Informant

A hotel deep in the bowels of Shanghai. In a basement. A tiger sharpened his claws. A black mask with fangs. Yellow visor glass for the eyes. Strong hands. Snapping. Multiple targets to rip apart.

Masson felt like he was being followed. Looking over his shoulder. It was difficult with just one eye. He cursed Xiao Mei for stabbing him. Such a pain… His neck hurt. The only good thing was that his libido was released and he felt comfortable in his pants.

Nadia was a great fuck. Such an insatiable slut. He was a father now with how much cum he spurted into her womb. Her soft breasts wrapped around his dick. But she was a stripper. A prostitute. Not wife material.

Masson was to see a contact in Shanghai. He walked through the humid streets. Public as possible. But he still felt this feeling. Someone. Stalking.

He entered a crusty dump hotel. An old Chinese woman sat at the reception. Masson wanted to call her a dried plum. Instead she noticed him.

“Come this way…” She said.

Masson followed and they went to the basement. Dark. Dusty. Asbestos exposed.

The old woman motioned him to enter the basement. Masson obliged. Into the darkness. But there was a kerosene lamp on a table to illuminate and a bowl of chicken porridge. Still hot.

There was a horrible smell. Masson walked over to the corner. A black man lay on the floor. His neck with long gashes. He bled out and was dead. Still warm.

“What?” Masson said. It was Jackson. The informant. He was dead. Which meant…

Masson turned and saw a stocky man in the dark. His fingertips adorned with blades. He wore black robes and black tiger mask.

“One Moorfield down… Three to go…” He said. A Russian accent.