Yang Ming walked over to the wall and gently pinched the pen between two fingers. Though it was embedded half an inch into the concrete, he pulled it out as easily as plucking a carrot.
Clack.
He casually tossed the pen onto the table, where it landed with a soft sound.
At the Control Console, Cisco instinctively ducked his head and muttered to Caitlin, "Are this guy's fingers made of steel? That wall is a specialized composite!"
Caitlin said nothing. She merely adjusted her glasses, her gaze fixed on Yang Ming's hands.
Those hands were steady and precise. They looked less like a fighter's hands than those of the finest surgeon she had ever seen.
Ignoring their discussion, Yang Ming took a quarter from his pocket and flicked it with his fingertip.
Ting.
The crisp sound echoed through the quiet laboratory.
"Now, forget your fists." Yang Ming tossed the coin to Barry. "Speed isn't about making you punch faster. It's about turning this into your scalpel."
Barry caught the coin. The metal felt cold against his palm, yet his hand seemed to burn.
"A scalpel?"
"Yes." Yang Ming walked to the center of the training area and gestured around him. "Cisco, give me three sets of targets."
Cisco froze for a moment, but still went over to the console. "What kind of targets?"
"First set: ten stationary targets. Standard humanoid targets will do."
"Second set: five randomly moving targets. The more erratic their speeds and paths, the better."
"Third set." Yang Ming paused, pointing to a row of CPR training dummies in the corner. "Connect those dummies to the explosion sensors. I need five 'hostage' targets."
Cisco raised his eyebrows. "Hostage targets? Doctor Yang, is this training or a bomb-disposal drill? If a coin misses the bull's-eye by just two