Tòumíng's eyes snapped open.
The world was blurry at first, shapes swimming in and out of focus, the fluorescent lights above him strobing like a dying star. His head was pounding, a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to originate from somewhere deep inside his skull. His neck was stiff, the muscles locked up tight, and when he tried to move, a sharp, stabbing pain shot down his spine.
He groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows, and immediately regretted it. The world tilted, spun, and threatened to tip him over again. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and tried again.
This time, he managed to sit up.
Standing over him was Eric. The truck driver's silhouette was unmistakable—the slicked-back mullet, the tacky cowboy boots, the leather jacket that had seen better decades. He was crouched down beside Tòumíng, one hand extended, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement.
"Took you long enough to wake up," Eric said, his Southern drawl carrying a note of dry humor. "I was starting to think I'd have to drag your unconscious body out of here myself."
Tòumíng blinked, his brain slowly processing the situation. The warehouse. The robbers. Lù Jī. The fight. The fall.
"Ow," he said, his voice raspy. "Everything hurts."
"Yeah, I bet. You fell from like twenty-five feet. That's gonna leave a mark." Eric grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, steadying him as he wobbled.
"You're lucky that girl didn't kill you. She was out cold when I got here, but she's already starting to stir. Whatever you did to knock her out, it worked."
Tòumíng rubbed his neck, feeling the giant crick that had formed from the impact. His vertebrae popped and crackled as he rotated his head, the sound like gravel being ground together. "Thanks for coming in time. I really appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. Ghost Claw called, said you were in trouble. I was already nearby, so it wasn't a big deal." Eric gestured toward the warehouse floor, where Lù Jī was still lying unconscious, her frilly dress torn and bloodied, her limbs splayed at awkward angles. "What do you want me to do with her?"
Tòumíng checked his ear, surprised to find the earpiece still intact. The damn thing had survived a twenty-five-foot drop, a fight with a superhuman killing machine, and his own unconscious body hitting the concrete. He tapped it, and it crackled to life.
"Hey," he said, his voice still rough. "Can you send someone to pick up Lù Jī? She should be fine for the most part, but she's gonna need medical attention. And probably a change of clothes. And maybe a therapist."
The voice on the other end paused, then responded. "Understood. We'll send a team to retrieve her. Is she stable?"
"As stable as someone who just got dropped from twenty-five feet can be." Tòumíng looked at Lù Jī's unconscious form, at the way her chest was rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. "She's breathing. That's about all I can say."
"Alright. We'll be there in ten."
The earpiece went silent. Tòumíng turned away from Lù Jī's body and walked toward the center of the warehouse, where the hostages were still huddled on the floor. Their hands were bound, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror. Some of them were crying. Some of them were praying. One of them, a young woman with a bruised eye, was just staring blankly at the wall, her expression empty.
Tòumíng crouched down, his fingers finding the zip ties on the nearest hostage's wrists. He snapped them with a sharp tug, the plastic biting into his skin, and moved on to the next one.
"Alright, listen up," he called out, his voice carrying across the warehouse. "You're all free to go. The robbers are dealt with. The police are probably on their way, so I'd recommend getting the hell out of here before they show up and start asking questions. You were all just innocent bystanders who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got it?"
The hostages didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet, their legs unsteady, their eyes darting toward the exits. Some of them helped each other, supporting the injured, the terrified, the broken. Others just ran, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they fled into the night.
One of them tried to slip away unnoticed.
The businessman. The one who'd promised six million yuan for rescue. He was moving quietly, keeping his head down, trying to blend in with the crowd of fleeing hostages. His expensive suit was wrinkled and stained with sweat, his face pale with fear, his hands trembling at his sides.
Tòumíng appeared behind him like a ghost, one arm wrapping around his shoulders in a casual, almost friendly gesture.
"Buuuudy," he said, his voice low and warm, carrying a note of playful menace. "About that money."
The businessman froze. His whole body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat. When he turned to face Tòumíng, his eyes were wide with panic, his face beaded with sweat.
"y-you did a bad job," he stammered, his voice cracking. "you tried to get me out, but i got hurt"
Tòumíng's grin widened. He shifted into his best customer service voice, the kind of tone that was polite and professional and absolutely unyielding. "I'm sorry, sir, but I believe the terms of our agreement were quite clear. You said, and I quote, 'Get me out of here alive.' And I did. You're alive. You're standing. You're breathing. You're free."
"But—but I got hurt!—"
"The fine print, sir." Tòumíng's voice was syrupy sweet, dripping with false sympathy. "You said get you out alive, not get you out unharmed. And I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Soooo... pay up."
The businessman's face went from pale to white, his eyes darting from side to side as he searched for an escape. There was none. Tòumíng's arm was like iron around his shoulders, holding him in place, his grin never faltering.
"I can't pay you," the businessman pleaded, his voice rising to a desperate whine. "I don't have that kind of money on me! I—"
Tòumíng sighed, a long, exaggerated sound that carried the weight of a man who was rapidly losing patience. "Well, I guess it's time for the Breaking Bad special."
He let go of the businessman's shoulders and walked toward a nearby pile of debris, his eyes scanning the wreckage until they landed on a piece of rebar. It was bent and rusted, the metal pitted with age, but it was solid enough. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands, and turned back to the businessman.
"Broken kneecaps," Tòumíng said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "That's the Breaking Bad special. Two swings, maybe three, and you'll never walk without a limp again. But hey, at least you'll be alive to complain about it."
He took a step forward, swinging the rebar lazily, the metal whistling through the air.
The businessman's composure shattered. His hands shot up in a desperate, pleading gesture. "WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT!"
He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a wallet, his fingers clumsy with panic. He dropped it to the floor, the leather thudding against the concrete, and then he ran. His footsteps echoed through the warehouse, his expensive shoes slapping against the concrete, and then he was gone, disappearing through the exit into the night.
Tòumíng grinned sweetly, watching him go. He picked up the wallet, flipping it open, and counted the cash inside.
Fifty-five thousand, three hundred and forty yuan. Not a bad haul. Not six million, but not bad at all.
There were also IDs and passports—multiple identities, multiple names, multiple faces. Tòumíng pocketed the cash and tossed the wallet to Eric.
"Store this or whatever," he said. "I don't need it. But you might find it useful."
Eric caught the wallet, his eyebrows raising as he flipped through it. "Multiple IDs. This guy was a smuggler, probably. Or a dealer. Either way, useful intel."
"Yeah, that's what I figured." Tòumíng turned away and walked toward the locked boiler room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He found the door, still sealed, the lock still engaged. He grabbed it, yanked, and the lock snapped open.
The door swung inward, revealing the fifty-plus workers crammed inside, their faces red and sweaty from the heat. They stared at him with wide eyes, their bodies pressed together, their breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Alright," Tòumíng said, his voice carrying across the room. "You're all free. The cops are probably on their way, so I'd recommend getting out of here before they show up and start asking questions. Unless you want to explain to them why you were working in a cocaine warehouse."
They didn't need to be told twice. They flooded out of the boiler room, pushing past him, their footsteps echoing as they ran toward the exits.
Tòumíng watched them go, then turned to Eric. "I'm gonna talk to the Ice Queen for a bit. Figure out what the hell just happened."
Eric shrugged, already heading toward the exit. "I get paid per mile and per seat anyway. Easy money."