Yes

Under the suffocating skies of Kuala Lumpur, where smog shears off sunrises like a guillotine, I ventured into a necropolis that whispered doom like an iron-lunged prophet on his last breath. This graveyard, nestled in the heart of Brickfields—Kuala Lumpur's Little India—served as an unholy sanctuary where the living feared to tread, and the dead brokered deals in eternal slumber. "Welcome to the future site of debauchery and dreams," I declared to the unseen ghosts swirling around this five-acre desolate empire. Soon, this land would pulse with life, imbued with the scent of espionage as intoxicating as cheap cologne on a well-worn gigolo. The locals, Quran clutched tightly under their arms, skirted the area as if plagued, while the junkies—our unwitting sentinels—sought solace in the arms of White China. Heaven for the mind, hell for the soul; they sprawled across my domain, unalarmed by the specter of a middle-aged visionary conjuring an empire from forgotten bones. Th