BANG!

Taikong covers his face with his hands and lets out a cry, but the expected impact never comes. He lowers his hand and sees a figure blocking the sunlight, a deep red stain leaking from her chest.

It’s Mei. She jumped in front of the bullet.

Mei turns to Taikong, a vacant look in her eyes. She collapses, landing on the ground beside him. Tears fall from his eyes as Mei reaches out to him, leaving a crimson handprint on his cheek.

“I-I’m sorry,” Taikong stammers.

Mei locks eyes with Taikong, and she smiles—perhaps the widest she’s smiled in a long time.

“I understand,” Mei whispers.

Mei’s hand falls limply to the floor. They maintain eye contact from across the mortal coil…

…

“Put it down,” Amandi says, his voice coming from high in the heavens. “He’s suffered enough.”

Taikong stares out the window of a small, cleanly-furnished room. Outside, men in straightjackets walk through a beautiful courtyard, basking in the scenery. Taikong lacks the motivation to join them, busy contemplating how many people had died in combat since lunchtime.

“Mr. Sun?”

A man peeks his head into the open doorway. His bushy hair and mustache make him look out of place in his military uniform.

Taikong backs his wheelchair away from the window. His legs, both in a cast, are propped up on the end of the seat. He stares at the man with resignation and anger in his eyes.

“You still haven’t given up on me, huh?” Taikong asks.

The man gently closes the door, unaffected by Taikong’s hostility.

“I would never give up on you, Taikong,” he says, “No one’s worth giving up on, especially not you.”

“Is that you talking, Major Fei, or the hefty paycheck your superiors are giving you?” Taikong asks, “Heaven forbid a perfectly able-bodied soldier be sent home because his mind is fucked up.”

Fei grabs the chair in the room, which appears to be relatively useless to Taikong, and sits across from him.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with your mind?” Fei asks.

Taikong leans back in his wheelchair, laughing sardonically.

“What surprises me more, sir,” Taikong replies, “Is that there’s people who are making it through this war with their minds still intact, and that they’ve decided to heap suffering on the rest of us.”

“I believe the difference,” Fei says, scratching his chin. “Is that these gentlemen understand what peace is, and why it’s worth fighting for. Sun…what do you know about peace?”

“As much as the army lets me,” Taikong replies, leaning over in his wheelchair. “Major, can I tell you a story? Maybe you’ve heard this before. It’s about two children, who hunt all over the world for their pet bluebird—when it turns out to be in their homes the whole time. But once they get back there, you know what happens? It flies out the window and disappears—just like that.”

“That’s certainly a remarkable story,” Fei replies, smiling. “I suppose the bluebird represents peace to you?”

“Of course,” Taikong replies, “Even if this war ends, that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Where’s my peace? I’ll still see the faces of the men I killed. I’ll still see the tears. I’ll still see the only woman I cared about lying dead on the ground. It doesn’t matter how close I get to that bluebird—it’ll slip through my fingers again and again.”

“I know inner peace seems out of your grasp,” Fei replies, “I won’t lie; it will be hard to find it again. But I know men like you who managed to become whole, and I believe you can do it too.”

“There’s something you’re missing though, Fei,” Taikong continues, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “There’s a way those kids could have kept the bluebird in its cage. It’s the only strategy the people in power understand.”

Fei watches in concern, as Taikong begins to cry harder. He presses his hands against his face, starting to tremble.

“Sun…what way is that?” Fei asks.

Taikong shakes his head, gripping the arms of his wheelchair tightly.

“If you want…to keep a bluebird from leaving…”

He raises his hand, striking a salute below his chin.

“You break its little neck.”

Taikong collapses into sobbing. Fei watches on, his heart growing heavy. Having no words to say, he merely stands and embraces the boy.

Another year without peace. Another New Years’ Gala, attempting to help the Chinese forget the horrible bombing from just a year ago. And once again, General Mao gives his units medals to honor their service, flanked by high-ranking soldiers in his army.

He doesn’t see the man in a wheelchair lingering by the edge of the crowd, not even after the bomb goes off. He doesn’t spot him until well after the guards are sent to the source of the explosion, and Taikong wheels his way onto the stage and pulls a pistol out of his jacket.

“You!” Mao roars, “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you showed your face again? And now you’ve stooped to domestic terrorism!”

“Call it what you want,” Taikong replies, “But no civilians are dead. That bomb was put in an abandoned building. It was just a distraction, so I could get to you and your friends.”

“Just look at yourself! What have you become?”

“Exactly what you made me, sir,” Taikong replies, “A soldier for peace.”

Taikong raises his gun, but his finger never touches the trigger. Despite planning thoroughly for this moment, he forgot how little he wanted to take another life.

A second later, the bullet tears through his chest.Another strikes his arm, and another his shoulder. The force knocks his wheelchair backwards, rolling him down the stage. It gets caught on the cord of a microphone and tips over, hurling Taikong onto his back.

Taikong can hear the screams of the crowd as the scene plays out before him. It reminds him of the roar of mortar blasts coming from all sides.

He clutches his chest, feeling the blood soaking through. His legs are too broken to carry him forward, and his heart is too broken to keep pumping.

Mao stares down at Taikong’s body, brows knit in disappointment.

What had he done wrong? He fought the enemy, like any soldier should.

He remembers the long meetings in the war room, where old men threw around lives like stones in a game of Go.

He protected his people, like any soldier should.

He remembers visiting the Temple of the Sun with his family, admiring the room where his father would eventually lose his life.

Why didn’t anyone understand?

He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to appreciate the life he had to the fullest.

Taikong just wants to live, but he can already see light flooding his vision. He feels the blood pouring over his fingers.

And he hears the hum of helicopters in the distance.

Dulce et decorum est—

BANG!

A look of shock covers Taikong’s face. A blossom of blood begins to sprout on his chest. His body grows numb, pain consuming his body, as he stares up into the sky.

Mei looks on, feet rooted in their spot. She should have moved. She should have done something, but it was too late.

She rushes to Taikong’s side and crouches beside him, pressing his hand against the wound.

“T-Taikong, don’t stop fighting!” she shouts, “I can help. I—There’s got to be something I can—”

Taikong reaches up and grabs Mei’s hand. She stops in her tracks, trembling as she looks at the young soldier, already turning pale before her.

“Mei, remember…” Taikong says, “First, endow the Rooster with all of the animals.”

“Don’t give me fucking riddles!” Mei shouts, “I don’t know how I’m going to make it without you!”

“I know you can,” he continues, “Just please live…for me.”

Taikong’s hand tightens around Mei’s, but then it slips out, falling to the ground.

Mei stares at him. She tries to cry, but nothing comes out. She turns to Fujisaki.

“Was this worth it? Huh?”

Fujisaki’s expression doesn’t change. He turns around, throws his sunglasses to the ground, and walks back towards civilization.

The war dragged on. More soldiers were killed, but many more were injured. And, like an angel of death, Mei remained with them, trying to keep them alive.

Mei’s time off was usually spent alone. It felt like her sense of self was slipping further and further away. She lay in her bed, waiting to hear those familiar words over the intercom:

“Attention all personnel, incoming wounded! Report to the OR immediately.”

She rises, repeating the same practiced motions like a ballerina. Slipping outside, she slides to the truck where the wounded soldiers are packed together in rows. She pulls out a grenade victim’s stretcher and raises the sheet from over the victim’s head.

His black hair and his boyish face strike her as all too familiar.

A splitting headache pounds against Mei. She can feel the syringe calling to her, but she tries to stay focused, bringing the soldier into the operating room.

For five hours, well into the night, Mei removes shrapnel. She keeps the patient on an IV working closely with other medics to keep him stable.

At one point, his heart flatlines. She looks at the soldier’s face—he must have been only eighteen—and thinks about the family who cares about him—the tormented soul trapped inside that dying body. She presses on, working tirelessly to bring him back from the brink of death.

Until finally, he’s saved. Mei oversees his transfer to a new room and watches him open his eyes. She tries her best to look inviting.

“Are you the nurse who brought me out of that?” the soldier slowly asks.

“Yes, I was,” Mei replies, “But that’s just my job. Anyway, you should recover in just a week or so.”

“Good, good,” the soldier replies, “How messed up was I, anyway?”

“The grenade put a lot of shrapnel in you,” Mei answers, “You lost a lot of blood, but you pulled through in the end. I can tell you were fighting hard to live.”

His eyes lit up in an unnerving glee.

“Well, of course. I’m not done yet,” he replies, “You should have seen the guy who did this to me. I pegged that Yankee bastard right in both eyes ‘till he was crying tears of blood.”

Sometimes, the troops she saved haunt her more than the ones she lost.

Another year without peace. Another New Years’ Gala, attempting to help the Chinese forget the horrible bombing from just a year ago. And once again, General Mao gives his units medals to honor their service, flanked by high-ranking soldiers in his army.

Mei sits near the back of the crowd. Just as it did a year ago, the new year feels like nothing to celebrate. Taikong is gone, and Mei’s been discharged from the army. She knew it would happen eventually; in fact, she’s surprised it took so long.

She’d been upping the dosages of her drugs lately—anything to actually feel the music being blasted over the audience.

She pulls a syringe of oxycodone out of her sleeve and stabs it in, pressing the plunger down. She feels it weaving its way deep into her veins, giving her the relief she was craving. She doesn’t care if anyone notices, though she doubts anyone would care enough to.

But as time passes, something feels wrong. Her fingers start to shake, and her vision blurs. She stares at the empty syringe. Was that the right drug? Did she give herself too much? Was this the end?

Who was she kidding? She’d given doses of that drug for years. She knows how the liquid feels in the syringe. She can’t lie to herself and say that it was an accident.

Oh, well. No better time than the present.

She collapses off of the chair, prompting shouts of horror from the guests around her.

Someone asks if there’s a doctor nearby. Mei can’t help but laugh to herself, despite the bile rising into her throat.

She reaches for her neck, twitching on the floor. Finally, she hears the music of the band louder than she ever had before. It’s vibrant and loud, slamming painfully into her eardrums, pushing her further and further toward oblivion.

Someone shouts in the distance, asking for help. Feet rush past her ears as civilians march away in rows, leaving only the evening sky in her vision. The clouds morph before her, transforming into the visages of every person she’d ever cut into on an operating table. Then deep black smog wipes them away, covering every thought in her mind.

She can’t ask if any of it had any worth, even though she knows it probably didn’t.

With a faint cough, she lets herself drift away.

—Pro patria mori.

Mei’s body lies abandoned on the cold concrete, confetti scattered across it. People mill around nearby, trying to get someone to deal with her.

Mei’s soul sheds its skin, leaving her body on the floor. She looks around in a panic, trying to get a bearing on her surroundings. She spots two bodyguards approaching her, reaching for the body.

“Hey! P-Put me down!” she screams.

They ignore her, dragging Mei’s body away. She stands by her chair, looking on, powerless to stop them.

Mei stares at the people around her, all of whom pass by without meeting her eyes. Like a shadow, she can only look on, a part of their reality but somehow separate.

“What the fuck…” Mei says, “Why do I still feel empty?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots someone approaching her from the stage. A soldier with a bullet wound in his chest, a youthful appearance, and darkness in his soul.

The two lock eyes for the first time in a year.

“You’ve looked better, Mei.”

Mei glances at her pale grey fingers and chuckles.

“So have you.”

Taikong pats her on the shoulder, his expression gloomy.

“Come on.”

Mei follows Taikong as he walks down the Beijing streets toward the sunset in the distance. Slowly others appear to join them, forming a crowd heading out of the city.

As the two continue on, Mei locks eyes with the people around her. An old man slowly walks with a cane, his chest covered in bullet holes. A little girl skips down the road, covered in burn scars. An American walks at the edge of the group, seeming to be stitched together at every joint.

Mei turns back to Taikong.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

Taikong shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches out, taking her hand.

“At least I’m going there with you.”

They lock eyes without smiling, feeling that it isn’t necessary.

The pair walks on, two more members of the growing parade of lost souls, approaching a point in the horizon that hums with pain and fury.

A woman grabs a history book from the desk. She stares at the young children ahead of her, preparing to broach a subject they shouldn’t have to know about.

“Class,” she begins, “Today we’re going to begin a very…difficult unit.”

“We’re finally gonna talk about the Third World War, right?” One of the kids asks, leaning over his desk. “Oh boy. Sounds like fun!”

The children grin in their seats with excitement. The teacher can’t help but let out a sigh.

“Well…with the war having happened so long ago, it’s easy to think that it’s nothing more than an interesting topic,” the teacher says, “But that’s not fair at all to the people who lived through it. That’s why I’d like to introduce you all to someone who can help you understand what it was truly about.”

The teacher steps over to the door, pulling it open. An old man walks in, using the support of a cane. Dark scars curl up the side of his face. He pulls his black hat down and smiles.

“You’re all here to listen to an old monk’s tales, huh?” he asks, “Well, sit tight. They’re not exactly easy stories.”

…

“Those marks on Taikong’s hands,” Mei says, “They’ve got to be signs of a struggle, right?”

“Yeah,” Amandi replies, “They were probably signs of him struggling with himself to prevent him from slitting his throat.”

“The only problem with that…is that it’s really stupid,” Mei replies, “No, I think Taikong was murdered—by someone here!”

“But who?” Monk asks.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Mei says, “The only person who had anything to gain from his death. You!”

She points pathetically across the room at Fujisaki.

“What?” Fujisaki replies, “This is ridiculous. You saw the pod; it was locked at the time of the murder. How could I have gotten it open?”

“I think I understand now,” X replies, “It is not a question of how Fujisaki unlocked the pod, but one of when the pod was unlocked.”

“Exactly,” Mei replies, “Fujisaki, you mind if I check your pockets?”

“Yes, actually. What do you expect to find?”

“I remember at some point…you killed Monk in a way that caused him to die long after you were out of the room,” Mei explains.

“Wait, he did WHAT?” Monk shouts.

“At the moment, I wasn’t sure what happened, but there’s only one explanation,” Mei continues, “You must have poisoned him. I’m guessing you got some kind of poison dart gun from the Armory while you were there.”

“Perhaps I did,” Fujisaki says, “But as you can see, Monk is clearly still alive.”

“That’s because you didn’t shoot him with the gun—not this time. You shot Taikong.”

Mei gestures to the lock on the side of the pod.

“These locks only open under one condition—a player wins their game of Go,” she continues, “When that happens, they open automatically. You can tell because of how Suyin and Amethyst’s pods opened automatically after they were poisoned. However, Taikong’s stayed shut. There's only one explanation for that. It had already opened before!

“You didn’t actually win your game of Go. You shot Taikong before the game started, probably while we were milling about outside. A dart gun would be a discrete weapon, so you could easily fire it without anyone noticing. Then, once the poison took effect, Taikong died in his pod, automatically forfeiting the game.

“Taikong must have felt the poison take effect and begun to panic. He probably struck the top of the pod, trying to get out. That’s where the bruises on his fists came from—there wasn’t a struggle at all! Taikong was trying to escape!

“Once you won, you could leave the pod at any time. Juanli can vouch for this. So you left your pod very early, well before Juanli did. Doing that was a risk, but if someone was there, they would see Taikong's pod open anyway. You could at least feign ignorance and say you were concerned about your sudden victory. But since the coast was clear, you seized your chance to take your knife, slit Taikong’s neck, and leave it in his hand. Then you closed your pod and returned to your own, making us think it had been locked the entire time!”

Fujisaki shakes his head.

“This seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to over a simple Go game.”

“But this was a matter of life and death,” Mei replies, “Especially since you’re the only one here who isn’t about to die from the neurotoxin."

Fujisaki raises his eyebrows.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know,” Mei shrugs. “But it’s why you had to make the murder look like a suicide. If we moved on into consecutive rounds, you’d need to off your opponents again, and you knew people would get suspicious if everyone you faced mysteriously died in their pods. Fortunately for you, you ended up facing your teammate, so that wasn’t a problem. But it doesn’t change the of the crime you already committed.”

“The point is, you took Taikong from me!” Mei shouts, “I don’t care if it was only for a moment. You’re going to pay!”

Fujisaki and Mei have an epic showdown and then Fujisaki dies. Upon looting his corpse, Mei discovers a poison dart gun stashed in his pockets, just as she expected.

“Well, that was interesting, I suppose,” Juanli says, “Can we go and rescue Sunny now?”

PERCEPTIVE ~ END

“Is this even possible?” Juanli asks.

“Hold on, let me just try some random combinations. Maybe it will work.”

Though Fujisaki struggles with the clock puzzle, the others lose interest and exit through the wall instead. He follows them down.

…

“If we can just get the combination, those creepy faces don’t matter,” Fujisaki explains, “The locks only have four numbers. There can’t be that many possibilities, right?”

“There’s a lot, actually,” Juanli says, “You’d be better off coming with us.”

“No! I can get this. I know I can!”

Fujisaki continues putting in numbers and pulling on the lock. Unfortunately, the hands refuse to budge, instead choosing to wait for the next time in the day when they can be correct without trying.

…

“I got it!” Fujisaki shouts, “I unlocked the first hand!”

“Great, I’m really proud,” Mao replies, strapping on a hang glider and cool night-vision goggles. “Now let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

He leaps out the window like a boss while an explosion happens in the distance.

…

“Hmm, that's strange. I know the combination to the hour hand. Now I just need the second one.”

“Yeah, sure, Fujisaki,” Juanli says, sighing. “You’re just jealous because I solved that killer sudoku earlier, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not! I just want to get out!”

“We got out like an hour ago,” Juanli says, “Why are you still here? Why am I still here?”

…

Fujisaki lies on the floor of the tower, staring up at the three faces smiling tauntingly above the door.

“All this effort I’m putting in,” Fujisaki asks, “Is it worth it?”

Red replies: “Pwoo pwee pwoppo pee!”

Blue explains: “Nonagetti boppus.”

Green elucidates: “PISSHEAD”

…

“Alright, combination to the minute hand unlocked,” Fujisaki says, “Now I just need to find the right time, but that shouldn’t be hard. I can just turn the hands to every clock position.”

“Wait…” Mei says, “Are you actually going to open this thing? I didn’t think it was possible.”

The group stops and watches Fujisaki fiddle with the hands, until Taikong detonates the C4, obliterating everyone in the tower except Mei.

“Fuck,” Mei says.

…

“Alright, I think I’ve almost got it,” Fujisaki says, carefully rotating the hands. “Just a few more and we’ll be free.”

“Fujisaki, you’ve got to stop this,” Amandi says sadly. “The accident wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to keep throwing yourself at the clock like this.”

“Shut up,” Fujisaki replies, “I do what I want.”

He continues running his hands over the wall of a white, padded room.

…

“Yes! Yes! I did it!” Fujisaki shouts.

The two hands slot into place and the doors swing open. The group turns, eyes wide, as heavenly light shines from the other side. They immediately put down the heavy sudoku brick and follow Fujisaki down the stairs.

It takes them a while to get down to the bottom floor because they decide to walk as slowly as they can. They choose to do this purely so I can needlessly pad out this scene in order to maximize the suspense and tension.

Finally, they make it to the bottom floor of the burnt guard tower. The exit door is on their right, but looking to their left, they spot something completely remarkable…

It’s a collection of every Jackie Chan movie on DVD—awesome fight scenes, delightful comedy, and gripping drama in a tower of over a hundred discs climbing to the ceiling!

“Fuck yeah,” Fujisaki says, “Quick, someone go track down the others! We’re gonna have a watch party!”

They went to get Monk, Suyin, X, and Sunny and they watched all the movies without stopping. By the time they were done, the war was over! Too bad Amethyst and Isuzu missed it…

PERCEPTIVE ~ END 2