The clinic fell briefly silent after Yang Ming's casual mention of a "vacation."
Jessica planted her hands on her hips and knitted her brows, trying to find some hint of a joke on Yang Ming's perpetually tired face, with its dark circles under his eyes.
Unfortunately, her boss's expression was colder and harder than a morgue freezer.
"Where to?" Jessica asked irritably.
"Hawaii." Yang Ming pulled open the bottom drawer of the triage desk and began checking its contents.
"Sunshine, beaches, bikinis. A good chance to wash off this lingering stink of sewage and blood."
Several forged passports lay in the drawer, along with a few stacks of hundred-dollar bills with nonconsecutive serial numbers.
Yang Ming selected a Canadian passport that identified him as an independent Doctors Without Borders physician.
The passport's biometric records were flawless, good enough to pass security checks at most international airports.
At the word "Hawaii," Jessica's eyes shifted involuntarily.
She had just received five thousand dollars in advance pay from Yang Ming, a fortune as far as she was concerned.
Her foster sister, Trish, had been talking endlessly about wanting to see a real blue sky by the sea, rather than the lead-gray sky over Hell's Kitchen, forever shrouded in industrial fumes.
"Boss." Jessica cleared her throat, a rare hint of flattery entering her voice.
"Look, the clinic hasn't been getting much business lately. You've cured all the seriously ill patients, and the rest just come in for Band-Aids. How about... making it an employee benefit? The kind that includes family?"
Yang Ming stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Jessica as though she were a patient with an intellectual disability.
"Sure." To her surprise, Yang Ming nodded.
Before Jessica could cheer, his cold, merciless voice shattered her fantasy.
"Round-trip first-class tickets, eight thousand dollars per person. An executive suite at a five-star hotel on Waikiki Beach, three thousand a night. Plus private beach rental, security fees, and meals along the way."
Yang Ming's slender fingers tapped an oppressively rhythmic beat against the stainless-steel tabletop.
"You and Trish cover your own expenses. Transfer fifty thousand dollars to this account, and I'll have the butler book your tickets."
Jessica's smile froze instantly, and the corners of her mouth twitched twice.
"Fifty thousand? Are you robbing a Manhattan bank?!" Jessica's voice shot up an octave.
"I only make five thousand a month! You expect me to sell a kidney? I'd have to sell both! (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻."
"Capitalist sunshine is never free." Yang Ming slipped the passport and cash into a concealed pocket inside his coat.
"If you can't afford it, stay put in Hell's Kitchen and look after the clinic."
Jessica rolled her eyes dramatically and abandoned all hope of tagging along on a company-paid vacation.
"Got it, you evil capitalist. Hope a coconut cracks your skull in Hawaii."
Ignoring her curse, Yang Ming went to the storage area and began organizing the equipment he needed to take.
The Ten Rings' base in Afghanistan lay deep in the Hindu Kush Mountains, a true military exclusion zone. There was no law there, no rules, only AK-47s and RPG launchers. He had to prepare for the worst.
The dark silver ring at the base of his left index finger warmed slightly, and Yang Ming's consciousness sank into its hundred-cubic-meter subspace.
He had organized the space meticulously. Heavy weapons seized from Gotham's Rat Gang and Falcone Manor were piled in one corner: FGM-148 Javelin antitank missiles, crates of 5.56 mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds, and dozens of MAC-10 compact submachine guns.
On the other side sat precision medical equipment: a portable CPR Machine, a miniature Hemodialysis Machine, and a large supply of Stark Industries' Targeted Cell Activator.
Any one of these items could unleash a bloodbath on the black market. Now, they lay quietly in Yang Ming's ring, giving him his greatest confidence for this journey.
"I'll be gone for about a week." Yang Ming put on his deep-black windproof coat and turned up the collar. "If someone you can't handle comes knocking, don't fight to the death. Take Trish and run. Let them smash whatever they want in the clinic. All that matters is that you stay alive."
Jessica froze for a moment. She hadn't expected her usually cold-blooded, money-grubbing boss to say something like that before leaving.
"Don't worry." Jessica waved a hand, hiding the unfamiliar flicker of emotion in her heart. "Unless Kingpin personally shows up with an army, I guarantee not even a fly will get through that door."
Yang Ming pushed open the clinic door and disappeared into the predawn darkness of New York.
The streets of Hell's Kitchen were as muddy as ever, with police sirens rising and falling in the distance.
Rather than hail a taxi, Yang Ming walked three blocks to a relatively safe underground garage and drove out in an utterly unremarkable used Ford sedan.
Destination: John F. Kennedy International Airport.
Sitting behind the wheel, Yang Ming's mind raced. New York was more than ten thousand kilometers from Afghanistan.
With Afghanistan currently in turmoil, the Federal Aviation Administration had long since banned all direct civilian flights to Kabul. He had to take an indirect route.
He would fly to a Middle Eastern aviation hub, then catch a connecting flight into the war zone.
Two hours later, the Ford sedan pulled into the long-term parking lot at John F. Kennedy International Airport.
The terminal buzzed with noise: travelers dragging suitcases, businesspeople anxiously checking their watches, and armed security personnel everywhere. News of Tony Stark's kidnapping had clearly affected security here as well, with military and police patrols noticeably more frequent.
Yang Ming adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and approached the Emirates first-class check-in counter with a simple black backpack on his back.
"Your passport, please, sir." The ground attendant wore a professional smile.
Yang Ming handed over the Canadian passport.
"Hello, Dr. Yang." The attendant tapped a few keys and confirmed his information. "Your destination is Dubai International Airport. Due to recent airspace restrictions, your flight may be delayed by fifteen minutes. Thank you for your understanding."
"That's fine." Yang Ming took back his passport and boarding pass. "I'll be connecting to Kabul in Dubai. Please make sure my baggage is checked through."
The attendant's hands paused, surprise flickering in her eyes. Kabul-that place filled with war and death. But when she saw the "Doctors Without Borders" note on his passport, her surprise turned to respect.
"Understood, Dr. Yang. Have a safe journey."
Yang Ming nodded slightly and headed toward the security checkpoint. The gate flashed green to let him through. Made from a special material, the Storage Ring completely evaded the metal detector's scanning frequencies.
Settling into his spacious first-class seat, Yang Ming asked for a glass of warm water and declined the champagne offered by the flight attendant.
The plane accelerated down the runway, its powerful thrust pressing him back into his seat. As a sensation of weightlessness swept over him, the Boeing 777 broke through the thick clouds above New York and flew toward the rising sun over the Atlantic.
Facing a long fourteen-hour flight, Yang Ming closed his eyes, regulated his breathing, and forced himself into a state of deep sleep.
He had to ensure that his strength and energy were at their absolute peak. On the next leg of his journey, there would be no chance to rest.