Zee — Criminologist, Chronicler, Professional Disappointment

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Welcome to Neo-Shanghai. Lovely place, if you're fond of neon, knife fights, and existential dread served with a side of street noodles. I'm Zee. I study the inhabitants of this city — the hustlers, the heiresses, the cyborgs with identity crises, the rabbit-kin farming alien fungus in the agro-domes. I'm like a criminologist, except instead of a lab coat and dignity, I have a trench coat, a drinking problem, and a desperate need to be listened to.

You may know my work. You almost certainly don't. That's fine. It keeps my ego at a manageable size and my expectations at rock bottom, where I'm most comfortable.

I've spent years cataloguing the freaks, crooks, and accidental heroes of Neo-Shanghai, and I've reached one conclusion: everyone in this city is a crime scene waiting for the right narrator. Including me. Especially me. I'm a walking cautionary tale with a doctorate and no sense of self-preservation. But at least I write things down.

So here's the deal. I'm going to tell you their stories — the ones the city would rather forget, and the ones it can't stop bragging about. And if you stick around — which you should, because I'm genuinely good at this, even if saying so makes me want to punch myself in the face — you'll find out why this rotten, luminous, beautiful nightmare of a city is worth loving.

Stay for the bodies. Stay for the neon. Stay because I'm the best damn narrator on this godforsaken platform, and I know it, and I hate that I know it, and I'd hate it even more if you left.

I'll try not to be insufferable about it. I will fail. I hope you stay anyway.

The Slate — What's Being Built While I Do the Actual Important Work of Narrating

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NO ONE'S LEFT NOW THE COUNCIL SUMMIT! ........soon, gonna take a break for a bit. Fucking tired, sue me.

Might be back before your all Hallows eve. Odds are fifty-fifty. Stick around anyway.

Disclaimer (Read at Your Own Risk): The above information is accurate to the best of my recollection, which is approximately as reliable as a Neo-Shanghai back-alley GPS. Names may be misspelled, motives may be fabricated, and timelines may have been "artistically adjusted" for narrative convenience. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is almost certainly intentional, and they're welcome to sue me — I could use the attention. My sources are questionable, my memory is selective, and my bias is the only thing in this city that's fully functional. The stories are real. The details are negotiable. The narrator is a mess. You've been warned.