Then i was on a train in Hong Kong, waiting to buy a ticket in the driver's car. The driver was a short, older balding man. In front of me were two young women who bought a ticket each for $4.50 HK. There was a clock on the wall and I saw that it had just passed the half hour and that the train was leaving on the hour. So I rushed forward to buy the ticket. The driver charged me $16! I thought it was because he thought I didn't know Chinese and could charge me something different. I asked him in Chinese why it was so much more expensive and he kept mumbling in garled english - on purpose I think. Finally I had to shout "in Cantonese, in Cantonese! I understand it!" so he started yelling at me in Cantonese that I had been late, so he charged me more after the half hour mark. I told him that a four-fold increase seemed unlikely, and we got into a heated argument. He had by now become a young kid, maybe in his late teens with a buzz cut and a round head. He charged at me, trying to kick me. I immediately kicked him back and knocked him to the ground. He told me to get out, and I said fine, I don't want to take this train anymore. So I jumped out of the now-moving train and onto a sloped grassy field.

He jumped out as well, and I kicked him down again and told him to stay away.  The grass sloped sharply up, and I climbed this steep hill, which was very long and triangular in cross-section. I got to the top, which was about 30 feet up, and looked down. I could see the boy trying to hide in the grass, so i grabbed a long stick and shook it at him menacingly. I continued along the thin top of the triangle, precariously running forward and trying to look for the end of it, all the while glancing back to see rustling movements in the grass. When i finally jumped down at the the end, there were several rows of similar-looking men dressed in white t-shirts and black pants, preparing for some kind of martial arts practice. The boy was now accompanied by several men who were his accomplices. As soon as they came down this end of the hill, they were wrapped up in barbed wire held by the men in white. Though it looked painful, none of them were bleeding. The men in white annouced that they were the Kwong family - my relatives! And that the others were trespassing on their territory. They would release them if they promised to leave in peace. After some false starts where they were recaptured, all but the boy left on their own. The boy, however, was still belligerent, so they held him by hand off to one side. An elder of my family came out and began some martial arts practice. He started by blowing a fireball out of his mouth and into a nearby fountain, where it floated as a perfectly round glowing orange ball. The boy said "Oh yeah? Watch this," and he shot his own fireball from his hands and into the fountain. One of the relatives immediately sucked up the firbeball into his mouth, slowly blowing it back out into rings of fire. To further increase the display of power, they added more fire of different colors and shapes. The boy didn't seem so proud anymore, and he quietly left.

The displays at the fountain became more and more elaborate, and finally there was one that appeared as a padlock. One of the men stood right next to the fountain and put his face in, making an image of the padlock dial to complete the picture. I wondered if it was safe for him to do that. He turned around smiling, and now overlaid on the ceiling (the fountain was open to the outside but had a roof) was a scene of the local police station. Evidently this was their way of hacking into the system. The relative now had an image of a policeman's uniform on, enabling him to access data. Apparently, they were a vigalante group who also helped to monitor corruption. 

The movie overhead warped into an old police drama, where they were strong-arming members of the press into publishing favorable stories, held inside a meat-packing plant. They selected one photographer to make an example of by asking which one of them wanted to publish their pictures, and he had raised his hand. Thry grabbed him by his tie and fed it through a machine on the ceiling that had a rotating part. It caught him up in it and he was rolled through, flattened in cartoon fashion. They then made him into ground meat, as they also owned the factory.

This was now being shown to a very nervous Japanese businessman with long hair who was trying his best to smile and look nonchalant. Tom Berenger was our family's attorney, much like Robert Duvall in the Godfather. He was seated next to the businessman at a small table in between tightly packed shelves, with a single swinging lamp shortly above. There was a package of ground beef with some green strains through it. Tom asked the man if he remembered Mr. Daiichi. The businessman kept hemming and hawing, laughing nervously and trying to say no. Tom leaned closer, and the man suddenly remembered. He heard that Mr. Daiichi had melanoma (which was the story the family was feeding to the press), but that the cameraman that was recording him running across a long, triangular hill had disappeared in his last moments. He kept talking, unaware who Tom was working for, saying that he had heard that Mr. Daiichi had been taken in by some idiotic family that needed powerful people to increase their own power through some magic ritual involving a specific animal each time. The fake smile on Tom's face melted away. Fortunately I awoke before I found out what he had in store for the man.