There are always two things in my takeout box: hot pickled fish, and the Administration's 'traitor list'.
During the day, I am a five-star rider, and I can climb twenty floors without panting; at night, I am a 'ghost executioner', my shadow can sneak into the blind spot of the surveillance camera, and carve bloody words on the back of the traitor's neck - that is the pattern on the murderer's cuff when I was killed three years ago.
Until that day, I found an old photo in the target's house.
The child in the photo had his throat cut and had my badge on his chest.
What's even more ridiculous is that the inspector Chen Feng, who was chasing me all over the street, patted me on the shoulder during the day and said, "Thank you for your hard work," but at night he was auctioning my genetic samples on the dark web.
The shadow feels hot on the fingertips, and the countdown jumps to 29 days.
This time, the 'takeaway' I want to deliver is the life of the Administration.
