Tòumíng walked back to the Ford F-350, his shoulders slumped with the absurdity of rushing to work only to find it closed for "internal investigations." He climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in.
"I'm free now," he said flatly. "Mine's shut down for the week. Internal compliance issues, apparently."
Ghost Claw didn't reply. Just kept humming along to whatever pop song was playing, this time it sounded like Taylor Swift, her fingers still tapping the steering wheel in rhythm.
She shifted the truck into gear and pulled away from the mining complex, heading in the opposite direction from Guanlan Lake. They drove deeper into the industrial district, the buildings becoming more sparse, more run-down, the kind of area where legitimate businesses gave way to abandoned warehouses and forgotten infrastructure.
Eventually, they turned down a narrow one-lane road squeezed between two massive warehouse buildings. The concrete walls rose up on either side, creating a canyon-like effect that blocked most of the sunlight. The road ended at what looked like an abandoned office building tucked behind the warehouses, partially hidden from any main streets.
Ghost Claw parked the truck and killed the engine.
Tòumíng examined the building through the windshield. It looked abandoned, cracked windows, faded paint, overgrown vegetation creeping up the walls, but not completely derelict.
There was a subtle difference between "abandoned" and "abandoned as a cover." This felt like the latter.
They got out and approached the entrance. Ghost Claw pushed open the door without hesitation, clearly familiar with the place.
Inside, the hallway was surprisingly clean. No debris, no graffiti, no signs of actual abandonment. The floors were swept. The walls, while old, weren't crumbling. And most tellingly, Tòumíng could hear the faint hum of electrical systems running.
They had power. Either from a generator or some other source that wasn't connected to the municipal grid. Which meant this place was very much occupied and operational despite its exterior appearance.
The hallway stretched ahead with multiple doors on either side, all of them closed, no indication of what lay behind them.
"What are all these rooms for—" Tòumíng started to ask.
"ROLL CALL!" Ghost Claw's voice cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Immediately, doors burst open. People emerged from various rooms with the speed and coordination of military personnel responding to an alarm.
Ten different individuals materialized in the hallway within seconds.
First was a woman with vibrant purple hair cut in a sharp asymmetrical style, her face covered in piercings, eyebrow, nose, multiple ear piercings, lip ring, and when she spoke, Tòumíng could see her tongue was split down the middle like a snake's. Her expression was pure resting bitch face, the kind that suggested she was perpetually annoyed with existence itself.
Next to her stood another woman who was absurdly tall, had to be at least six-foot-five, with pale skin and sharp features that suggested Eastern European heritage. Russian, maybe? She had the kind of build that came from serious athletic training, all lean muscle and controlled posture.
Further down the hall, two identical twins were actively fighting each other, not playfully, but genuinely throwing punches while other people tried to separate them. They looked to be in their early twenties, both with matching buzzcuts and athletic gear.
Various other figures stood in doorways or the hallway itself, their features less distinct from Tòumíng's position but all clearly part of whatever operation Ghost Claw was running here.
Ghost Claw scanned the assembled group, her gas-masked head turning methodically, then pointed directly at the purple-haired woman with all the piercings.
"Skip Tracer Lucy," she said, the gas mask muffling but not hiding the command in her tone. "Take Tòumíng downstairs to meet the Tinkerer."
The who now?
Lucy, apparently that was Purple Hair's name—sighed with the exaggerated exasperation of someone who'd been given an annoying task. Her split tongue flicked out briefly before she spoke.
"This better not be your boy toy," she said, her voice carrying a raspy quality. Her eyes tracked over Tòumíng with obvious judgment.
"I expected your type to be something other than 'reckless sleazebag teenage miner.' You're slipping, Ghost."
Tòumíng felt his face heat with embarasment. "Hey, I'm not a—"
"Quiet." Ghost Claw's single word shut both of them up instantly. She turned back to Lucy. "Take him downstairs. Now. The Tinkerer needs to examine his abilities."
Lucy tsked—, an annoyed clicking sound made easier by her split tongue—but nodded. "Fine. But you owe me for babysitting."
Ghost Claw addressed the rest of the assembled group. "Everyone else, back to your rooms. We'll have a briefing later about last night's operation and next steps."
The group groaned collectively, clearly disappointed that "roll call" hadn't meant something more interesting. They started filing back into their respective rooms, the twins still shoving each other as they disappeared through a doorway.
Lucy gestured for Tòumíng to follow her, already walking toward a door at the end of the hallway marked with a faded "Basement Access" sign.
Tòumíng followed, trying not to think too hard about what "examining his abilities" might entail.
The basement stairs were steep and narrow, descending into darkness that was only partially illuminated by bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling at irregular intervals. The air grew cooler as they descended, carrying the smell of concrete, electrical equipment, and something chemical that Tòumíng couldn't quite identify.
At the bottom, the basement opened into a space that looked like a mad scientist's laboratory had a baby with a hoarder's garage.
Everything was makeshift. Jury-rigged. Nothing professional or standardized. Workbenches covered in electronic components, half-assembled devices, tools scattered everywhere. Wires running along the walls and ceiling in chaotic tangles. Computer monitors displaying incomprehensible data. Chemical equipment that looked like it had been salvaged from a high school science lab and repurposed for purposes far beyond its original design.
The entire space was rustic in a way that suggested genius-level improvisation rather than proper funding or resources.
Lucy led him deeper into the lead-covered basement, Tòumíng noticed the walls had sheets of lead paneling, probably for radiation shielding or signal blocking, and stopped at a curtain made of heavy fabric that sectioned off part of the space.
She pulled it aside without ceremony.
Behind the curtain sat a very skinny, shirtless guy in an office chair, his legs crossed in a meditation-like position. His ribs were visible under pale skin, his arms wire-thin, his hair a chaotic mess that suggested it hadn't been brushed in days or possibly weeks.
He was examining a flask containing some kind of glowing blue liquid, holding it up to the light, swirling it gently, completely absorbed in whatever chemical reaction was happening inside.
Lucy gestured vaguely in his direction with zero enthusiasm. "Say hello to our glorified crackhead or whatever. Tinkerer, this is Ghost's new project. Project, this is Tinkerer. Anyway, if you need me I'll be wherever."
She turned and left without waiting for a response, her footsteps already echoing back up the basement stairs.
Fifteen seconds of silence passed. The Tinkerer continued examining his flask, seemingly unaware or unconcerned that another person had entered his workspace.
Then, abruptly, he set the flask down on a cluttered workbench and looked up at Tòumíng for the first time.
His eyes were wide, intense, slightly manic. He looked to be around Tòumíng's age, maybe nineteen, maybe early twenties, but with the kind of exhausted energy that suggested he regularly went days without sleep in favor of whatever projects consumed his attention.
He hopped out of the office chair with surprising energy and spread his arms wide in a theatrical gesture.
"I AM!" he declared, his voice loud and enthusiastic, echoing slightly in the basement space. "TINK TINK THE TINKERER!"