Brute Force

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The cloying odor of too much makeup and not enough soap rose from the two ragged prostitutes outside the fence, assaulting the first peach-blossom breezes of spring. Two rows of chain link, the inner one alive with high-voltage current, did nothing to stop the smell from drifting into the guard shack just inside the fortified gate. A plywood sign hung from the wrought-iron arch across the narrow road, reading MUDAN ENGINEERING in large block letters with the Mudan logo, a blood-red peony blossom, painted ornately on either side.

Liang, the younger of the two guards working the shack, had heard the whispered brags from the soldiers stationed inside the warehouse, out of sight of the general public. The soldiers were young — Liang’s age — and enjoyed boasting about the importance and secrecy of their mission. Mudan’s official stance was that they manufactured crescent wrenches of beryllium alloy. But soldiers didn’t guard wrenches, no matter what they were made of. Soldiers guarded weapons.

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