About twelve minutes later—twelve minutes of increasingly cold water, increasing exhaustion, and Háo Héng's increasingly dramatic complaints about hypothermia—a sound cut through the night.
An engine. Loud. Getting closer. VERY close.
A giant speedboat came barreling toward them at what seemed like suicidal speed, the bow wave creating a massive wake, the engine roaring like a jet turbine.
It showed no signs of slowing down.
"IT'S GONNA HIT US!" Háo Héng screamed.
The speedboat stopped inches from Tòumíng's face, close enough that the spray from its wake blew directly into his eyes, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the hull.
Think Tink The Tinkerer stood at the helm, shirtless as always, his grin manic and delighted, his yellow teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
He stretched out his hand while maintaining that unsettling grin. "CONGRATS ON NOT DYING! NOW GRAB ON!"
Tòumíng stretched his good arm up, his other arm still only semi-functional from the dislocation and relocation, and managed to grasp Think Tink The Tinkerer's surprisingly strong grip. The skinny teenager hauled him into the boat with strength that shouldn't have been possible from someone his size.
Háo Héng came next, scrambling over the side with less grace, flopping into the boat like a wet fish.
Then came Xuān Láng.
All three of them tried pulling the 366-pound man into the boat. They strained. They heaved. They used every bit of combined strength and leverage available.
Xuān Láng's considerable mass resisted, gravity and water drag making him seem even heavier than his actual weight.
"PULL!" Tòumíng yelled.
"I'M PULLING!" Háo Héng gasped.
"MORE PULLING!" Think Tink The Tinkerer commanded.
Eventually—after what felt like an eternity of coordinated effort—Xuān Láng's bulk came over the railing and landed in the boat with a heavy thud that made the entire vessel rock dangerously.
They all collapsed, breathing hard.
Then Think Tink The Tinkerer jumped back to the helm and immediately gunned the engine.
The speedboat shot forward with tremendous acceleration, the bow lifting as it gained speed.
"ARE YOU ALLOWED TO GO THIS FAST ON A BOAT?!" Tòumíng yelled over the roaring engine.
Think Tink The Tinkerer's grin widened impossibly further. "ARE YOU KIDDING?!"
He started explaining with the manic enthusiasm of someone discussing their favorite topic. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT A JET ENGINE CAN DO WHEN PROPERLY ATTACHED TO A CUSTOM 20,000 RPM MOTOR?! THE HYDRODYNAMICS ALONE ARE FASCINATING! THE THRUST-TO-WEIGHT RATIO! THE CAVITATION PATTERNS! LET ME SHOW YOU!"
He reached for a series of buttons on the console.
"Everyone should hold on!"
"Why—" Tòumíng started to ask.
Think Tink The Tinkerer pressed the buttons.
The speedboat accelerated from maybe 60 km/h to 305 km/h in approximately six seconds.
WHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOM.
The force was incredible. Like being in a car crash in reverse. Tòumíng, Háo Héng, and Xuān Láng all hit the back wall of the boat simultaneously, their bodies slamming against the fiberglass with bruising impact.
"SLOW DOWN!" Tòumíng screamed.
"SLOW DOWN!" Háo Héng echoed.
"I'M GONNA DIE!" Xuān Láng wailed. "AGAIN! DIFFERENTLY THIS TIME!"
The engine was LOUD—the jet turbine creating a sound that was less "boat motor" and more "fighter jet taking off." The wind screamed past. The boat skipped across the water like a stone, barely making contact with the surface.
Think Tink The Tinkerer just laughed, his hands steady on the controls, clearly having the time of his life.
In two minutes—TWO MINUTES—they crossed the entire width of Guanlan Lake and entered a port on the opposite shore.
Only then did Think Tink The Tinkerer slow down, bringing the speedboat to a relatively gentle stop at a private dock that looked significantly less official than the public marina nearby.
They hopped out—or rather, Tòumíng and Háo Héng stumbled out while Xuān Láng had to be helped because of his size and exhaustion.
Tòumíng and Háo Héng immediately leaned over the dock's edge and vomited into the water, the combination of near-drowning, extreme speed, and general trauma finally overwhelming their stomachs.
"Lightweights," Think Tink The Tinkerer said dismissively, hopping out of the boat with easy grace.
He tossed the boat keys to someone standing on the dock—a middle-aged man in casual clothes who caught them with practiced ease.
"Thanks for not reporting us to the coast guard, Jimmy!" Think Tink The Tinkerer called cheerfully.
Jimmy just nodded, clearly accustomed to whatever illegal activities Ghost Claw's team conducted at this dock.
They walked to a parked truck nearby—the same Ford F-350 that Tòumíng recognized from earlier.
Eric sat in the driver's seat, his slicked-back mullet visible even in the dim light, his tacky cowboy boots resting on the dashboard.
He looked up as they approached. "What happened?"
Tòumíng climbed into the passenger seat, wincing with every movement. "I have a broken leg, broken collarbone, broken ribs, and a semi-relocated arm. Also road rash. Also electrical burns. Also general trauma."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "At least your skin isn't burned off like last time. That's an improvement."
"That's a LOW bar for improvement."
"Still counts."
Háo Héng and Xuān Láng squeezed into the back seat, both of them looking absolutely destroyed—soaking wet, exhausted, traumatized by the entire experience.
Eric started the truck and pulled away from the dock, heading back toward Ghost Claw's base.
The drive was relatively quiet—everyone too exhausted for conversation. Tòumíng's broken bones throbbed with each bump in the road. Háo Héng was shivering despite the truck's heater. Xuān Láng had fallen into an exhausted half-sleep, his head lolling against the window.
Think Tink The Tinkerer, sitting in the middle of the back seat, was the only one with energy, humming some tune Tòumíng didn't recognize while occasionally making explosion sounds under his breath.
Eventually, they reached the familiar alley between warehouses, the abandoned office building that served as Ghost Claw's base looming ahead.
Eric pulled into the hidden garage entrance—the same one Tòumíng had burst out of on the motorcycle just hours earlier.
The door was already open, Ghost Claw standing in the entrance with her arms crossed, her gas mask reflecting the truck's headlights.
They climbed out of the vehicle slowly, moving like elderly people, every part of their bodies protesting.
Ghost Claw looked them over—taking in their soaking wet clothes, their obvious injuries, their general state of complete disaster.
"You look like shit," she observed.
"Feel like it too," Tòumíng replied.
"Did you get them both?"
Tòumíng gestured to Xuān Láng and Háo Héng. "Mission accomplished. Barely. With significant property damage and multiple felonies committed. But accomplished."
Ghost Claw nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Get inside. Sasha will patch you up. Again."