American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“The search warrant will be issued within an hour,” he told Sarah. “Until then, we’ll continue reviewing the surveillance footage to see if we can find any more information about the Dreamweaver’s whereabouts.”

They spent the next two hours tracking the Dreamweaver's movements within the monitoring system.

This was no easy task. While New York City's surveillance network was vast, it didn't cover every inch of the street. The Dream Weaver clearly knew this, and he chose a route that avoided major surveillance points as much as possible, only appearing at unavoidable intersections.

But even these limited images reveal some valuable information.

“He came from the east,” Lynn said, pointing to the map. “His earliest known location was a gas station in East Brooklyn, around 12:20 a.m. He filled up his car there and then drove towards the Fisher house.”

“Gas stations should have clearer surveillance cameras,” Sarah said. “Maybe there should also be payment records.”

“I’ve already had someone retrieve the footage,” Lynn said, “but even if he paid in cash, the gas station’s security cameras should have captured his face.”

He continued his tracking, marking every point on the map where the Dreamweaver appeared.

“After killing Fisher, he headed west,” he said. “He was last seen on a security camera near the entrance to the Holland Tunnel at 3:15 a.m. Then he disappeared.”

“The Holland Tunnel leads to New Jersey,” Sarah said. “Did he go back to New Jersey?”

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “His car was rented in Newark, and his last confirmed location was also in Newark. Maybe he has a base there.”

Just then, his phone rang. It was Morrison.

“The search warrant has been issued,” Morrison said. “The rental car company has been notified to cooperate. The GPS data you requested is being transmitted.”

"Thank you, Deputy Director."

Lynn hung up the phone and opened her email. A new email had arrived, with a PDF file attached containing the car's GPS records for the past week.

He opened the file and began analyzing the data.

“This vehicle has been mainly active in two areas over the past week,” he said. “One is downtown Newark, various scattered locations, probably for daily activities. The other is…” He zoomed in on a point on the map, “an industrial area in New Jersey. It looks like a warehouse or factory.”

“A chemical plant?” Sarah asked.

“It wasn’t the Greenwood Chemical Plant,” Lynn said. “It was somewhere else, on the other side of the city. But what’s interesting is that this vehicle has appeared there many times, each time staying for several hours.”

“Maybe that’s their base,” Sarah said, “or a place where they store explosives.”

Lynn carefully examined the location. GPS records showed that the Dreamweaver's car had been to that industrial area five times in the past week, each time late at night or in the early morning.

“We need to go there and take a look,” he said, “but before that, I want to confirm where the Dreamweaver is now.”

He checked the latest data recorded by the GPS. The vehicle's current location is...
“He’s in Manhattan,” Lynn said, his voice tense. “His car’s been parked in a parking lot in Midtown for three hours.”

“Midtown,” Sarah repeated, “the Grand Central Building is located in Midtown.”

They exchanged a glance and stood up at the same time.

“We need to act immediately,” Lynn said. “If the Dreamweaver is near the Grand Central Building, he might be on some mission—reconnaissance, planting bombs, or something else. We can’t let him continue.”

“I’ll go call for backup,” Sarah said, already picking up the phone.

“No,” Lynn stopped her, “let’s not alert too many people. We don’t know if the Dream Weaver has any accomplices, and if we act rashly, we might alert him. Let’s go and check things out first, see what he’s up to.”

"Just the two of us?" Sarah frowned. "To deal with a mutant who can kill with his mind?"

“His abilities are primarily effective while he’s asleep,” Lynn said. “As long as we stay alert and don’t give him a chance to launch a mental attack, we won’t be in too much danger. And,” he picked up his gun and checked the magazine, “even with his powerful mental abilities, he can’t stop a bullet.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But if the situation changes, we'll call for backup immediately."

"certainly."

They took the elevator down to the underground parking lot, jumped into their official car, and drove towards Midtown Manhattan.

Traffic was congested in the afternoon, but Lynn turned on her sirens and flashed her lights, weaving quickly through the traffic. Cars around her gave way, and she sped through several blocks at near-maximum speed.

GPS showed that Dreamweaver's car was parked in an underground parking garage near 42nd Street, just two blocks from the Grand Central Building.

“He chose the location very strategically,” Lynn said as he drove. “The parking lot is public, with thousands of cars coming and going every day; nobody would notice a rental car. And it’s only a few minutes’ walk from there to the Grand Central Building.”

What do you think he's doing?

“Perhaps he’s conducting reconnaissance,” Lynn said, “making final preparations for the upcoming attack. Or…” His expression turned serious, “or he’s waiting for another target.”

"Another target?"

“Fischer wasn’t the only person he killed,” Lynn said. “His file shows he was a professional hitman, known in the underworld as ‘The Dream Weaver.’ If the Brotherhood hired him, it probably wasn’t just to kill Fisher.”

"Who else could be the target?"

Lynn thought for a moment. "Anyone who knows their plan, anyone who could be an obstacle. Maybe another middleman, maybe a witness who might leak information."

His thoughts suddenly paused for a moment.

“Or,” he said, his voice lowering, “it’s us.”

Sarah glanced at him. "You mean he might be tracking us?"

“Think about it,” Lynn said. “We were investigating the chemical plant explosion, we went to Fisher’s house, and we discovered the bombing plan. If the Brotherhood has people monitoring these places, they might already know we’re there.”

"But how could they know we would track down the Dreamweaver?"

“They may not know,” Lynn said, “but they don’t need to know the specifics. Just knowing that FBI agents are investigating is enough for them to take precautions. And the most effective way to eliminate a potential threat is to eliminate the threat itself.”

Sarah's hand unconsciously reached for her holster. "You mean, we might be the Dreamweaver's next target?"

“Possibly,” Lynn said, “but that also means that as long as we stay vigilant and don’t fall into his trap, we have a chance to catch him.”

They arrived at their destination—a public parking lot with three underground levels. At the entrance was a small toll booth, staffed by a middle-aged man who looked drowsy.

Lynn stopped the car and showed his identification. "FBI. We're tracking a car with the license plate number..." He recited the Dreamweaver's license plate.

The parking attendant paused for a moment, then checked the computer. "That car is on level B2, in parking space number 34. It's been parked for four hours."

"Has anyone seen the driver?" "I don't know," the toll collector shook his head, "I just changed shifts. You can ask the people in the monitoring room."

Lynn thanked him and then drove into the parking lot.

The underground parking garage was dimly lit, with only the intermittent fluorescent lights casting a pale glow. The concrete pillars and walls were covered in stains and graffiti, and the air reeked of gasoline and exhaust fumes.

They drove down the ramp to level B2, slowly searching for parking space number 34.

There weren't many cars in the parking lot; only about a third of the spaces were occupied. Lynn's eyes scanned every car, every pillar, and every dark corner, searching for any suspicious signs.

“Over there,” Sarah pointed ahead.

A dark blue Ford sedan was parked in parking space number 34, with a license plate that matched the GPS record. There was no one inside, and it appeared to have been parked there for a long time.

Lynn parked the car a few spaces away, and then got out with Sarah.

They cautiously approached the Ford sedan, their hands on their holsters, ready to respond to any potential threats.

The car looked ordinary, but the windows were tinted, making it impossible to see inside. Lynn walked around to the driver's side and peered through the window.

The car was empty. There were sunglasses on the driver's seat, a takeout coffee mug on the passenger seat, and a dark hooded jacket on the back seat.

Hooded jacket.

It's the one the Dream Weaver was wearing in the surveillance footage.

“He’s here,” Lynn said softly, “or rather, he’s been here.”

"Did he go to the Grand Central Building?" Sarah asked.

“Very likely,” Lynn said, “we need to—”

His words were interrupted by a sudden headache.

It felt like someone was hammering his skull hard from the inside out with an invisible hammer. Lynn's vision blurred, his knees buckled, and he almost collapsed to the ground.

“Lynn!” Sarah exclaimed, reaching out to support him.

Lynn gritted his teeth, using all his willpower to resist the force invading his brain. He had experienced this feeling before—Eileen Shaw had done something similar to him at the Metropolitan Museum of Art dinner. But this time it was stronger, more aggressive, like countless needles piercing his brain simultaneously.

“He’s here,” he said with difficulty, “The Dream Weaver. Nearby.”

"Where?" Sarah drew her gun and looked around warily.

Lynn forced himself to concentrate, trying to pinpoint the source of the mental attack.

That power comes from
He turned his head and looked at a dark corner of the parking lot. Between two pillars, a figure stood there, almost blending into the darkness.

Dream Weaver.

He stood there, about thirty meters away, hands in his pockets, a look of near boredom on his face. His eyes—those deep-set eyes—were fixed on Lynn, a certain light seeming to flicker in their pupils.

“You’re more resilient than I thought,” the Dream Weaver spoke, his voice echoing in the empty parking lot. “Most people would have been knocked unconscious by this level of attack long ago.”

“FBI!” Sarah raised her gun and pointed it at him. “Don’t move! Hands on your head!”

The Dream Weaver glanced at her, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Your gun is useless against me, Agent. Before you pull the trigger, I can shut your brain down."

Lynn sensed the mental attack weakening—the Dreamweaver had clearly diverted some of her attention to Sarah's threat. He seized the opportunity, forcing himself to stand upright and reaching for his holster.

“You killed Robert Fisher,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You were a member of the Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood?” The Dream Weaver chuckled. “That’s just a name. It doesn’t matter who I work for, what matters is that they pay me and I do the work. Fisher knows too much, so he has to go. It’s that simple.”

"Where are those explosives?" Lynn asked. "When do you plan to attack the Grand Central Building?"

The Dream Weaver's eyes narrowed. "It seems you know more than I thought. This makes things a bit complicated."

He took a hand out of his pocket, palm facing Lynn.

Lynn felt the mental attack intensify again, like an invisible wall pressing down on his consciousness. His vision began to blur, and everything around him seemed to spin.
Then, a gunshot shattered the silence.

Sarah fired the shot.

The bullet grazed the Dreamweaver's shoulder, tearing a gash in his coat. The Dreamweaver cried out in surprise, leaping aside; the mental attack abruptly ceased.

Lynn immediately drew his gun and fired at the Dreamweaver.

But the Dream Weaver reacted with astonishing speed. He rolled behind a pillar, and Lynn's bullet only hit the concrete, sending up a spray of debris.

"Chase!" Lynn shouted, rushing towards the direction where the Dreamweaver was hiding.

A chase unfolds in a dimly lit underground parking lot.

The Dream Weaver weaved between pillars and cars, using various cover to evade Lynn and Sarah's gunfire. His movements were agile and nimble, clearly indicating professional training.

Lynn fired as he chased, but in this dim light, hitting a moving target was nearly impossible. His bullets kept striking the surrounding vehicles and walls, causing a series of sounds of shattering glass and clanging metal.

“He’s going to run away!” Sarah shouted.

Lynn saw the Dream Weaver running towards the parking lot exit. If he escaped and blended into the crowd on the street, they would never find him again.

He quickened his pace, using all his strength to catch up. A sharp pain shot through his ribs—the fractures that hadn't fully healed were protesting—but he couldn't care less.

The Dream Weaver rushed up the ramp leading to the ground. Lynn followed closely behind, just a few meters behind.

"Stop!" he shouted, raising his gun to aim again.

The dream weaver suddenly stopped and turned around.

In that instant, Lynn felt an unprecedented mental force strike his brain. (End of Chapter)