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

"He's in the warehouse?" Sarah recognized him too. "Didn't he say he'd left the Brotherhood?"

Lynn didn't answer; his eyes were fixed on Tony's retreating figure. Tony circled around the corner of the warehouse and disappeared from their sight.

“Follow him,” Lynn decided. “I’ll go. You stay here and continue monitoring.”

Without waiting for Sarah's response, he opened the car door and quietly slid out.

Lynn moved quickly along the alleyway wall, trying to avoid being spotted by the security guards at the warehouse entrance. His heart was racing, and adrenaline was surging through his veins.

He didn't know why Tony was in the warehouse, or why he had sneaked away. But in any case, it was an opportunity to gather more information.

Lynn walked around an abandoned factory building and came to the back of the warehouse. It was an empty concrete area, scattered with rusty iron drums and discarded machinery. A dilapidated wire fence separated this area from the road outside.

He saw Tony.

Tony stood beside a gap in the barbed wire fence, nervously looking around. When he saw Lynn, his face turned deathly pale.

“You—how did you get here?” he stammered.

“That’s the question I should be asking you,” Lynn approached him, maintaining a wary stance. “Didn’t you say you had left the Brotherhood? Why were you in that warehouse?”

Tony's eyes darted around frantically, like a trapped mouse. "I...I can explain!"

"Then explain."

“They…they made me go back,” Tony said, his voice trembling. “They found out I stole the USB drive, they knew I betrayed them. They threatened to kill me and my family if I didn’t cooperate.”

So you went back?

“I have no choice!” Tony’s voice shrill. “You don’t know them, they’re capable of anything! I’ve seen them kill, and I can’t let anything happen to my family over such a small mistake.”

Lynn stared at him, trying to tell if he was telling the truth or lying. Tony's fear seemed genuine; his hands were trembling, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. But it could also be acting.

Why are you running away now?

“Because…because I heard something,” Tony said, “that they’re planning something big. Something bigger than the explosion you stopped. I have to tell you.”

"What is it?"

Tony glanced around again, making sure no one was watching. "I can't say this here. It's too dangerous. If they see me talking to you—"

“Tell me,” Lynn said in an unquestionable tone.

Tony bit his lip, then said quickly, "They're going to attack in three days. The target is Times Square. They have enough explosives to level the entire square. And they also have—"

His words were interrupted by a gunshot.

Lynn instinctively threw himself to the ground, drawing his gun in the process. He saw Tony's body shudder violently before collapsing to the ground, blood gushing from his chest.

"Sniper!" Lynn shouted, rolling behind a rusty metal barrel for cover.

Another bullet struck the metal barrel, producing a piercing metallic clang. Lynn, huddled behind cover, his heart pounding, quickly analyzed the situation.

The bullets were coming from the east—there was a two-story abandoned factory building there, with a perfect sniping position on the roof. The intervals between the shots indicated that the shooter was re-aiming; he probably only had a few seconds.

Lynn looked in Tony's direction. Tony lay motionless on the ground, blood gushing from the wound in his chest, spreading into a red puddle on the concrete. His eyes were still open, but they had lost their light.

he died.

“Lynn!” Sarah’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “I heard gunshots! What happened?”

“There’s a sniper,” Lynn said in a low voice, “on the roof of that factory building on the east side. Tony was hit, and he’s probably dead.”

"I'm coming to help right away!"

“No, don’t come any closer. You’ll expose yourself. Call for backup, seal off the area. I’ll figure out how to deal with this sniper.”

He didn't wait for Sarah's response but began to move. Using the scattered debris and abandoned equipment as cover, he approached the factory building. The sniper's position was a problem—from that angle, he could practically control the entire open area. Lynn had to find a route he couldn't see.

He noticed a narrow alley on the north side of the factory, sandwiched between two buildings, which a sniper's view should not cover.

Lynn took a deep breath, then burst out from behind cover and ran as fast as he could toward the alley.

A gunshot rang out behind him; the bullet grazed his back and struck a wall a few meters away, sending up a spray of debris. He felt a blast of hot air pass by, but he wasn't hit.

He rushed into the alley, leaning against the wall, panting heavily. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and sweat streamed down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, “now it’s my turn to come to you.”

He moved quickly along the alley, his gun poised to fire. The alley was dark, with towering walls on either side blocking most of the sunlight. The ground was littered with broken concrete and rusty metal scraps, and he had to be careful with every step to avoid making too much noise.

The alley split into two roads at a corner. Lynn stopped and listened carefully to the sounds around him.

Sirens wailed in the distance, rapidly approaching. Reinforcements were arriving. But the sniper had likely heard them too—he would try to escape.

Lynn chose the right-hand path, which led to the side of the factory. He had to intercept the sniper before he could escape.

He rushed out of the alley and came to the side of the factory building. There was a rusty metal staircase leading to the roof. The staircase looked very unstable, with half of the handrail broken and the steps covered in rust.

Without hesitation, Lynn quickly climbed the stairs. The metal creaked and groaned under his feet, and he worried that the sound would give away his location, but he had no other choice at the moment.

When he reached the edge of the roof, he stopped and cautiously peered out.

The roof was a flat concrete platform, scattered with abandoned air conditioning units and ventilation ducts. In the southeast corner of the roof, he saw a figure—the sniper was packing up his equipment, preparing to leave. Lynn recognized the man. He was a young man, probably around twenty-five years old, lean, wearing a black tactical uniform, and carrying a sniper rifle with a silencer. His movements were quick and professional, clearly indicating rigorous training.

Lynn raised his gun, aiming at the man's back. "FBI! Don't move! Drop your weapon!"

The sniper paused for a moment, then did something Lynn hadn't expected—he didn't try to run away or surrender, but turned around and aimed the sniper rifle at Lynn.

Both men fired their guns simultaneously.

Lynn's bullet struck the sniper's shoulder, causing him to stumble and miss his target. The sniper's bullet flew over Lynn's head and struck an air conditioning unit behind him with a loud bang.

Lynn gave him no second chance. He rushed forward, continuing to fire. The sniper tried to return fire, but his wounded shoulder slowed his movements. Lynn's second bullet struck his thigh, and he screamed and collapsed to his knees.

The sniper rifle slipped from his hand, making a dull thud on the concrete.

Lynn rushed in front of him, kicked the rifle away, and pointed it at his head. "Don't move! Hands on your head!"

The sniper—who now looked more like a frightened young man—did as instructed. His face was contorted with pain, and blood was flowing from the wounds on his shoulder and thigh, but a defiant light still shone in his eyes.

"Are you a member of the Brotherhood?" Lynn asked.

The sniper didn't answer, but just looked at him with an almost contemptuous gaze.

“I’m asking you a question,” Lynn’s voice turned icy. “Are you a member of the Brotherhood? Who sent you to kill Tony?”

“You think I’d tell you?” the sniper finally spoke, his voice hoarse but firm. “Kill me, I won’t say anything.”

“What kind of hero do you think you are?” Lynn crouched down, bringing his face close to the sniper’s. “You just killed someone. Someone who wanted to leave you, wanted to start a new life. Do you think you did the right thing?”

The sniper's lips curled into a sarcastic smile. "The right thing to do? You FBI agents talk about justice all day long, but do you even know what true justice is? There's never been justice in this world, only the strong and the weak. We simply choose to stand with the strong."

"Stronger?" Lynn sneered. "You're just a bunch of terrorists, using mutant abilities to kill innocent people. Is this what you call strong?"

"Innocent?" The sniper's smile grew even more sarcastic. "There are no innocent people in this world. Everyone has their own stance, everyone fights for their own interests. Aren't you FBI agents the same? The so-called order you maintain is nothing more than a tool for the powerful to continue exploiting ordinary people."

Lynn didn't want to argue with him anymore. "Where are your accomplices? How many people are still in the warehouse?"

The sniper responded with silence.

Footsteps approached in the distance; Sarah and several uniformed police officers were running towards the roof. Lynn stood up, holstered his gun, and then pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he said, handcuffing the sniper’s hands, uttering that familiar Miranda warning. “Every word you say can be used against you in court.”

"Lynn!" Sarah rushed onto the roof and, seeing that the sniper had been subdued, visibly relaxed. "Are you alright?"

“It’s alright,” Lynn said, “but Tony is dead. He was shot in the chest by this guy and died instantly.”

Sarah's expression turned serious. "Damn it. Did he tell you anything useful?"

"Before he was hit, he said the fraternity planned to attack Times Square in three days. He also said they had 'enough explosives.' But he was interrupted before he could finish."

"Times Square?" Sarah gasped. "Hundreds of thousands of people walk there every day. What if an explosion really happened?"

“I know,” Lynn said, his expression more serious than ever. “We have to stop them.”

He looked at the sniper handcuffed to the ground. "Take him back for interrogation. Maybe we can get some useful information out of him."

Do you think he'll speak?

“I don’t know,” Lynn admitted, “but we have to try. Right now, he’s our only lead.”

Police officers carried the sniper onto a stretcher and into the ambulance waiting below. His injuries needed to be treated before he could be interrogated.

Lynn stood on the rooftop, watching the chaotic scene below. Police cars surrounded the warehouse entrance, the security guards had been arrested, and technicians were entering to collect evidence. Tony's body was covered with a white sheet, and the forensic pathologist was taking notes nearby.

His phone rang. It was Kevin.

“Agent Lynn,” Kevin’s voice came through the receiver, “I heard you had some trouble. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lynn said. “How are things on your end?”

“Those two didn’t return to the apartment building,” Kevin said. “I’ve been waiting nearby, but they seem to have vanished. I checked the building, and their room was empty. They probably heard something and ran away beforehand.”

“Damn it,” Lynn muttered, “they probably know we’re watching.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Lynn,” Kevin said, his voice filled with remorse, “if I had kept a closer eye on him—”

“It’s not your fault,” Lynn interrupted him. “You did what you were supposed to do. I underestimated their vigilance.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “Let’s go back to the office. We need to have an emergency meeting to reassess the situation.”

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Lynn hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Today's operation could only be considered a partial success—they caught a sniper and might find some evidence in the warehouse. But they also lost an important informant, and the two suspects who might be connected to the burglary escaped.

More importantly, Tony's dying words were: "Three days later, in Times Square."

If this is true, their time is running out.

At 3 p.m., Lynn sat outside an interrogation room at the FBI's New York field office, observing the situation inside through a one-way glass window.

There were only two people in the interrogation room—the captured sniper and the expert in charge of the interrogation, a seasoned agent named Mike Harrison. The sniper's wounds had been treated, and his left shoulder and right leg were bandaged, but he seemed to be in good spirits—at least, his eyes were still full of disdain and resistance. (End of Chapter)