Hua Country, Decay Bar basement.
The crew-cut man sat on the sofa, silently whittling a stick to a very sharp point, occasionally aiming it at the DJ kneeling on the ground.
The DJ shivered in fear, his lip and ear piercings had been torn out and lay on the ground, bloodied.
The man touched below his broken eyebrow, his voice deep, "Have you thought it through? Last time I'll ask, if you do not speak or lie to me, I will poke out your eyes."
The DJ swallowed hard, "I'll tell, I'll tell. Last month, on the 28th just after eleven at night, a man wearing a hat and a mask brought a bag of money to the bar to find me, asking me to contact a woman, saying he wanted to deal with a man from Hua Country called Fu Shiyan.
I don't know why he chose me, I couldn't see his face, but his accent didn't sound like a person from A Country; he sounded more like someone from Hua Country.
He said if I dared to speak out, he would kill me, so I didn't say anything".