When we busted the Blue Lotus we never expected to find such a sophisticated operation in place. We knew about all the drugs, the money, the hookers, spies double-crossing one another and disappearing without a trace. We saw the money laundering in everyway you could imagine and a bunch you couldn’t. We have countless hours of audio recordings, mostly them partying and smoking opium until the red sun rose over Shanghai… but other things as well: gritty details of murder, conspiracy and intrigue, plans of deceit and domination. Of all the things we found out, none stunned us as much as what they were doing with the butterflies. Those tiny, beautiful little buggers, genetically modified to be utilized as single-use message couriers. So strange those brightly colored, lovely little passenger-pigeons of their nouveau-riche ring of criminal enterprise. They managed somehow to inscribe their tiny messages and orders on the delicate wings of the butterflies. Tried as we did though, none of us were able to figure out how they knew where to go. Even under the harshest of interrogations, it was this point that none of them would crack on. And, as you could imagine, that was what we wanted to know the most. How in the hell did they know where they were supposed to fly to?