346-350

*Chapter 346: The Round Cake*

"Excuse me, excuse me."

Squeezing past the crowded passengers on the TapTap, swatting away a hand attempting to sneak into her backpack, she disembarked under the watchful eyes of the locals in Port-au-Prince.

The fortune teller watched as the overloaded TapTap wobbled away before turning to take in the surrounding environment.

"So, this is the most famous tourist attraction in Port-au-Prince?"

Frowning at the scene before her, Amanda couldn't help but mutter under her breath.

According to their guide, Sang, they had arrived at the only real tourist attraction in Port-au-Prince—the National Heroes Memorial.

However, as Amanda surveyed the surroundings, she found the sight to be far less grand or impressive than even the most ordinary park buildings in Washington, D.C.

"This should be it."

Following Amanda's gaze, Joey glanced at a few structures that vaguely resembled small water fountains, his expression equally unimpressed.

To be honest, if Sang hadn’t specifically emphasized that the National Heroes Memorial was Haiti’s only open museum of significant historical value, neither of them would have recognized the place as a notable landmark.

After a quick and cursory tour of the site, they exited the museum. The fortune teller shook his head at Amanda.

Just as its exterior suggested, the interior exhibits were also underwhelming and perfunctory.

Historically, Haiti had a short and turbulent history as an independent nation, with an extremely unstable political climate.

The concept of a "hero" in Haiti was almost laughable. Leaders once celebrated as heroes were often overthrown and later branded as tyrants who had oppressed the people. Over the country's brief two-hundred-year history, perhaps the most infamous memory was the brutal dictatorship of the Duvalier family.

Leaving the vicinity of the National Heroes Memorial, Joey continued walking around the area, with Amanda following closely behind, observing his actions.

Before long, they found themselves in the heart of a nearby slum.

As they ventured further, the once smooth concrete road gave way to dusty, uneven dirt paths. The buildings around them, initially relatively intact, became increasingly dilapidated, with collapsed houses dotting the landscape. Nearby, Haitian children, some completely naked, played among the rubble.

To Amanda, their play seemed extremely dangerous—one misstep could result in cuts from broken glass or jagged stones.

Yet, to the locals, it was an everyday occurrence.

Survival was already a struggle for these people; worrying about where their children played was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

They walked in silence for a few minutes until Joey's attention was drawn to a crowd gathered in a corner. He stopped in his tracks.

Noticing his pause, Amanda followed his gaze and saw a group of Haitian women holding plastic buckets, gathered in the corner.

Exchanging a glance, the two of them stepped forward.

As they approached, the women in the crowd turned to look at them with curiosity. White faces were a rare sight in Haiti, and their presence stood out.

Soon, Joey and Amanda saw what had drawn the crowd’s attention.

Sitting in the corner was a Haitian woman with a large basin in front of her, filled with neatly stacked yellow cakes. The other women appeared to be here to purchase them.

Upon seeing the newcomers, the woman selling the cakes enthusiastically grabbed two pieces and offered them to Joey and Amanda, speaking in an unfamiliar language—likely Haitian Creole—urging them to take the offering.

Joey and Amanda exchanged another look. Observing that the other women had already taken the cakes, with some halfway through eating theirs, they deduced that sampling the cakes was a common practice.

Joey reached out, accepting the cakes, and handed one to Amanda.

Taking the small, round cake from Joey, Amanda examined it. At first glance, it seemed ordinary—like a basic biscuit. However, as she held it, she noticed something unusual.

It was heavier than expected. Rubbing the surface lightly, a fine layer of dust crumbled off.

Seeing the dirt on her fingertips, Amanda looked up at the Haitian women taking small bites of their cakes. A deep sense of absurdity washed over her.

Driven by curiosity, she hesitantly took a bite.

The moment the cake touched her tongue, a coarse, earthy texture filled her mouth, an overwhelming sensation of grit and soil. Gagging, she instinctively spit it out.

The surrounding Haitian women burst into laughter—a warm, amused reaction to an outsider's unfamiliarity with their food.

Yet, Amanda felt no embarrassment or shame from their laughter.

She simply stared at the cake in her hand, her expression growing heavier.

“This is dirt.”

Turning to Joey, her voice was strained as she spoke.

Indeed, what they had mistaken for simple dough was actually made primarily of dirt—an inexpensive and widely available ingredient.

These Haitian women had gathered here to purchase and consume these "mud cakes."

At that moment, Amanda recalled the breakfast their team had eaten that morning in Port-au-Prince. Back then, they hadn’t thought much of the simple meal—rice mixed only with a little olive oil. But now, she realized that being able to eat rice with olive oil was already a privilege in Haiti.

Because for those living in even greater poverty, even a tasteless bowl of olive oil rice was an unattainable luxury.

This was a country in extreme poverty—beyond anything Amanda had ever imagined.

She had never known that in this day and age, people still relied on dirt to stave off hunger.

Especially coming from America, a country where wastefulness was practically an economic driving force, the stark contrast hit her with overwhelming force.

Hearing Amanda’s explanation, Joey silently put the cake away, choosing not to take a bite.

Meanwhile, as they stood there, more Haitian women walked away carrying buckets filled with mud cakes.

Watching their retreating figures, Amanda felt an inexplicable weight settle in her heart.

*Chapter 347: Clairvoyance*

Hiss…

In the midst of the tense atmosphere, a yellow python suddenly slithered out from the corner of the wall.

Seeing the sudden appearance of the snake, Amanda's expression changed sharply, and she was about to take action.

However, she quickly noticed that the local Haitian women around her showed no signs of fear. They continued purchasing the flatbreads in their baskets as if nothing had happened.

Seeing this, Amanda momentarily paused her movements.

Just then, the fortune teller standing beside her suddenly began to tremble.

"I see it!"

With a soft exclamation, Amanda turned her head and locked eyes with Joey, whose pupils had rolled back, leaving only the whites visible.

---

Near a tin-roofed nightclub in Port-au-Prince, Agent Phil carefully concealed his presence while keeping a close watch on a Vodou priest moving toward a secluded area. His expression was serious.

"It looks like he's heading somewhere very private."

Muttering to himself, Phil carefully observed the surrounding buildings and memorized the route they had taken.

When he turned his head, he saw his partner, Spike, walking openly down the street without any attempt at concealment.

"What the hell are you doing, Spike?!"

Phil’s blood pressure spiked at the sight. He quickly glanced at the Vodou priest ahead and, seeing no sign that the man had noticed them, lowered his voice and hissed at Spike.

"You're going to blow our cover!"

"Come on, Phil. Even if we tried to hide, we’d stand out anyway."

Spike gestured toward the Haitians passing by, many of whom were eyeing them curiously. "Do you really think that, in a country predominantly inhabited by Black people, two white guys walking down the street wouldn’t attract attention?"

Phil looked around again and fell silent.

He had been too focused on the mission and had completely overlooked their situation.

"So rather than sneaking around, we might as well act naturally and just follow him. Either way, we're going to get noticed. Besides, from what I’ve observed, the place this Vodou priest is heading doesn’t seem to be particularly hidden. I’ve seen a few Haitians passing by."

"Ahem. Alright, then let’s change our approach. We’ll try to blend in."

Clearing his throat to cover his embarrassment, Phil dropped his covert stance and adopted a casual demeanor, following the priest at a relaxed pace like a wandering tourist.

As Phil and Spike trailed behind, the Vodou priest finally reached his destination.

It was an imposing church, standing in stark contrast to the surrounding dilapidated buildings, which made its grandeur even more striking.

Originally built as a Catholic church during the colonial period, it had been taken over by the Vodou religion after their influence grew—particularly during the reign of François Duvalier, when Vodou power reached unprecedented heights. They had repurposed the church as a Vodou temple.

"You're back."

A Vodou follower at the church entrance noticed the returning priest. His gaze flickered to Phil and Spike, and he frowned.

"Who are those two?"

"No idea. Tourists, probably. They’ve been following me since earlier."

The priest glanced back at them and replied indifferently.

"Do you want me to take care of them?"

The Vodou follower made a subtle hand gesture.

"Forget it. The ritual is more important."

Shaking his head, the priest declined the offer. "They're foreigners. If they go missing, it could create unnecessary trouble—especially since they’re white."

Hearing this, the Vodou follower said nothing more. He stepped aside, allowing the priest to enter the church while keeping a wary eye on Phil and Spike.

"Looks like we’ve been made."

Noticing the hostility in the follower’s gaze, Phil stopped in his tracks. He recalled what their contact had told them—one of the places to be most cautious about in Haiti was a Vodou temple.

Standing at a short distance from the church, Spike looked up at the grand building.

For a fleeting moment, a vague vision flashed before his eyes.

---

Inside the dimly lit church, flames flickered in a fire pit, casting eerie shadows around the room.

"Narcisse!"

Illuminated by the firelight, a withered Vodou priest stood before the flames. A shriveled, fist-sized head hung from his neck like an amulet.

"Because of your failure, we lost the sacrifice, and the ritual cannot proceed."

"As punishment, you will take the place of the lost offering. You will serve as the vessel for the Queen’s return!"

As the withered priest solemnly declared this, a silent Black man stood motionless before him.

His expression was blank, utterly unresponsive, as if the words spoken had nothing to do with him.

---

"Spike."

The vision made Spike's brows furrow slightly.

As a medium, his clairvoyance allowed him to glimpse past events that had transpired in a place.

From what he had seen, this was something that had happened in the church before—though he had no way of knowing exactly when.

Just as he was lost in thought, Phil spoke up, pulling him back to reality.

"Why don’t we check out the area? We might find some useful clues."

With the Vodou followers keeping a close watch, barging into the church was out of the question—especially since they weren’t in the U.S., and Phil didn’t have the right weapons for a direct confrontation.

After a moment’s hesitation, Phil decided to start by investigating the surrounding area instead.

"Sounds good."

Spike didn’t object.

Following Phil’s lead, the two moved toward the side of the church.

As they turned, Spike caught a glimpse of a gaunt figure emerging from within the church. Around his neck hung the same shriveled, fist-sized head Spike had seen in his vision.

Just as he had foreseen.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 348: The Voodoo Queen*

"High Priest."

As the High Priest emerged from the church, the Voodoo followers guarding the entrance immediately lowered their heads, their voices filled with a mix of fear and reverence.

Ignoring the followers' greetings, the High Priest frowned, glancing in the direction where Agent Phil and Spike had disappeared. He reached up and touched the shrunken head hanging around his neck before nodding emotionlessly and giving an order to the followers.

"Tell the believers to prepare for the return of the Queen."

"As you command, High Priest."

As the true leader of the Voodoo cult, the High Priest's words were seen by his followers as the divine will of the great Loa gods—an order that could not be questioned.

His rough fingers grasped the shrunken head hanging from his chest, and from its uneven, distorted features, he seemed to hear agonized wails.

It was the Queen's wail. Night and day, she howled in the depths of hell, longing to return.

---

That night, the BSI team members gathered once again in their temporary quarters.

"With the help of the local embassy, we've secured some basic supplies," Agent Zhou reported. "And, more importantly, some firepower."

Thanks to Haiti’s unstable situation, the government allowed embassies to hire security personnel for protection. Through this channel, Agents Zhou and Angela managed to acquire a small cache of weapons from the embassy.

"Using the embassy's network, I contacted BSI headquarters in Washington and reported our current situation. Additionally, I attempted to breach the Haitian government's database. Based on the intelligence gathered, the newly instated Haitian president appears to have deep ties with the Voodoo cult. There are even records of Voodoo priests being integrated into the government."

Agents Zhou and Angela, who had visited the embassy, provided a brief report on their findings.

They also managed to borrow two off-road vehicles, freeing the team from the nightmare of traveling in local TapTap buses.

"Spike and I followed the Voodoo priest from last night’s nightclub," Agent Phil added. "We discovered a Voodoo church nearby. According to the locals, it’s a significant place of worship, attracting many followers. Additionally, I noticed an unusual number of pythons around the church."

"I later asked San about it," Phil continued. "He told me these pythons are raised by the Voodoo priests, and the locals dare not drive them away. The priests claim that harming these snakes would be an act of blasphemy against the gods."

The team absorbed Phil’s intelligence about the Voodoo church.

"That’s not all," Spike interjected, recounting what he had seen through his spiritual vision.

He took a sip of the lukewarm tea he had requested from Zhou at the embassy, grimacing slightly at the taste. It wasn’t great, but given their current circumstances, he accepted it.

"During the day, outside the church, I witnessed a ritual performed by the Voodoo cult. They were attempting to summon a Queen."

"A Queen?" Amanda murmured, deep in thought.

Angela, who had been utilizing the embassy’s satellite network, had already completed a search.

"Marie Laveau, also known as the ‘Voodoo Queen,’ was a Creole native of Louisiana and the feared founder of the Voodoo religion. Historical records depict her life in Louisiana as shrouded in mystery and frequently linked to supernatural events."

"Laveau was renowned for her beauty. She worked as a hairdresser, but in 1820, her husband mysteriously passed away. As a hairdresser, she gained immense fame, allegedly helping clients find love through different hairstyles. Some claimed that her hair carried a dreadful curse, allowing her to practice terrifying Voodoo magic."

Angela read aloud from the information she had gathered. Hearing this, Amanda’s expression grew even more serious.

Clearly, the "Queen" Spike had mentioned was likely none other than Marie Laveau, the infamous founder of Voodoo.

"So, the Voodoo cult is trying to summon a Queen who has been dead for over a hundred years?" Zhou frowned. Even after dealing with so many supernatural cases, he still found the cult’s actions shocking.

"It seems this is the great catastrophe foretold in the prophecy," Joey, the team’s diviner, finally spoke. He looked weary—clearly, the day’s prophecy had drained him.

Perched on his shoulder, the *Voodoo Doll* poked his left cheek with a tiny trident, seemingly trying to comfort him.

"In fact, while I was with Amanda earlier today, I had another prophetic vision. I saw a massive crowd of Haitians gathered together, celebrating something. Among them, I also spotted Voodoo priests leading the event…"

"If I recall correctly, the Haitian ambassador mentioned that two days from now marks Haiti’s annual Voodoo Festival," Zhou added. "On that day, massive religious ceremonies take place throughout the country. The festival was originally scheduled earlier in the year, but last year's disaster forced them to postpone it."

Listening to Joey’s description of the prophecy, Zhou connected the dots.

When it came to understanding Haiti’s local affairs, the ambassador had been a valuable source. Initially, he had mentioned Voodoo in passing, merely as part of the local culture. After all, Haiti’s situation was generally grim and uneventful.

But as it turned out, the ambassador’s casual remarks had provided critical intelligence for the BSI team.

"If Joey’s prophecy is correct, then the catastrophe is likely to happen during the Voodoo Festival."

By pooling their gathered intelligence, the team finally pieced together a probable scenario.

They now had a timeframe and a location.

In two days, at the Voodoo Festival in Port-au-Prince, the Voodoo cult wouldn’t just be celebrating—they were planning to summon the spirit of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen.

---

*(End of Chapter)*

*Chapter 349: The Slums*

*Late Night, Port-au-Prince.*

In the largest slum of the area, Sun City, sporadic gunfire echoed through the impoverished streets.

"If you don't kill the criminals, they'll come back to trouble you."

This was the message broadcasted through loudspeakers by the local Haitian police to the residents of the slums, a testament to how dire the law and order situation had become. The people were now forced to take justice into their own hands.

In reality, this was not without reason.

A devastating earthquake had recently damaged a local prison, allowing gang leaders who had been incarcerated to escape. Taking advantage of the chaos, they wreaked havoc, plunging Haiti's already fragile security into further turmoil.

Even before the earthquake, this infamous slum had been known for its rampant crime. Now, it had become the most chaotic and dangerous place in the country.

The gangs controlled everything here. They attacked anyone who threatened their rule, including the police.

At the onset of the earthquake, the Haitian police, under the command of the newly arrived U.S. military, attempted to recapture the escaped criminals. However, with over four thousand fugitives on the loose, even the U.S. military found it overwhelming. After a few days of effort, they naturally handed the responsibility back to the local authorities.

Meanwhile, due to Haiti’s notoriously slow bureaucracy, the damaged prison had yet to be repaired. This meant that even when the police managed to capture a few fugitives, they had nowhere to detain them.

As for the majority of Sun City’s residents, they could only rely on themselves. Armed with machetes, they organized nightly patrols.

"Ha! These fools actually think they can fight us with just a few knives."

A group of gang members, fresh from a robbery, emerged from a house, laughing and jeering.

Most of their weapons came from U.N. peacekeeping forces and local police stations affected by the earthquake. The disaster had caused massive casualties but also provided gangs the opportunity to scavenge military and police equipment from the rubble. Armed with these powerful weapons, they had transformed into an even deadlier force.

Even the Haitian police were hesitant to confront them directly.

As for the U.S. military personnel who had arrived earlier, they immediately withdrew upon discovering the gang's heavy firepower.

After all, compared to the expendable Haitian civilians, American soldiers' lives were far more valuable.

Walking openly through the slum’s streets, the gang members used flashlights—also looted from the peacekeeping forces—to illuminate their path.

"Wait a minute, I think I saw someone up ahead."

One of the gang members holding a flashlight suddenly noticed a figure moving in the distance. He stopped and alerted the others.

"Who could it be? Probably one of those so-called 'patrol teams' again."

Another gang member scoffed, completely unconcerned.

"If it’s them, that just means we get to make a little extra cash."

The vast difference in firepower led to starkly different mindsets.

When the patrol teams encountered gang members, they were filled with fear, while the gangs found the situation amusing. Some even took pleasure in sadistic killings.

The gang member who had spotted the figure felt no real threat. He simply adjusted his flashlight and aimed it toward the shadow.

As the beam illuminated the figure more clearly, they saw a young girl.

She was wearing a jacket, and the flashlight seemed to have caught her attention, making her turn toward them.

"A child? Out alone at this hour?"

The gang members exchanged confused glances.

However, their confusion quickly turned into something else—interest.

The girl was strikingly different from local children. She had golden-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Under the flashlight’s glow, a faint trace of purple could be seen in her hair.

"Hey, kid, where are your parents?"

One gang member’s eyes gleamed with greed as he grinned wickedly and took a step toward her.

"Want us to help you find them?"

He carried a submachine gun in one hand while slowly approaching her.

Surprisingly, the little girl did not run away. She simply stood there, motionless. It was unclear whether she was too frightened to move or simply unaware of the danger she was in.

As the gang member got closer, he could finally make out her delicate features. His sinister grin widened.

He reached out with his grimy hand, placing it on the girl's shoulder, exposing a set of unnervingly white teeth as he prepared to speak.

"What bad luck."

Suddenly, the little girl mumbled softly while lowering her head.

"What?"

The gang member didn’t catch what she said.

The next second, the girl lifted her head, looking down at the hand on her shoulder with a hint of disgust.

"I said, you’re really unlucky to have run into me."

She spoke in English. To a gang member who had never left Haiti and had never gone to school, her words were incomprehensible.

But he quickly understood their meaning in the most painful way possible.

The seemingly frail girl raised her small, pale arm and placed her hand over his.

Then, an unimaginable force erupted from her grip.

"AHH!"

A series of sickening cracks followed as the gang member’s hand was twisted and shattered into multiple pieces.

Overcome by excruciating pain, he collapsed to the ground, clutching his mangled hand and letting out agonized screams.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 350: Wolf’s Trail*

"Damn it! What just happened?"

From the gang members’ perspective, they only saw their comrade say a few words to the little girl, and the next moment, he was clutching his hand, screaming in pain as he collapsed to the ground.

"Open fire! Open fire!"

Though they weren’t sure exactly what had happened, the agonized screams of their fallen comrade triggered an instinctive response. The remaining gang members immediately raised their submachine guns and aimed at the little girl.

As ruthless criminals running amok in Sun City, these gang members wouldn’t hesitate to attack even during a devastating earthquake. They had no qualms about ambushing police officers who were recovering bodies from the rubble, just to steal their weapons and equipment.

So expecting them to show mercy just because their target was a little girl was futile. To them, there was no difference between adults and children—if someone caused them trouble, or simply annoyed them, they deserved to die.

Gunfire erupted throughout the slums.

Flames spat from the barrels of their submachine guns as they fired relentlessly in the girl’s direction.

A few seconds later, as their magazines ran dry, the gang members finally ceased fire.

"Damn it! We shot Moy too!"

"You should have warned him!"

"How was I supposed to know he’d just stand there without dodging?"

"You should have used your flashlight while shooting!"

"I only have two hands! I can't shoot and hold the flashlight at the same time! He should’ve known to dodge the bullets himself..."

"Didn’t you see he was injured?"

"It’s just his hand, not his legs!"

Shining a flashlight toward where the girl had been, they grimaced at the sight of their bloodied comrade. They began arguing, trying to shift blame onto each other.

"Wait a second... where’s the girl?"

Only then did the gang member holding the flashlight realize something was wrong. He swung the beam around, scanning the area around their fallen comrade's corpse, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

"That’s impossible!"

"I swear I just saw her there!"

A strange tension spread among them. Some of the gang members’ faces began to twist with unease.

"It’s voodoo... this is witchcraft!"

Instinctively, their thoughts jumped to the eerie and inexplicable powers of the Voodoo cults.

Gripping their guns tightly, fear crept into their hearts. They were ruthless enough to shoot at police officers and even UN peacekeepers for sport, but when it came to the supernatural, their courage evaporated.

For decades, fear of Voodoo had been deeply ingrained in the hearts of all Haitians.

Trembling, they cautiously stepped backward, completely forgetting to retrieve their comrade’s corpse.

"Are you looking for me?"

Before they could take a few steps, a crisp, melodious voice sounded from behind them.

They spun around.

Under the flashlight’s beam, they saw the girl standing right behind them, her sudden reappearance chilling them to the bone.

Tilting her head slightly, she gazed at them with piercing green eyes that shimmered with an eerie glow.

As their eyes met, a primal fear surged through the gang members—a sensation as if they were being hunted by a ferocious beast.

Then, in the next instant, they saw her extend sharp claws from her fingertips, baring her teeth like a wild predator.

With a low, guttural growl, she lunged forward like a blur of shadow.

"Awooo!"

"Ahhh!"

"Monster! Monster!"

"Help! No—!"

---

*Port-au-Prince, The White Palace.*

Heavily armed military police stood guard around the presidential palace, ensuring that no suspicious individuals could approach.

As a president who had seized power through a military coup, he naturally feared that someone would use the same method to overthrow him.

From the day he took control, he had fortified the palace with heavy firepower, even stationing a small army inside to secure his rule.

"...The most pressing issue now is silencing the protestors outside."

Inside the presidential office, the newly installed president wore a grim expression.

"We could deploy the military and suppress the protests by force," a military representative suggested.

Haiti’s military situation was complicated. Back in 1994, the president at the time had disbanded the army and replaced it with a police force. Since then, the country’s military influence had fragmented, with the disbanded forces transforming into warlords who refused to relinquish power. This had been one of the key reasons for Haiti’s political chaos.

The warlord’s proposal tempted the president, but after a moment of contemplation, he shook his head.

"No, we just came to power. If we order a military crackdown on protestors now, it could trigger a massive backlash. And let’s not forget the presence of the UN peacekeeping forces."

"The peacekeepers..."

The mention of them made the military representative’s face twist in disdain.

It was ironic—Haiti was a sovereign nation, yet its law enforcement depended on foreign peacekeepers to maintain order.

As warlords, they had no love for the UN troops. But reality forced them to cooperate.

"If we can’t suppress the protests with force, then our only option is reconstruction."

Deep in thought, the president finally put forth his plan.

"We’ll use the excuse of rebuilding disaster-stricken areas to pacify the protestors."

"Reconstruction? We don’t have any money for that."

The military representative scoffed. "Besides, the affected areas cover nearly all of Port-au-Prince. Proper restoration would cost hundreds of millions of dollars—that goes against why we took power in the first place."

"Relax," the president said calmly, "this so-called reconstruction is just a political tool."

Seeing the military representative’s frustrated expression, he continued reassuringly.

"Right now, the whole world knows about our disaster. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We can leverage global sympathy to raise funds for reconstruction. Then, we’ll set up a few construction companies under people we trust. We’ll funnel the aid money into those companies, and before anyone realizes it, that money will be ours.

"Publicly, we can claim that the donations have been fully invested in rebuilding efforts. The people will have no reason to protest anymore."

*(End of Chapter.)*