Jacques

***

Yamilet took off her cap and complained, "It's so hot."

Jacques adjusted the air conditioning temperature.

Her short black hair cascaded down her fair ears. After removing her mask, she started whistling again. Then she unfastened her belt and removed her small leather gloves before taking off every piece of black clothing one by one in the car.

Listening to her relaxed tone, Jacques knew that tonight's mission was too simple for her.

But when he saw Yamilet revealing her full chest and slim waist so openly, he couldn't help but frown and remind her: "Close the curtains on the car windows."

The streetlights passed by like a rapid stream of meteors. The inside of the car fluctuated between light and dark, accentuating Yamilet's curvy naked body with soft light in the dimness.

She tied a strap to her left arm and hung the hand dagger on it. Her cat-like lips curled up: "No need. It's not the first time."

She took out a shopping bag from the backseat and pulled out a cheap-looking red dress alone with a makeup kit. She buckled straps around her thighs, snapped her hand spikes onto the straps, slipped on her skirt, which fell just enough to cover the sharps on her legs, and finally, she tossed her change of clothes, gloves, and military boots into the bag.

Jacques always drove smoothly. While waiting at red lights, Yamilet applied makeup quickly layer by layer with products from the kit. She even affixed false eyelashes precisely during stop-and-go traffic jams.

She applied foundation darker than skin tone, shaded cheeks with dark shadows around nose wings, highlighted cheekbones' ridges with high-gloss products, enhanced eyes' depth with brick-red smokey eye makeup, attached fan-like dense false lashes, applied orange lipstick as decoration... Finally, she put on a golden brown long wavy wig.

In no time at all, Yamilet's delicate face turned into a stereotypically sharp-featured Youtube influencer look.

After the reminder earlier, Jacque didn't utter another word until Yamilet got off from his taxi and instructed him to dispose of her clothes properly. He croaked out a hoarse-sounding "okay" in response, while driving away quietly like a ghostly cab driver once again.

***

The heavily made-up woman walked through the night in her black high-heeled shoes. She passed by a smoky barbecue skewer shop, a bright and gaudy pink neon-lit hair salon, and a bustling open-air food stall where glass bottles clinked together.

This was Hong Kong, a crowded city full of "urban villages." In such complex places, people were still busy making a living even late at night. Whenever men saw Yamilet passing by, their eyes would linger on her for a while. Some bolder ones, fueled by alcohol, would directly ask how much she charged per night.

Yamilet ignored them and easily dodged the lewd drunkards. She turned into a dimly lit small alley and avoided sewage covers that could catch onto her high heels. Soon, she arrived at her doorstep.

In her black bag underarm bag was the old Nokia phone and pistol. She found the key from it, and opened the anti-theft door lock. The key is decorated by an embroidered ornament with a red bell. It's a Japanese-style keychain that Dot gifted her before.

Dot said it would ensure her safe coming and going.

The motion sensor light in the rental building was broken again, and the staircase was dimly lit. But Yamilet closed and opened her eyes, seeing through the darkness. She hummed a tune while walking up to the third floor.

The straight corridor could be seen from end to end with stark white incandescent lights overhead. Since her neighbor moved out, shoes had been piling up along the hallway, becoming increasingly messy.

Even though it was almost 1:00 AM, the rental building was still buzzing with activity. Each small matchbox-sized room harbored different kinds of people with different stories. The thin wooden doors were useless in blocking out sound and even smells wafting into the hallway.

Yamilet didn't mean to pry into other people's privacy, but unfortunately, her ears and nose were too sensitive that she could automatically imagine what was happening inside each room as she passed by.

In Room 301 lived Yamilet's "peer": a girl who did mukbang videos online. Yamilet wondered how many burgers and fried chicken pieces she had eaten tonight because there were intermittent sounds of vomiting coming from inside.

Room 302 across from her belonged to a delivery guy who played League of Legends between Diamond and Monster levels as a jungler role, often taking girls for his teammates. Recently he hooked up with a young girl online whom he would voice chat until late at night.

Room 303 was quiet because its occupants - a breakfast vendor couple - slept early each night and woke up around three or four in the morning to start making youtiao (Chinese deep-fried dough sticks) and grinding soy milk so that oil fragrance mixed with soybean aroma stunk up the hallways then.

Mahjong tiles sounded like gunfire coming from Room 304 mixed together with beer smoke that made it hard to breathe.

Room 305 had only moved in last week by a designated driver who still hadn't finished work yet this evening. He came alone to Hong Kong to make a living; his wife visited him last month for several days but wanted also to come here for work opportunities. However, he refused leaving their child back home in Southeast Asia

Room 306 was a suite equipped with a living room and a kitchen where an office couple nearby lived together. At this moment, their wooden bed frame creaked as if it might break soon under some low moans mingling among squeaking sounds. Yamilet heard yesterday the boy carried his suitcase down accompanied by his girlfriend, wishing him bon appetit when he traveled for business.

She glanced at those men's shoes outside Room 306 which seemed two sizes bigger than usual. Her eyebrows rose slightly as if having a new understanding about that seemingly gentle girl next door.

At the end of the hallway, there were two empty units left vacant where the landlord said he wasn't urgent in renting them out since he owned several buildings collecting rent around Hong Kong.

Yamilet stopped in front of her own door, realizing that she hadn't smelled the fragrance of her neighbor's fried pork and soybean paste for a long time during mealtime. She suddenly felt a bit hungry.

After spending a year as "a female anchor who turned to live streaming because of money," Yamilet had experienced enough about life and planned to change environments for some fun. But when it came time to leave, she unexpectedly found that some images and smells in this small building had taken root in her mind and sprouted.

It seemed like she had encountered these usual life of usual people before.

Maybe it was a very long time ago, or maybe it was just in her dreams.

Yamilet held the key ready to insert into the lock while mocking herself for being sentimental. She didn't need any unnecessary empathy or memories.

***

The summers in this city were long and humid, which Yamilet hated. She never turned off the air conditioning when she left her apartment, letting the cold air seep out through the tiny gap under her door.

As her metal key came close to the lock, she suddenly stopped.

Something was off about the way the air flowed.

Yamilet raised an eyebrow and sniffed like a puppy with her sensitive nose. She caught a faint whiff of pine wood and a bright light flashed across her dark eyes.

Ah, it seemed like an old client had come knocking at her door.

She smirked and licked her lips with a rosy tongue before swiftly lifting up her dress hem to reveal her hand blade, and gripped it tightly in her palm.

It was a custom-made six-inch blade to fit her palm shape. The knife's silver edge glinted menacingly.

Yamilet slipped off her high heels outside the door, tiptoed silently with one hand holding onto the key in the lock and the other gripping onto the knife blade.

Tik-tak, the lock sounded like a counting down stopwatch.

As soon as she entered, she slammed the door shut behind herself with a flick of her wrist.

In an instant, Yamilet spun around, her dress hem blooming like a red lily in pitch darkness. Meanwhile, she slipped the shoulder strap of her black bag to her palm.

The light that peeked through under the closed doorway slowly faded away as Yamilet tossed the bag over to where a man was hiding behind a wall near the door.

The man reacted quickly, swatting away the object flying towards him.

At the same time, Yamilet charged towards him with her amulet bell jingling in the dim light, her left hand gripping a key and aiming for his face, specifically targeting his eyes that glinted coldly.

The man quickly raised his right arm to block her attack and attempted to grab her left wrist. However, he caught a glimpse of another silver flash out of the corner of his eye – sharper than the key and moving at lightning speed straight towards his temple.

He immediately lifted his left elbow to counter the woman's fierce attack, barely managing to block the blade just centimeters away from his face.

If he had been just a fraction slower, that razor-sharp edge would have sliced through his skin like butter.

Just as the man's right hand was about to grab her delicate wrist, it slipped away like a wet white snake.

Yamilet swiftly pulled her left hand back and flung the key aside, forcefully wrenching her right elbow outward.

In that instant, she unleashed all her power, using both hands to drive the blade closer to the man's face by four or five centimeters.

Bryce never intended to fight with Yamilet, so he had been holding back his strength from the beginning. But as he saw the blade getting closer and closer, and noticed the fierce determination in that wildcat's eyes, he had no choice but to use both hands to block her attack.

He tilted his head slightly away from the approaching blade and gritted his teeth: "Fuck, after all this time apart...you treat me like this?"

As soon as he spoke those words with seething anger, there was a loud bang and the wooden door slammed shut.