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"DUST MITES ATTACK! II - Skinless Faces"
Feb. 7th, 2025 01:17 pmDUST MITES ATTACK! II - Skinless Faces
9/12-9/13/2010
I.
After a month, the novelty of having his own office was just beginning to wear off on Sheng. With his back to the fantail window overlooking Canal Street, he sat at his desk and gazed happily at the frosted glass panel of his door. Reversed from his viewpoint, the black letters and Chinese ideograms read CHUAN LO TSING - FIST FOR HIRE. ARGENT PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS 12 MIDNIGHT TO 8 AM, with a phone number.
Despite his name and his appearance, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not actually Chinese. He was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants were thought by arcane scholars to be the ancient ancestors of the Han peoples. Sheng was five feet five, stocky but athletic, with the straight coarse black hair and tawny skin tones that led everyone to immediately decided he was East Asian. The inner eyelid fold was not very pronounced and his nose had an eagle arch that was distinctive. Sheng was also a snappy dresser, tonight he had chosen his favorite dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, all carefully tailored.
Chujir was farther away from Canal Street than miles could measure, sundered from this world by gralic barriers. And yet here he had somehow semi-adopted new family. Sitting at his own smaller desk further back by the door, Uncle Pao was storming through a mess of opened letters as if he had lost money in it.
Pao had installed himself as an unofficial aide, nagging as much as helping. He had no fighting abilities nor clerical skill, but Pao did possess a keen understanding of human nature and a sharp sense of when clients were lying. Watching the office, taking messages, cooking meals were other ways in which Uncle Pao made himself useful.
Pao had met Sheng Mo-Yuan by chance only a few months earlier, had become became caught up in an investigation and immediately insisted that they were related. Sheng did not reveal that, since he had come from Chujir, he could not have any living relatives in the world. Instead, Sheng quickly accepted Uncle Pao, allowed the old man to start helping out at the FIST FOR HIRE offices and treated Pao as a genuine uncle. Maybe it only meant that Sheng missed having a family, since his teammates at the KDF were so unlike him culturally. In many ways, Uncle Pao resembled members of Sheng's real clan back in Chujir, both in appearance and in mannerisms. And he had learned enough Cantonese with the KDF to be able to converse easily with Pao. They were two lonely men who welcomed each other's company.
In a sudden burst of agitation, the old man shoved all the loose papers into the wide center drawer of his desk and slammed it shut. Hitting his mid-70s had dried him into a thin scarecrow in a white T-shirt and open black vest. Between the opaque-thick eyeglasses and wild white hair sticking out in random tufts, he was a colorful figure that distracted clients. As he sat fuming at his desk, he turned outraged eyes at his supposed nephew.
"Have you heard from your friend in Seattle again?" Sheng asked tentatively. "Miss Grace Liu?"
"Nephew, she was being insufferable on some cruise ship in Mexico the last I heard. When an eighty-four year old woman is left against her wishes at a random city, you know she has misbehaved. Something to do with making rude announcements over the PA system about the menus. Something about missing pets on stew days..."
On his own desk, Sheng still kept a landline phone because it fit his sense of what Private Eye decor should include. He did not smoke, but he had a vague urge to see his office filled with smoke swirling under the lazily turning overhead fan. That, and daylight slanting in through Venetian blinds would be a nice atmospheric touch. Before he could speak, the sound of the street door closing two floors beneath them caught his attention.
"Ah! Perhaps a client who will actually pay you?" asked Uncle Pao, then added "For once." But he did creak up on to his feet and went over to open the office door before seating himself again.
Light footsteps trotted up the staircase and a tall slender figure swung into the open doorway. A young woman in her twenties, wearing tight grey leggings and a baggy maroon sweater, stuck her head into sight. A long straight wing of jet black hair swung with the movement of her head as she glanced from side to side. "Mr Sheng?"
Rising and gesturing to an empty chair in front of his desk, Sheng said, "Please, come right in. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan. Sometimes called Argent. This is my partner Sheng Pao. What brings you to us?"
"I'm in trouble, real trouble. Look at how my hands are shaking! My knees feel like rubber bands."
To his credit, Uncle Pao was immediately holding the chair for her and placing a reassuring palm against her upper back. "You are in good hands, miss."
"My name is Clemente, Clemente Suarez, I live in Queens. It's strange coming here at two in the morning, sir."
Sheng agreed. "I found most of my clients need help late at night, so I started keeping these hours. It's not called the Midnight War without good reason."
The young woman searched Sheng's face with desperation. "I'm ready for a complete meltdown, I'm freaking out, fuh-reaking out. It's the faceless deaths! You know about them, right? Faces without skin!"
( the rest of the story )
9/12-9/13/2010
I.
After a month, the novelty of having his own office was just beginning to wear off on Sheng. With his back to the fantail window overlooking Canal Street, he sat at his desk and gazed happily at the frosted glass panel of his door. Reversed from his viewpoint, the black letters and Chinese ideograms read CHUAN LO TSING - FIST FOR HIRE. ARGENT PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS 12 MIDNIGHT TO 8 AM, with a phone number.
Despite his name and his appearance, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not actually Chinese. He was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants were thought by arcane scholars to be the ancient ancestors of the Han peoples. Sheng was five feet five, stocky but athletic, with the straight coarse black hair and tawny skin tones that led everyone to immediately decided he was East Asian. The inner eyelid fold was not very pronounced and his nose had an eagle arch that was distinctive. Sheng was also a snappy dresser, tonight he had chosen his favorite dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, all carefully tailored.
Chujir was farther away from Canal Street than miles could measure, sundered from this world by gralic barriers. And yet here he had somehow semi-adopted new family. Sitting at his own smaller desk further back by the door, Uncle Pao was storming through a mess of opened letters as if he had lost money in it.
Pao had installed himself as an unofficial aide, nagging as much as helping. He had no fighting abilities nor clerical skill, but Pao did possess a keen understanding of human nature and a sharp sense of when clients were lying. Watching the office, taking messages, cooking meals were other ways in which Uncle Pao made himself useful.
Pao had met Sheng Mo-Yuan by chance only a few months earlier, had become became caught up in an investigation and immediately insisted that they were related. Sheng did not reveal that, since he had come from Chujir, he could not have any living relatives in the world. Instead, Sheng quickly accepted Uncle Pao, allowed the old man to start helping out at the FIST FOR HIRE offices and treated Pao as a genuine uncle. Maybe it only meant that Sheng missed having a family, since his teammates at the KDF were so unlike him culturally. In many ways, Uncle Pao resembled members of Sheng's real clan back in Chujir, both in appearance and in mannerisms. And he had learned enough Cantonese with the KDF to be able to converse easily with Pao. They were two lonely men who welcomed each other's company.
In a sudden burst of agitation, the old man shoved all the loose papers into the wide center drawer of his desk and slammed it shut. Hitting his mid-70s had dried him into a thin scarecrow in a white T-shirt and open black vest. Between the opaque-thick eyeglasses and wild white hair sticking out in random tufts, he was a colorful figure that distracted clients. As he sat fuming at his desk, he turned outraged eyes at his supposed nephew.
"Have you heard from your friend in Seattle again?" Sheng asked tentatively. "Miss Grace Liu?"
"Nephew, she was being insufferable on some cruise ship in Mexico the last I heard. When an eighty-four year old woman is left against her wishes at a random city, you know she has misbehaved. Something to do with making rude announcements over the PA system about the menus. Something about missing pets on stew days..."
On his own desk, Sheng still kept a landline phone because it fit his sense of what Private Eye decor should include. He did not smoke, but he had a vague urge to see his office filled with smoke swirling under the lazily turning overhead fan. That, and daylight slanting in through Venetian blinds would be a nice atmospheric touch. Before he could speak, the sound of the street door closing two floors beneath them caught his attention.
"Ah! Perhaps a client who will actually pay you?" asked Uncle Pao, then added "For once." But he did creak up on to his feet and went over to open the office door before seating himself again.
Light footsteps trotted up the staircase and a tall slender figure swung into the open doorway. A young woman in her twenties, wearing tight grey leggings and a baggy maroon sweater, stuck her head into sight. A long straight wing of jet black hair swung with the movement of her head as she glanced from side to side. "Mr Sheng?"
Rising and gesturing to an empty chair in front of his desk, Sheng said, "Please, come right in. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan. Sometimes called Argent. This is my partner Sheng Pao. What brings you to us?"
"I'm in trouble, real trouble. Look at how my hands are shaking! My knees feel like rubber bands."
To his credit, Uncle Pao was immediately holding the chair for her and placing a reassuring palm against her upper back. "You are in good hands, miss."
"My name is Clemente, Clemente Suarez, I live in Queens. It's strange coming here at two in the morning, sir."
Sheng agreed. "I found most of my clients need help late at night, so I started keeping these hours. It's not called the Midnight War without good reason."
The young woman searched Sheng's face with desperation. "I'm ready for a complete meltdown, I'm freaking out, fuh-reaking out. It's the faceless deaths! You know about them, right? Faces without skin!"
( the rest of the story )
