A New Ride

| September 26, 2023 - 5:00 PM

Lin clocked out exactly on time, grabbed her bag, and walked out of the office without a backward glance.

No overtime.

No last-minute requests.

Nothing tying her down.

By the time her coworkers even noticed she was gone, she was already halfway across the city, heading toward her next stop.

| September 26, 2023 - 5:30 PM

The motorbike shop was tucked away in an industrial district, a place that catered more to serious riders than casual hobbyists.

Lin liked that.

She pushed open the glass door, the smell of oil, leather, and metal filling the air.

A few custom bikes sat on display, their frames sleek and powerful.

Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered man with grease-stained hands glanced up. His name tag read Ethan Wong.

"Evening," he greeted, wiping his hands on a rag. "Looking for something specific?"

Lin stepped forward, eyes scanning the bikes.

"Something fast," she said. "Off-road capable. Reliable. No unnecessary tech."

Ethan grinned. "Ah. You're looking for a real machine, not one of those pretty city bikes."

Lin smirked. "Exactly."

| September 26, 2023 - 5:40 PM

Ethan led her to the back, where the more rugged models were kept.

"Got a few options," he said, gesturing to a row of used but well-maintained bikes.

Lin's eyes immediately landed on a Honda XR650L.

✔ Dual-sport. Could handle both city roads and rough terrain.

✔ Air-cooled engine. Less likely to break down.

✔ Minimal electronics. Less to go wrong.

✔ Good fuel efficiency. A solid long-term ride.

Ethan caught her expression and chuckled. "Good eye. She's a beast."

Lin ran a hand over the seat, already picturing herself tearing down an empty highway, far from the chaos.

She turned to Ethan.

"How much?"

| September 26, 2023 - 5:45 PM

Ethan leaned against the bike, arms crossed, watching Lin closely.

"For you? Five grand."

Lin raised an eyebrow. "That's cute. I'll take it for four."

Ethan smirked. "She's worth more than that. 4.8."

Lin tapped the handlebars, pretending to consider.

"Hmm. 4.2, and I'll take some spare parts off your hands."

Ethan let out a low chuckle. "You bargain like a mechanic."

Lin shrugged. "I just don't like overpaying."

Ethan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. 4.5, and I'll throw in a maintenance kit."

Lin smirked. "Deal."

| September 26, 2023 - 6:00 PM

Paperwork was signed. Cash was handed over.

Lin officially owned a bike.

Ethan wheeled it outside for her, handing over the keys.

"She's a solid ride," he said. "Take care of her."

Lin grinned, swinging one leg over the seat.

"Oh, I will."

She started the engine, the deep, satisfying rumble filling the air.

With one last nod to Ethan, she revved the throttle and took off—

Into the open road.

| September 26, 2023 - 6:45 PM

Lin pulled into the small veterinary clinic, parking her new bike near the entrance.

Her mother, Helen, had worked here for years—long enough that Lin had never questioned it.

But today?

She wasn't just picking her up.

She was evaluating.

| September 26, 2023 - 6:50 PM

Lin stepped inside, immediately hit by the overpowering scent of antiseptic, fur, and stress.

The waiting room was a disaster. Fur clung to the chairs. A coffee station sat abandoned, its surface sticky with a mysterious spill.

Behind the front desk, a frazzled young receptionist—probably in her early twenties—was furiously typing with one hand while holding a squirming Chihuahua with the other. The tiny dog yapped incessantly, its high-pitched screeches bouncing off the walls.

The girl glanced up, eyes wide, clearly overwhelmed. "Oh! Dr. Zhang's daughter, right?"

Lin nodded. "That obvious?"

The girl gave a breathless, exhausted smile. "You look like her."

Lin smirked. "Hope that's a compliment."

Before the receptionist could reply, a deep, guttural growl erupted from the exam room.

Then—BANG.

Something heavy crashed against the door, followed by Helen's sharp voice. "SIT. STAY. DON'T YOU DARE—"

A moment later, the door slammed open, and a massive Golden Retriever barreled out, nearly knocking over a frazzled woman in leggings and a designer hoodie.

"BUDDY!" The woman shrieked, chasing after the dog as it slid across the tile, skidding straight into Lin's legs.

Lin barely managed to stay upright as the dog wagged its tail furiously, tongue lolling like this was all just a fun little game.

Helen stormed out a second later, gloves stained, hair a mess, and eyes flashing with barely restrained frustration. "Mrs. Daniels, I TOLD you—he is NOT supposed to eat before his procedure! That's why he just vomited up half a cheeseburger ON MY SHOES."

Mrs. Daniels had the audacity to look sheepish. "Oh… I thought you meant just an hour before, not the whole day!"

Helen closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Counted to five.

Lin folded her arms, watching. This was… worse than she expected.

| September 26, 2023 - 7:00 PM

Lin took in the full scope of the disaster.

A single exam room. A supply closet that was barely stocked. One part-time vet assistant.

That was it.

No receptionist rotation. No extra hands.

Her mother was doing everything herself.

The waiting room was a war zone.

One elderly woman was arguing with the receptionist over whether her cat needed "real vaccines" or just "positive energy."

A man in a suit covered in bird feathers was frantically explaining that his parrot had "accidentally ingested a button" and was now insulting him in Spanish.

Meanwhile, Helen had exactly zero seconds to breathe before an older man burst through the door, cradling a yowling tabby cat like a football. "DOC! MITTENS SWALLOWED A RUBBER BAND!"

Helen didn't even blink. "Exam room two. NOW."

Lin watched in disbelief.

This wasn't "getting by."

This was barely surviving.

| September 26, 2023 - 7:15 PM

Helen finally emerged from the exam room, gloves stained, shoulders tense, exhaustion practically radiating off her.

She spotted Lin, eyes narrowing immediately. "You're early."

Lin shrugged. "Figured I'd check out the place before we go."

Helen narrowed her eyes further. "You're not just checking it out, are you?"

Lin smirked. "Of course not."

She gestured vaguely to the chaos around them. "Mom, this place is running on fumes. How do you even manage?"

Helen let out a slow, deep sigh, rubbing her temple. "I get by."

Lin gave her a flat look. "Barely."

Helen shot her a warning glance. "Lin."

Lin raised her hands innocently. "I'm just saying—if you're going to run a clinic at the farm, we're doing it RIGHT."

Helen exhaled, watching Lin carefully.

Then, despite everything—despite the chaos, the exhaustion, the absolute madness of this understaffed nightmare—she let out a small, tired smile.

"Alright," she said. "Let's go home. You can pitch your grand plan over dinner."

Lin grinned.

Perfect.