Chapter 14: Utopia

Howard Reinhardt sat across from Emperor, the enigmatic leader of Penguin Logistics, as Mostima leaned casually against the wall, Texas crossed her arms in quiet contemplation, and Exusiai twirled a bullet between her fingers, her usual carefree grin absent.

On the table, the package lay untouched, a quiet bomb waiting to be unwrapped.

Howard, now devoid of his coat, adjusted the scarf around his neck and clipped his detective's badge onto his shirt. He wasn't here to play games.

"How much do you know about the drug?" he asked, his voice measured.

Emperor, sitting back in his chair with a half-lidded stare, shrugged.

"Not much. Heard it was banned a year ago, but not much beyond that."

Howard nodded as if expecting the answer.

"Utopia," he began, rolling the word on his tongue like something bitter.

"A fitting name for something so deadly. The drug was designed to affect the occipital lobe and the limbic system—the parts of the brain responsible for sight and dreams. It acts as a neurotoxin, inducing a state of euphoria unlike anything else. The users? They don't just get high. They live their best possible lives in their minds, experiencing fabricated realities that feel more vivid than the real world."

Texas furrowed her brows. "That... doesn't sound much different from other hallucinogens."

Howard let out a short chuckle, shaking his head.

"That's the problem. The difference is the speed. Utopia addicts don't just crave the high—they need it. The addiction rate is almost instant, creating a dependency so severe that users keep consuming it until their bodies fail. And worse?"

His voice lowered.

"Its core ingredient has been linked to Oripathy development."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Mostima, usually detached, clicked her tongue.

"So it doesn't just kill—it makes them terminally ill first."

Exusiai frowned, the bullet in her fingers stilling. "That's... messed up."

Emperor's laid-back demeanor had shifted.

His shades hid his eyes, but the way his flipper drummed against the table betrayed his irritation.

"So how the hell is this even still around?" he asked, his tone sharper.

Howard exhaled and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he spoke.

"There's been a sort of shift in the underworld," he mused.

"Power moving in ways it shouldn't.

Too many pieces changing hands too quickly. What used to be scattered factions are now falling under new leadership. This?"

He gestured toward the package.

"It's just a symptom of something bigger behind."

Texas, silent until now, narrowed her eyes.

"And?"

Howard looked at her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Through a contact of mine, I got my hands on this batch and the information that it's been moving under your name."

The room's atmosphere darkened.

Mostima straightened from her slouched position. Exusiai's brows shot up in disbelief.

Texas' expression didn't change, but her tail flicked—a tell of rising agitation

Emperor, on the other hand, went completely still.

Howard observed the shift in their reactions, taking his time as he shrugged his coat back on.

"Someone's been using Penguin Logistics to shield their operations. A name like yours? It makes moving goods a lot easier when no one dares question it."

A quiet curse left Exusiai's lips.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. Who the hell's got the balls to pull that off?"

Mostima, ever unreadable, simply sighed.

"If they're using our name, then they've either got serious backing or they're really, really stupid."

Howard straightened his cuffs.

"Both, most likely."

Emperor let out a slow breath.

"I don't like being used, detective." His voice was calm, but the steel behind it was unmistakable.

"Didn't think you would."

Emperor leaned back, arms crossed.

"Why help us?"

Howard smirked, reaching for his cigarette case.

"Call it paying back a favor."

"Favor?" Texas asked, skeptical.

Howard glanced at her before lighting his cigarette.

"For sending Xiaolan here."

Emperor snorted, shaking his head.

"You're a weird bastard, you know that?"

Howard didn't linger. As soon as he had said his piece, he finished his drink, gave Emperor a small, knowing nod, and walked out of The Ends of Earth as if he had merely dropped by for casual conversation rather than delivered one of the most damning pieces of evidence Lungmen's underworld had seen in years.

Mostima, Exusiai, Texas, and Emperor remained at the table, the tension lingering in the air long after the detective's footsteps had faded into the distance.

"The hell was that all about?" Exusiai finally spoke, leaning back in her chair, her scarlet eyes flickering with something between curiosity and unease.

"Did he just walk in here, drop an entire bomb in our laps, and then leave like it was someone else's problem?"

Texas exhaled through her nose, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"It's not his problem, but he's making sure we know about it too," she murmured.

Emperor, still holding the package Howard had left behind, clicked his tongue.

"Man, I got enough paperwork to deal with already. Now I gotta deal with this? Someone out there's using our name for business? That's some real disrespect."

He spun the package once on the table before sighing.

"Penguin Logistics ain't a saint's organization, but we don't peddle drugs. And we sure as hell don't let outsiders use our name to hide their dirty work."

Mostima, who had been mostly silent during the exchange, suddenly held up her phone.

The screen's glow cast an eerie light across her face as she casually scrolled through a live news report.

"Speaking of dirty work," she muttered,

"Lungmen's finest just had a busy night."

She turned the screen around so everyone at the table could see.

The news report showed aerial footage of a vast underground complex, now a crime scene flooded with police and forensic teams.

The reporter, a composed woman in a sharp suit, spoke with practised professionalism, though her eyes betrayed just how shaken she was.

"Breaking news from Lungmen's underbelly—an extensive criminal operation has been exposed in what is already being called one of the most significant crackdowns in recent history. Authorities uncovered a massive drug den operating within the Feilong Gang's ranks, complete with illegal production sites and forced labour."

The footage cut to images of the aftermath: rows of drug packages stacked like bricks, workers being escorted out in dazed, trance-like states, and, most chillingly, twisted, bloodied remains wrapped in cocoon-like structures clinging to the ceilings and walls.

Mostima scrolled down, clicking another video.

This time, the footage was grainer, likely taken from a shaky police drone. The camera panned across the crime scene, lingering for a moment on the grotesque, organic prisons still hanging in the shadows.

One of them twitched. The forensic team quickly cut it down, revealing a half-conscious victim inside, alive but barely responsive.

The reporter's voice carried on, steady despite the gruesome imagery.

"Authorities confirm that among the victims were several individuals carrying traces of the now-banned drug 'Utopia.' It is believed they were involved in an expansive underground trafficking network. However, much remains unknown about the full extent of their activities, as a majority of the key figures were found dead—enclosed in strange, organic structures that forensic teams are still struggling to analyze."

The camera zoomed

The video ended, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. The glow from Mostima's phone flickered off, plunging the table back into the dim lighting of The Ends of Earth.

The sounds of the bar—the distant chatter, clinking glasses, and the steady thrum of music—felt strangely distant now.

Exusiai shifted in her seat, frowning as she drummed her fingers on the table.

"Okay… that's creepy as hell," she muttered, trying to shake the uneasy feeling crawling up her spine.

"I don't know what freaks me out more—the fact that they were wrapped up like that or the fact that some of them were still alive when the cops got there."

Mostima lazily tossed her phone onto the table and stretched, as if the whole thing was just another strange Lungmen mystery she had no business caring about.

"Looks like our detective friend had a little more fun than he let on," she remarked.

"I mean, we knew something big was happening, but this?" She whistled.

"Didn't take him for the artistic type."

Emperor leaned back in his chair, crossing his flippers as he processed what he had just seen.

"Man, I hate dealing with this kinda mess,"

Texas had been silent for a while, her sharp eyes watching the lingering image of the grotesque cocoons burned into her mind.

Unlike Exusiai, she wasn't just unsettled—she was assessing the situation, piecing things together in her head the way only someone raised in Siracusa's underworld could.

Finally, she spoke.

"We underestimated him."

Mostima raised an eyebrow.

"Who, Howard?"

Texas nodded.

"Back when he walked in, we had the upper hand. We had him surrounded. I had my sword against his throat, Exu had her gun trained on him, and you were ready with your tricks." Her gaze drifted toward the door as if she could still see him walking away.

"And yet, I don't think it would've mattered."

Exusiai's playful smirk faltered.

"You're saying we couldn't have taken him?"

Texas didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached for her drink, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down with deliberate care.

"I'm saying if things had gone wrong, he would've been the one walking out of here, not us."

The weight of her words settled over them.

Exusiai, always the first to crack a joke, found herself unusually quiet.

Emperor clicked his tongue, staring down at the package on the table with a contemplative look. Mostima just smiled that unreadable, knowing smile of hers, but even she had an air of curiosity now.

"Well, that makes things a lot more interesting, doesn't it?"

***

There are few things in this world that test a man's patience more than waiting in a queue at a fast food joint.

Bureaucracy, sure. Criminal interrogations, maybe. But standing in line, stomach rumbling, body aching from a night of work that would make lesser men curl up and cry?

That's a special kind of torment.

I find myself at MooMoo's, one of

Lungmen's finest establishments in the art of clogging arteries. A beacon of indulgence, where the smell of fried grease and artificial cheese permeates the air, and the workers behind the counter look like they've had their souls surgically removed. It's packed—no surprise.

Everyone needs their fix of cheap food to cope with whatever hell their lives throw at them.

Behind me, a group of teenagers chatter away, their voices blending into an incoherent buzz of excitement and youthful carefreeness.

A construction worker two people ahead rubs his face with both hands, his posture screaming exhaustion.

A woman in a business suit taps her foot impatiently, checking her watch every other second.

Misery loves company.

I glance up at the overhead menu, though I already know what I want.

The line crawls forward at a pace that can only be described as cruel and unusual punishment.

Every second feels stretched, as if time itself conspires to keep me from what I came for.

I let out a small sigh, rolling my shoulders. Sleep's been a distant dream lately.

Not that I was ever good at getting enough of it in the first place, but lately? It's been worse.

My body's running on fumes, and even though I know the LPD is going to be knocking on my door soon, I just want one simple thing.

Food.

Finally, my turn arrives. The cashier—a teenage girl with the dead-eyed stare of someone who's seen too much for her age—barely registers my existence.

"Double-size burger with a milkshake. Vanilla."

She taps in the order mechanically, and I slide my card across the counter. A moment later, my tray is unceremoniously shoved toward me.

I take it with the reverence of a man carrying a sacred artifact and weave my way through the sea of bodies to find a seat.

A booth near the window. Perfect.

I slide into it, place my meal down, and, without hesitation, take the first bite of my burger.

Gods above.

A soft, involuntary moan escapes me. It's embarrassing, but I don't care.

The grease, the salt, the absurdly over-processed meat patty—perfection. It's the kind of food that makes you forget your problems, if only for a moment.

I alternate between bites of the burger and sips of my vanilla shake, the sweetness balancing out the salt. For the first time in what feels like hours, I let my shoulders relax.

I'm bloody tired.

The LPD will come knocking soon, asking me to fInd them an answer. The reports, the lies, the little misdirections—spinning a web just enough to make them satisfied but not suspicious.

It's going to be a long process, and I'm not looking forward to it.

I take another sip of my shake and let my mind wander.

You know, if life had any sense of fairness, I'd be off having some grand adventure by now.

I'd be the protagonist of some heroic tale, traveling the world, gaining power, assembling a harem of beautiful women, and living the high life.

Isn't that what's supposed to happen when you get thrown into another world?

Instead, here I am. Working.

Not that I regret it.

How many people get a second chance? A true, genuine second chance? Most people live and die with their regrets, but I've been given an opportunity.

Even if it's a hard, exhausting life, it's my life.

Still. Wouldn't hurt to have some fun, right?

I lean back against the booth, staring out the window as my thoughts drift. If I had to set my sights on someone, who would it be?

The Sui siblings? That's a luxury even I wouldn't dare hope for.

Exusiai? Hah. I doubt I could make it work. The girl's got enough energy to power an entire city along with her shiny character . I doubt she would like a slow paced being like me.

Mostima? Now, there's a dangerous thought.

I rub a hand through my hair and sigh.

I'll think about it later.

For now, I've got a meal to finish.