pei San. But the textile mill servant was already moving, his eyes locked on the immense Pac-Man unit. It was old, weighted with iron ballasts, and heavy enough to crack bone.
He aimed for the unit's ancient, rusted casters. With a grunt, he shoved, momentum building. The Pac-Man wooden frame, groaning like a dying cart, began to tilt, then tipped, slowly at first, then with crushing speed, toward the flailing Dashi. The thug, still trying to clear his vision, heard the grinding protest of wood and metal, along with the panicked shouts of his companions, but it was too late. With a wet crunch that resonated through the room, the heavy box toppled, pinning Dashi beneath its immense bulk. His scream was abruptly cut short, replaced by a gurgling gasp.
The other two thugs froze, their faces pale in the flickering neon, their bravado evaporating. They stared at their fallen leader, then at the unnervingly calm Pei San, whose breathing was ragged but whose eyes held a dangerous glint. Without another word, they turned and fled back into the rain-swept alley.
Pei San leaned against a Space Invaders console, chest heaving, his knees threatening to fold. Gao Rui rushed over, kicking the discarded blade away from the pinned Dashi. The thug lay beneath the Pac-Man, one arm twitching feebly. Blood, dark and viscous, pooled on the dusty floor.
“Boss… you… you killed him,” Gao Rui whispered, his voice a mix of terror and grudging respect.
Pei San knelt, ignoring the blood, and roughly yanked the remaining thug’s collar. “Tell me,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “Why now? Why the rush? What’s Dashao doing?”
A wet rattle caught in Dashi's throat. His eyes, though still clouded from the ash, held a desperate fear. “The mill… he’s at the mill… the eclipse… he’s going to… sacrifice them. A dozen night-shift workers… to charge the amulet… before it peaks.”