Baota was one of Chrono-Entropy’s Time Cleaners.
He habitually wore a Venetian carnival glass mask with two round eyeholes and an upturned lower beak. Clad in a black trench coat, he looked like a guest attending an evening banquet. Every gesture he made was precise to the millimeter; every life he claimed was a matter of exact calculation. To cut even a single extra blood vessel was a mark of shame in his eyes.
No novice to the trade, he had already carved out a name for himself among the Cleaners. Recently, he had accepted a special assignment: the Corporation’s Chief Time Cleaner, “Quicksand”, had vanished without a trace in the year 2026, and Baota was tasked with picking up and completing Quicksand’s unfinished business.
The mission of the Time Cleaners was to traverse various timelines to eliminate any adverse factors impeding the development of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation. However, because each time jump consumed an immense amount of energy, the Cleaners always operated as lone wolves, carrying multiple pending tasks on their hands.
Baota took a turn through the Lower District, casting his gaze about. He watched people climbing up and down, wiring neon signs and painting walls like busy ants foraging for food, clearly repairing the aftermath of a war. It appeared that Quicksand had indeed been to these places.
Thus, he decided to complete the rest of his immediate tasks first—wiping out a succession of figures detrimental to the Corporation. Half a day later, his footsteps led him into the slums.
Just as he was about to strike his next target, a figure suddenly barred his path.
“Hold on,” the newcomer said.
The Cleaner Baota looked up to see a young man standing before him. He had a tall frame, a face smeared pitch-black with makeup greasepaint upon which a few crooked flames were drawn, and was clad in star-patterned pajamas. Clutching a iron shovel in his hand, he exuded a piecemeal air of sheer absurdity. Baota halted, staring straight at him. The youth stared back. The two mechanical individuals seemed to be competing to see who could go the longest without blinking, prepared to maintain their silence until the end of time.
“I am your colleague. What are you doing here?” the youth finally spoke stiffly. His words lacked context, sounding like the product of a translator program run through twenty consecutive iterations. Baota’s eyes scanned him several times before asking, “Which colleague?”
“Quicksand.”
A knife-like glint flashed in Baota’s eyes. “Quicksand, the Chief Time Cleaner of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation?”
“Correct,” the youth said. “I am him.”
Was the pajama-wearing eccentric in front of him truly the target he was searching for? Baota swiftly cross-referenced this individual with the portraits in his database; there was indeed a 70% match, minus the bizarre wardrobe. Just to be safe, Baota used his cybernetic eye equipped with a camera to capture the youth’s iris image. After processing and matching the data, he discovered that the person really was the Cleaner “Quicksand”.
“Mr. Quicksand, I have come under orders from the Corporation to locate you, and to conclude a few local assignments along the way,” Baota spoke accordingly.
Quicksand remained impassive. His mind was an absolute blank; naturally, he had no idea why the other party was so easily duped. Just a few minutes prior, the con artist Diamonds had instructed him to cozy up to this Cleaner. Diamonds had used cosmetic greasepaint taken from a female patron to smear his face entirely black, only to stare blankly at his face afterward.
Quicksand had overheard Diamonds muttering to himself, “How exactly did the face paint for the Cleaner ‘Quicksand’ go?” Having no idea himself, Quicksand had obediently let Diamonds tinker with him. Diamonds then twisted open a tube of lipstick, unleashing his creativity across his face, painting while murmuring, “I don’t remember. Let’s just paint him like Zhang Fei with a black face.”
Thus, Quicksand had marched over to strike up a conversation sporting an exceedingly hideous Zhang Fei face paint. According to Diamonds, “the Cleaner Quicksand” also carried a long-handled axe as a weapon. Lacking an axe, they used a shovel as a substitute. The final result was a wild style reminiscent of a visual kei rock musician making his grand debut before Baota. Even Baota, who never indulged in trivial thoughts, couldn’t help but think that the Chief Cleaner’s style resembled a carnival far more than his own.
Quicksand stood rooted for a long moment before picking up where they left off, জিজ্ঞেসing Baota under false pretenses, “What assignments?”
“To execute individuals who threaten the Corporation’s interests. I presume you are well-versed in this, Mr. Quicksand.”
“Is the individual you speak of the girl behind you?”
They spoke in hushed tones, rendering their words inaudible to bystanders. Baota nodded. Quicksand asked further, “Why kill her?”
“In the future, she will become a janitor for the Chrono-Entropy Corporation. While cleaning an air pump, she will violate operational regulations and trigger an explosion, causing the Corporation a financial loss equivalent to 96,360 hours. We must eliminate her.”
Quicksand said, “There is no need to kill. Can’t you simply jump to a point in time before she commits the error and patch up the oversight she leaves behind? At worst, just don’t recruit her into the Corporation as a janitor.”
Baota stated flatly, “Because killing is more efficient.”
Quicksand fell silent.
Baota continued, “Mr. Quicksand, as you well know, every time jump consumes a massive amount of energy, and time possesses a certain stubbornness. Even if a risk is averted once, she remains a hidden peril to the Corporation unless eradicated root and branch. We cannot conduct multiple time jumps for the sake of a single janitor, but we can easily dispose of her while completing our assignments for this time period.”
His cold eyes stared at Quicksand from behind his carnival mask.
“Besides, even if she doesn’t lose her life now, she will be blown to pieces a few years later during the Corporation’s air pump cleaning. Since death is the ultimate outcome regardless, what difference does sooner or later make? The exclusion of all events detrimental to the Corporation’s interests is the consensus among Cleaners. Mr. Quicksand, surely you haven’t forgotten?”
Quicksand watched helplessly as Baota turned, pressing the hilt of his laser sword. A plasma beam surged from the hilt, illuminating the astonished faces of the thin children around them.
Sensing the murderous intent radiating from this uninvited guest, the children realized he was a Cleaner intent on senseless slaughter and scattered with terrified cries. However, the prematurely aged girl failed to stand up. Her frail limbs caused her to collapse heavily onto the ground, her chest heaving violently like a pair of bellows.
Baota raised his laser sword, thrusting it toward the girl. The girl looked up, powerless to dodge, her cloudy eyes staring at Quicksand like livestock awaiting slaughter. Quicksand’s mind suddenly went blank for an instant. From those eyes, he seemed to gaze into an abyss, passing through swirling mists of bewilderment, fear, and agony. At the end of that abyss, he saw himself from many years ago.
In that fraction of a second, a string seemed to snap inside his brain, his body reacting faster than his mind. Baota felt a tremendous force strike from the side. His laser sword could not swing forward because Quicksand had firmly parried the hilt with his iron shovel.
“Mr. Quicksand, what is the meaning of this?”
Quicksand’s eyes turned a near-translucent grey, looking as though not a single shred of emotion drifted within them. “I was thinking, according to your warped logic, if everyone in the world is going to die sooner or later anyway, then what is the point of being born? Looking only at the outcome while ignoring the process is inherently biased. Do you skip an entire movie just to listen to the end credits music?”
He exerted several more degrees of force with his hands. “Furthermore, I don’t think that girl wants to die.”
Baota seemed astonished that he would speak so many words. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a flat, unfluctuating voice, “Mr. Quicksand, do not let emotion cloud your judgment. To a Time Cleaner, killing is a mission, time is a door number, and emotion is an obstacle. We Cleaners all have chips implanted in our brains to excise emotion. If your chip is malfunctioning, please apply to the Corporation for a replacement in a timely manner.”
“I am perfectly fine. You are the one with a malfunctioning brain,” Quicksand countered.
“In Norse mythology, the world is a massive tree named Yggdrasil. We Time Cleaners are like the gardeners tending to the World Tree. To ensure it towers grandly into the heavens, we have no choice but to prune away useless branches and leaves. This girl behind you is akin to a harmful stray twig against the world. This too is a mission. Upon killing her, we will receive credit points, gaining a greater voice within the Corporation, and perhaps one day we may even participate in events that reshape the world.”
Right at that moment, a laughing voice echoed beside the clashing duo, gentle and crisp like pearls rolling on a jade plate:
“In that case, why don’t you try catching a big fish like me? I guarantee it will let you leap straight into the Corporation’s executive ranks.”
Baota snapped his head around, only to see a silhouette standing before them with a beaming smile. He wore a white suit, a white top hat, and his handsome face was adorned with a single red diamond stud. The moment he appeared, it was as if all the splendor was drawn toward him, marking him as the grand finale protagonist. Baota uttered an unexpected sound at this uninvited arrival:
“Who are you?”
“Update your database,” the man whispered with a smile. With a speed so swift that the Cleaner had absolutely no time to react, he drew his Mauser pistol. Following the gunshot, Baota collapsed instantly onto the ground. He watched helplessly as the youth in white walked up to his side, blew on the smoking barrel of the gun, and flashed a sly grin. “To not even recognize your own Chief’s target—your wanted posters are far too outdated.”
It was the con artist Diamonds! Baota’s eyes went wide. In the Chrono-Entropy Corporation’s wanted notices, the con artist Diamonds never possessed a fixed countenance; the photograph on the previous bounty depicted the face of a rugged man. If the individual before him truly was the con artist, he was undoubtedly a massive fish that could not be ignored.
Though the bullet had embedded itself into his joint, Baota seemed oblivious to the pain. He swiftly tore his trench coat, secured his wrist joint, and charged toward the con artist! Even at point-blank range, Diamonds remained unfazed, raising his hand to fire several more lead slugs into the exact same wound.
Baota lost his physical balance, yet in that split second, he flipped the switch on his laser sword hilt. Showing no mercy, he drove the plasma blade straight through his own scapula, thrusting the beam toward Diamonds’ face. However, he discovered that the light blade could not advance a fraction further. Diamonds flashed a deceptive smile, his teeth nipping a localized time-stagnation bubble that froze the tip of the blade, halting even the dissipation of heat.
In that blink of an eye, Baota instantly released the plasma blade, using his bare hand as a cleaver to strike at the con artist. Diamonds dodged with effortless grace, only to notice a bizarre smile appearing on Baota’s face.
In the next instant, Baota twisted mid-air, his body extending as he lunged toward the prematurely aged girl like a flying carpet. He intended to seize the opportunity to assassinate the target.
A tremor shook Diamonds’ gaze; Baota’s maneuver seemed to catch him off guard. Just as the Cleaner was about to snap the girl’s neck, an iron shovel suddenly swung out from the side with immense momentum, striking Baota heavily across the head!
Electricity crackled and sparked as the Cleaner Baota collapsed. Very little flesh and blood remained on his head; mechanical components scattered all over the ground, and his brain chip was destroyed. Quicksand stood beside him, clutching the iron shovel as he looked down coldly.
“Mr… Quicksand… wh-why…”
“No reason,” Quicksand said callously. “You discourteous thing, I was speaking to you. Why did you suddenly resort to murder?”
Baota spoke haltingly, “Have you… rebelled? Betraying the Chrono-Entropy Corporation… you will regret this.”
Quicksand put his hands on his hips, playing the act to the very end. “Yeah, I’ve already jumped ship. This new place offers better benefits—I only have to work the night shift.”
Baota’s gaze flickered before finally dimming completely, like an old television losing power. Beside him, Diamonds bent down, plundering Baota’s personal belongings clean and stuffing them into his coat. He then patted Quicksand’s shoulder, sighing in admiration, “As expected of the employee I took a fancy to. Deeply loyal to this boss, and your performance as a Cleaner was absolutely flawless. Your peer didn’t even discover your true identity until the very end.”
“The magnitude of my loyalty to the boss is entirely determined by my salary,” Quicksand stated. Diamonds cried out in dismay, “Then it’s all over! You have no heart.”
Quicksand glanced at the Cleaner on the ground and muttered moodily, “I am not his peer either. He was someone who slaughtered the innocent; I look down on him.”
Diamonds laughed, “Quite right, you have rid the people of an evil scourge. It seems your skills aren’t half bad, kid—felling a Cleaner with a single shovel. Why don’t you join the rebel army? With you around, ‘Clepsydra’ will surely become a formidable force.”
Quicksand remained silent, looking down at the scattered wreckage. A sudden, sharp pain throbbed in his head. Baota’s face felt strangely familiar, and the name “Quicksand” struck an intimate chord within him. He felt a tide of memories roaring deep within his mind; it felt as though he was on the verge of remembering something.
Right at that moment, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning his head, he saw the aged girl looking up at him.
“Brother, thank you for saving me,” the girl said timidly. Though she possessed the appearance of someone in her sixties or seventies, her voice remained innocent and childish.
The headache ceased abruptly. Quicksand felt somewhat awkward, standing frozen as he blinked.
“No need for thanks. You can simply transfer the gratitude fee to this account number.” Diamonds hurriedly produced a pen, swiftly scribbling a string of digits onto a playing card business card. Before he could hand it to the girl, however, Quicksand delivered a hard punch to his side.
The girl said uneasily, “I don’t have… any spare money, but I can give Brother… a gift that I have treasured.”
She bent over, fumbling inside a nylon bag for a moment before carefully extracting a piece of paper from among some tattered rags. It was an animated sticker of the legendary hero Ace Joker. The edges of the sticker were slightly yellowed and curled—a dirty piece of paper that wealthy children would utterly despise. The girl peeled it open carefully, gently pressing it onto the back of Quicksand’s hand as if cherishing a newborn infant.
“What is this, Ace Joker?”
“Have you watched the Ace Joker animation too, Brother?” The aged girl’s eyes curved with smiles. “I’ve only watched a few snippets on the shopping mall screens. He drives away the bad guys and distributes food to people like me. I dream every night, hoping I can meet him.”
She uneasily touched the sticker with her wrinkled fingertips, then retracted her hand as if feeling unworthy. “And today, I finally met him! Though you aren’t Ace Joker, Brother, you are just like him—you are our hero.”
Quicksand looked at the sticker, blinking once more, momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I am not a hero.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am a…” Quicksand reached up to poke his own cheek, forcing a smile onto his expressionless face. “…regular employee of the Poker Bar.”
A gentle drizzle fell from the sky. Looking out from the terrace of the Poker Bar, the near and distant scenery of the Lower District appeared blurred, as if out of focus.
Diamonds and Quicksand had brought the wreckage of the Cleaner Baota to Hearts. Hearts expressed great shock, stating that he would have members of the rebel army ‘Clepsydra’ handle the matter, thoroughly concealing the location and traces of the Cleaner’s final disappearance. Baota wasn’t dead; he had merely fallen into a dormant state after his brain chip was destroyed. The rebel army planned to extract more information regarding the Chrono-Entropy Corporation from him.
Once everything concluded, Diamonds invited Quicksand to the bar’s terrace for a drink. A patio umbrella was unfurled over the deck, housing two small sofas, while a candle flickered on the round table. Looking past the railings, a dense fog enveloped the entire expanse like a shroud, punctuated by flickering lights.
Quicksand sat properly beneath the umbrella, shielding the back of his hand. Diamonds walked over, placing a glass of old-fashioned tequila with ice before him. He sat down opposite him, asking with a smile:
“How did this day feel?”
Quicksand replied, “Not great.”
“Yet I feel this holiday has been sufficiently fulfilling.” Diamonds arched an eyebrow. “A tour around the Lower District, a cup of coptis root espresso, masquerading as a Cleaner, and even saving a life.”
Quicksand stroked the back of his hand, where the sticker of Ace Joker given by the aged girl was affixed. He pulled his hand back slightly, as if terrified the rain might wet it. Catching his subtle movement, Diamonds remarked with great amusement, “But I didn’t expect you to knock down a Cleaner so cleanly and decisively. Perhaps you used to be a ruthless figure in the underworld; staying here as a wine steward and a pretty boy is truly a waste of your talents.”
Quicksand felt a sharp throb of pain in his head, silently closing his eyes. Once the pain subsided slightly, he picked up his glass and downed a large gulp.
Setting the glass down, he saw Diamonds gazing at him with a smile, asking, “Did you remember anything?”
Quicksand looked at Diamonds’ face. It felt like a specific piece of a puzzle, pulling at the nerves in his brain—simultaneously familiar yet utterly unreachable. Ultimately, Quicksand said:
“I remembered that you used my salary to tip the bandits.”
Diamonds burst into a hearty laugh, rocking back and forth. Quicksand stared at his fair neck, where blue veins were faintly visible, exuding a certain temptation that could incite a desire to kill. Having laughed his fill, Diamonds set his glass down and asked, “Then how do you find this place? Tell me the truth, were you originally a person from the Lower District?”
Quicksand stated, “Actually, I am the chief of the Upper Districts’ High Sectors emirates. Once I remember everything, I will punish you severely. Every time you tell a lie to me, I will lash your buttocks once with a whip.”
“Then work hard for it, Chief,” Diamonds remarked unconcernedly.
Quicksand asked once more the question he had posed before: “Are the Time Cleaners all bad people?”
“You have witnessed them today. Whether they are good or bad, I leave it to your judgment.”
Quicksand added, “I feel the time here is quite different from what I imagined. A cyclical timeline… is it ultimately a boon or a bane for us?”
The fine rain fell, pattering against the edge of the terrace like the plucking of an ancient zither, the melody desolate and sorrowful. Diamonds looked up, exhaling a soft puff of white breath. “In the past, time treated everyone equally, flowing in a linear fashion. Everyone walked a single journey from birth to death, unable to turn back. Now, it grants us the chance to regret. Consequently, a portion of mankind has transformed into gods, while another portion is cast forever into hell, unable to turn over a new leaf.”
Detecting a thin, light sorrow drifting across Diamonds’ eyes like the shadow of a cloud, Quicksand asked, “Is this place hell?”
Diamonds raised his glass, smiling gently. “No, this is the Poker Bar—a place to share a drink and a laugh with friends. I have very few friends, so right now I can only trouble my black-hearted employee to share a glass with me.”
The rims of their glasses clinked crisply. Quicksand raised his glass blankly, meeting Diamonds’ toast. He suddenly realized that not only Diamonds, but he himself seemed to possess very few memories of raising a glass to drink with another. Even if he did, it must have been a very long time ago.
Diamonds leaned back, his body sinking into the sofa. “Speak a few more words. Time in the past was like the air—though omnipresent and bound to our very lives, we frequently turned a blind eye to its existence.”
“If our lifespan is calculated at seventy years, the total time we spend looking at clocks throughout our entire lives amounts to a mere three days. Only during those moments do we become conscious of time’s presence. Now, it is simply that time has leapt before our eyes, clamoring its importance to us.”
As he spoke, the melodious tolling of a clock resonated from afar. The echoes flowed like water, washing over every single inch of the Lower District. Midnight had arrived. On this chaotic, filthy, yet vibrantly colorful land, time advanced in a state that was both disordered and systematic. Quicksand raised his wristwatch, observing his remaining time balance under the dim candlelight. This long day had finally drawn to a close.
Quicksand remarked rather petulantly, “And I wasted a precious twenty-four hours to spend a day with you.”
The misty rain obscured the sky, and the lights flashed and shifted, leaving the entire world seemingly filled with nothing but the monotonous sound of rain. Within the massive shadow of the building, Diamonds fixed his gaze on Quicksand with a smile—a smile layered with candlelight, nightfall, and lamplight, appearing both shifting and unpredictable, yet simultaneously resembling an eternal scene etched onto old movie film. Quicksand suddenly felt that the world he inhabited was a dream, with the person before him being the sole reality—or perhaps Diamonds himself was a dream, a fleeting trick of light falling across a curtain screen.
“Then I ought to feel deeply honored.”
Diamonds smiled, raising his glass to clink it against Quicksand’s as the floating ice gradually melted into the liquor.
“Because out of the 8.2 billion people in the entire world, you chose me, and me alone, to waste this day with.”
