Inside a rented room on the third floor of the downtown building, Eric Tsang paced with a frown. Something about tonight’s deal felt... off.
What’s missing?
Then it hit him.
Andy Lau had given the agreed-upon code phrase—but no follow‑up, no police movement report. Andy Lau always updated him. Always.
This silence was wrong.
His brows knit.
At that moment, Anthony Wong Chau-sang spoke quietly. "Brother Tsang, the Taikoo people are here."
"Oh? Bring them in." Eric Tsang forced a grin.
Several Thai suppliers (Taikoo side) entered, led by an older man who greeted Eric Tsang like an old friend.
"Brother Tsang, long time no see. Business is good?"
"Hahaha, better now that you’re here," Eric Tsang replied, masking his unease behind warmth.
Samples were produced—white powder, fine cut, high purity.
Anthony Wong handled the testing. After a quick check, he looked up and flashed a thumbs‑up. "AA+ grade, Brother Tsang."
Eric Tsang’s eyes lit. The batch was large—worth tens of millions. If he moved this weight, he’d pocket a fortune and choke the market.
Greed dulled anxiety.
"Deal!" Eric Tsang clasped the Thai elder’s hand hard.
Behind them, Anthony Wong’s fingers twitched against a tabletop—Morse taps, subtle, fast.
A coded message left the room.
—--
At the temporary operations center, Superintendent Wong stiffened as the Morse code came through comm translation.
"Attention all units: Target preparing to trade! Once the exchange begins, move to arrest!"
—--
Every second dragged.
Under cover of dark, a smuggling boat nosed in toward the isolated stretch of Long Bath Beach—the delivery site.
Little B and Keung were on receiving duty.
"The boat’s here," someone hissed.
Bags changed hands. Product to car.
Then—
Police surged from the tree line. "DON’T MOVE!"
"It’s cops! Go!" Keung dove into the vehicle and gunned it—
—but spike strips had already been laid. The tires shredded. The car fishtailed, flipped, and slammed out, trapping both men.
"Long Bath Beach secure," came the radio report moments later. "Product recovered. Suspects in custody!"
—--
Back in the city, Superintendent Wong couldn’t hold back. "Good!" He grabbed the radio again.
"Group B—close the net! Do NOT let the Sparrow escape!"
Plainclothes teams, staged for this exact call, rushed the building and stormed the third‑floor room.
"POLICE! HANDS ON YOUR HEADS! DOWN! DOWN!"
Chaos exploded.
"!!?"
Among those forced to the floor was Crow, the Samsara player embedded as one of Eric Tsang’s men. His mind raced.
What the hell is happening!? This isn’t how it went last time!
In the original run of this dungeon, the sting ended in a draw—Eric Tsang slipped, goods partially seized, no major arrests.
Now? The police were running flawless timing!
Crow flattened himself to the ground. He wasn’t about to get heroic. Failure meant point loss—dying meant everything, including his life.
Only Eric Tsang kept his composure... outwardly. But anyone watching closely could see it: the tight jaw, the darting eyes.
No update from Andy Lau.
No word from Little B or Keung.
Something had gone very, very wrong!
—--
When Fenric, Inspector Andy Lau, Luk, and the middle‑aged woman (police-camp Samsara player) returned carrying armloads of boxed meals, they walked into a room buzzing with barely contained triumph.
Andy Lau forced a relaxed smile. "What’s with the celebration? You catch somebody?"
"Yeah!" one officer burst out. "Operation went smooth—goods seized, arrests made! Eric Tsang’s finished!"
"!!"
"!?"
For the first time all night, Andy Lau’s face went pale.
Luk stiffened.
"John!" Superintendent Wong strode over and clapped Fenric on the shoulder, his expression openly pleased.
"This whole operation went off because of the intel you provided. I’ll be filing commendations to HQ in your name!"
His grin was real. The win was real.
Then he turned.
"Inspector Andy Lau. Agent Luk." Superintendent Wong’s tone cooled. "Surrender your police credentials."
"..."
"..."
The room fell silent.
Confiscating badges wasn’t routine discipline—it was a serious internal seizure. Everyone stared. Realization dawned fast; whispers started.
Andy Lau let out a slow breath. No excuses. He handed over his ID.
Luk wasn’t so accepting. "Sir—what’s this? What did I do?"
"If you have questions, take them up in court," Superintendent Wong said flatly.
Two officers moved in. Luk tried to resist; they pinned him hard.
"What crime? What evidence do you have?!" he shouted, voice cracking.
No one answered.
Ignoring him, Superintendent Wong slipped an arm around Fenric’s shoulder and steered him toward the balcony.
"John," he said quietly, "I trust you—but internal cases are better with hard evidence. Anything we can use to tie them to Eric Tsang?"
Fenric knew exactly what he was asking.
"Eric Tsang’s paranoid. He’d never rely on trust alone. If Inspector Andy Lau really worked for him, there’ll be leverage—proof—kept somewhere secure." Fenric paused, then added, "You can search Eric Tsang’s office."
In the original plot, every piece of blackmail he held on his moles was hidden there.