Deep beneath the city, in an abandoned tunnel, Chen Mo took over an old warehouse thick with cobwebs and hung up a rusted sign reading Order Police Station. There was no official appointment, no orders from a superior, and even the police lights had been salvaged from scrapped cars.
Outside his "police station" sat several battered vehicles painted with the Order insignia. Some were civilian sedans fitted with police lights and a button that popped open a weapons case; others were dusty old police cars, their hoods bearing the faded words "Order Police." All the license plates read "Order A233 Police," except that he had deliberately painted the character for "police" a deep crimson, like the only light underground.
Chen Mo had once been an outlier in the criminal investigation unit. After being forced out for investigating a cross-border case, he simply went underground and made a living taking jobs in the gray zone: helping the families of missing people find relatives who had been smuggled across the border, intercepting dangerous contraband in the underground trade, and even facing off against gangs entrenched below the city. He had no law-enforcement authority, but his own rules kept this dark district in check. With no backup, he relied on those few modified cars and a group of helpers who were just as unable to operate in the light.
Among the rust and decay underground, his police station was an island amid the chaos. Every time its lights flashed, it marked a tear in the order below, hastily stitched back together. And beneath the hood of the old police car always parked in the most conspicuous spot lay the unfinished details of his case, as well as secrets that no one underground dared to touch.
