Red Sentiment

By Darren How

Cyrus lost his index finger in a freak accident and settled for a desk job with the Hong Kong Police. Reluctantly, he started an AI project using Natural Language Processing to predict suicidal trends. The engine picked up and classified social media posts into five categories: Rose, Ruby, Scarlet, Crimson and Cardinal. At Cardinal the highest level of alert, the targets were deemed mathematically ready to take their lives. Through this experimental project, Cyrus and his team saved many individuals, until things got a little more complicated when one unstable target intended to take 12,000 innocent lives along with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darren How
• Release date: Dec 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005517366

Darren How

Darren How has embarked on a marketing and PR career spanning over 20 years, taking him from Singapore to Hong Kong to China through the depths of journalism, advertising and corporate communications.He spent the first three years of his career as a copywriter, rounding off with OgilvyOne Worldwide. Then, he joined Jebsen & Jessen (SEA) to head the Corporate Communications Department and play a key role in the vast region-wide adoption of the conglomerate’s branding programmes.In 2008, he was transferred to Jebsen & Co in an expanded Greater China role, and moved to Shanghai in support of the rapid expansion of the Group’s mainland business.He steals time to write during business trips around Asia.

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RED SENTIMENT

By Darren How

ISBN: 9781005517366

Copyright 2020 Darren How. All rights reserved.

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[chapter 1]

The monotonous hum of the afternoon was broken by the sight and sound of five screaming naked men scrambling out of the slaughterhouse, the local slang for whorehouse.

Before long a curious crowd had built up at what would surely become the evening’s most talked about location in town. The Sunday shoppers, out in full force for bargains, were lapping up the scene too eagerly. Many had instinctively whipped out their mobile devices to add the unwitting newsmakers to their digital collection. Some of these shots were destined for tabloid fodder later.

Despite their best efforts, the men could hardly hide their scarlet-red instruments from public view, nor their pain or embarrassment. The way they were sticking out, unnaturally erect and smarting, heaven knew what had happened upstairs just moments before. Among the onlookers, an unconscious race was on to see who managed to post first on social media.

<4 months ago near Prince Edward, Hong Kong> Hotdogs! Who let the dogs out? Woof, woof.

Where footfall was at its highest along one of Hong Kong’s most iconic shopping districts, the five men were clearly struggling to deal with the problem literally on hand. The pedestrians-turned-photojournalists were jostling for the best angles.

"Show no mercy on these bad ghosts," an onlooker egged on.

It was no secret that this particular street in Prince Edward, popular among hundreds of souvenir peddlers, was also home to more than a dozen slaughterhouses. The city tolerated their existence, although it was not everyone’s favourite subject.

Today, the citizens had reason to implore again.

Why people everywhere? said one of the men to another rhetorically in accented Mandarin. Indeed, the land-scarce city could only offer more new onlookers at every turn.

Look, the police! someone shouted. The men’s relief quickly turned into disappointment when the police officer abandoned his vehicle and sprinted straight up the building. He had not come for them.

There were more urgent matters to attend to on the third floor.

Nonetheless, the speedy arrival of the police added even more mystery to the already bewildering scene. One of the five men took advantage of the crowd’s momentary hesitation to wriggle his way into the unlocked vehicle for sanctuary, and taking his cue the rest followed suit.

They almost regretted it immediately. The photos of five men skin to skin at the back seat of a car soon circulated like wild fire on the Internet.

*

Sergeant Ronald Lee noticed from the corner of his eyes the naked men who sought refuge in his car as he dashed up the stairs. On another day he might have been more concerned if not sympathetic. They were probably part of a tour group from the mainland whose travel itinerary included a special segment discreetly termed as the finer things in life. This type of tour arrangements was getting increasingly popular, and had incensed the purists.

Yet these thoughts were far removed from Sergeant Lee as he got closer to the third floor. Moments earlier he had responded to a plea from Control.

Suicide! Suicide! Chinese woman. Early twenties. You’ll be briefed more along the way. Go! Go!

Tasks of this variety were a novel addition to the force’s repertoire, communicated as another variation of anonymous tipping. Even though he had reached the scene within minutes as instructed, he wondered if he was too late seeing the commotion.

The second door from the staircase landing was the only one wide open on the third floor, and instinctively Sergeant Lee figured it must belong to the flat the men downstairs had vacated in haste. Past the metal gate into the room, he was greeted by the sight of five ladies of the night writhing in bed, semi-naked and semi-conscious. It appeared they had all recently thrown up, but he judged that their lives were in no immediate threat.

In one corner of the room he found his target, a petite young lady who could easily pass off as his teenage daughter’s classmate. She was startled to see him at first, but her resolve to finish what she had started was firm. Mug in hand, she went for the gulp.

Sergeant Lee knew in a split second that he had to improvise before she poisoned herself. Recalling the information provided by Control, the lady in front of him nicknamed herself online as Rourou and was from the province of Hunan in China. She had come to work in Hong Kong some six months ago in order to help clear family debts, a typical story which was shared no doubt with many others in the same building. Her suicidal tendencies had already surfaced in her second month here, and what kept her going was her desire to be reunited with her pet cat named Spring. In fact, her social media account was flooded with past photos of her with the cat, taken of course during happier times.

Unlike his daughter who also owned a cat, Rourou did not appear to have many friends, at least not online. The person with whom she had been interacting most often was a neighbour who was left with the custody of her cat. About a month prior though, this neighbour had disappeared along with any news of Spring. Her only link to sanity dead, so did her will to live.

I can help you find Spring, Sergeant Lee blurted. That was the best under the circumstances, and in truth he did not have any other game plan.

It must have worked, because as Rourou’s lips touched the rim of the mug, a look of utter confusion spread across her tear-washed face. Who… who are you?

That gave Sergeant Lee enough time for his next move. In a flash, he dashed across and flicked the mug out of her hands. The mug contents gave an ominous hiss upon hitting the side of her tiny bed. He could not imagine how rapidly her life would have ended had he reacted differently.

Then came the searing pain.

Plunged deep into his right arm was a kitchen knife which Rourou had evidently prepared to reward anyone who wished to interrupt. For a woman her size, she showed remarkable strength but it was her deftness that caught the police veteran completely off guard.

Being half-maimed and dripping with blood did not do any good to his cause, but Sergeant Lee, at the mercy of a disturbed mind, certainly did not expect what followed. Rourou suddenly went from berserk to flaccid, slumping into her bed as she began to sob uncontrollably. He was sure it was not the first time she had cried that day.

How did you know… how did you know… Her words were almost incomprehensible.

With the imminent danger out of the way, he did not know whether to attend to his injury as a priority or to the other women in the room still in agony. He ended up consoling Rourou first.

It came at a cost but at least Sergeant Lee had stopped yet another suicide attempt, to add to the glowing statistics. Today, he knew he was part of a very special movement the force had started.

With his one good arm he reached across for his walkie-talkie and radioed Control.

[chapter 2]

On the bottom right of his screen, the digital clock clicked into the milestone hour of 5pm, signalling the imminent end of the working day for Cyrus Lowe. After almost eight draining hours of facing his office computer, he could not wait to get home for more online surfing.

It had become a daily routine for him to use his final 30 minutes at the West Kowloon Crime Unit to go through some of the reports from Project Evening Star. Perhaps as the founder of PES, Cyrus needed constant reminder of his contribution to the force, and the reports fuelled his thirst for information as well as for pride.

Today, this particular report was the most interesting he had read in weeks. It was filed by a certain Sergeant Ronald Lee who had been mobilised by a timely PES trigger and thwarted the suicide attempt of a sex worker named Rourou.

Cyrus remembered Rourou well from his PES sentiment charts. She had stayed there long enough to warrant close attention, and finally moved into the highest category of alert which led to the heroics of Sergeant Lee the week before.

From the comprehensive report, Cyrus learnt that Rourou had confessed to being the sole cause of the now infamous Hotdog Gate so intimately coined by the press. For consecutive days the incident had headlined the Hong Kong media, as the citizens devoured the details of how five men ended up naked at the foot of a slaughterhouse building.

What the public did not know was the situation leading up to the incident, which Cyrus and his team were all too familiar about. He now had the report to thank for filling in the blanks for him. The PES engine, programmed to analyse sensitive words that suggested suicidal tendencies, had started to pick up Rourou’s online posts.

<6 months ago near Prince Edward, Hong Kong> Yet another day of unsuccessful contact. I die if my Spring lives not.

As the newest addition to the slaughterhouse, Rourou was hardly given any easy time by her five fellow more experienced roommates. While Rourou was a combination of youth, immaculate beauty and devilish figure, the other ladies of the night were best described as past their prime. They were not exactly unappealing, being barely into their thirties, but such was the nature of the skin trade that sex workers at this stage of their career were already referred to as old hands, or more cruelly old hens.

Soon after her arrival, Rourou naturally proved to be popular with the clientele, some of whom even came down south from the motherland especially to avail of her services. This of course did not go down too well with the rest of her roomies, who sometimes had to endure hours of idleness while their more illustrious neighbour entertained squealing men after men.

The slaughterhouse was a misnomer given that it was more of a room than a house, at no more than 300 square feet. By Hong Kong standards, this was already the size of a decent flat that a small, less privileged family of two could humbly dwell in. There were six tiny beds, lined up almost right next to one another offering little leg room in between, and further separated by flimsy curtains drooping down from the ceiling with a railing setup not unlike that of a typical hospital ward. It was usual that business went on in different beds at the same time. Patrons knew what they were paying for, and had they wanted more privacy they would have gone for services of the one floor one phoenix variety, which was how the locals described the notorious one-woman brothels.

It went without saying that all the romping that had been going on through the thin fabric was picked up by jealous eyes and ears in the adjacent beds. At first Rourou had been shy with her expressions, but as the days wore on, she found her groove and was moaning with reckless abandon. The men loved it. The women, while loathing every minute of it, had to give her credit for admirably fulfilling her job descriptions, the way they were able to in the past.

Soon, regulars and their referrals came in droves and relegated the other women to forgotten land. Being young meant Rourou had plenty of room for improvement, and learnt well she did. The vocal acrobatics intensified, not necessarily because she was enjoying it more, but only because that was what her patrons came for. Decked often in translucent robes that had become her trademark attire, she had men of all walks eating out of her hands. The robes were self-designed, with a cleverly sewn handle just beneath the back collar to allow removal at a quick swipe. Rourou charged by the hour, which was a favourable arrangement, as her patrons for understandable reasons usually could not last past a few minutes.

As business got better, her relationship with the roomies turned worse. Xiaohong, the most senior of the lot at 33, decided enough was enough. Then came a period of ridicule, scorn and outright bullying from the ladies, what Rourou described online as intolerable times.

At first it started mild. Rourou would find the occasional dead cockroach or house rat innocently slipped under her flattened pillow. For some inexplicable reason, that only heightened the arousal of her patrons as they discovered it, much to the bemusement and annoyance of the ladies, who were quick to move to their next sabotage plans.

Rourou would then find her spare clothes torn, cosmetics damaged and other personal belongings missing. Too many rats around the house, explained Xiaohong with a tinge of sarcasm, as the rest burst into a chorus of mocking laughter. Later, what really hurt was their obvious conspiracy to get her out of business. Word that she was freshly carrying sexually transmitted diseases made their way around the clientele, and subsequently the regulars came less frequently, but not enough to wholly stop her flow of admirers.

It got nasty.

Patrons coming for her were refused at the door, learning that she was apparently not feeling well. In fact, the roomies actually made sure she was not feeling well. Rourou one day found her regular tea carrying a strange bitter taste, and later realised a used tampon had been thrown into the teapot. That took her out the entire week, as she suffered from nausea and non-stop diarrhoea. When she finally had the will to confront them, Xiaohong flashed a knowing glance at the gang, who took it as a signal and shut the windows. For the first time in her life, Rourou felt really violated despite her profession. The four women exhibited great teamwork as they executed their respective roles in pinning her down and stifling her screams, leaving Xiaohong with the pleasure of being the chief punch lander. The beatings were to continue for many more nights, and Rourou was in no state to leave the house, let alone resume her work. Alone in the city, there was no one to turn to.

As the days went by, business for the other ladies flourished and a badly bruised Rourou was fast running out of cash. Her longing for home and her cat built up, and so did her pain.

<5 months ago near Prince Edward, Hong Kong> I can easily end it now, but not like this. My death must be worth it.

Unexpectedly one morning, she woke up to see Xiaohong quietly sitting beside her. Instinctively she cringed, bracing