A thug ran at him from a fire escape. Leo didn’t think. His body moved—roundhouse kick, disarm, elbow to the throat. The motions were Jet Li’s, but the muscle memory was his own. The game wasn’t emulating on his laptop anymore. His laptop was emulating him into the game.
He was standing on a rooftop. Below, neon signs in Cantonese and English. Above, a helicopter with no logo. In his right hand, a 9mm pistol. In his left, a picture of a woman he’d never met but somehow knew was his sister.
A subtitle appeared in the air: Level 2 — The Wharf.