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

“Surprised?” the young man laughed. “Your weapons are useless against me.”

He attacked again, this time his hand hardening the instant it touched Lynn, striking him heavily in the chest. Lynn felt a sharp pain in his ribs and was knocked back several steps.

Lynn realized that this guy could control the density of his body. He could selectively make certain parts of his body invisible or solid.

“Lynn!” Sarah’s voice came from afar.

"Don't come any closer!" Lynn shouted. "Go after the others! I'll handle him!"

He had no time to think; the young man attacked again. Lynn holstered his gun and switched to close combat. He didn't know what limitations this mutant's abilities had, but since the opponent needed to solidify his body to attack, it meant he could be hit at the moment of the attack.

The young man threw a punch, which Lynn dodged by dodging to the side, grabbing his arm in the process. Sure enough, at the moment of impact, the arm was solid. Lynn used the momentum to throw him away; the young man rolled on the ground before getting to his feet.

“You’re quite capable,” the young man said, his expression turning serious, “but that doesn’t change the outcome.”

He charged at Lynn again, this time faster and with greater force. Lynn barely managed to parry, forced to retreat step by step. The young man's ability gave him a huge advantage in the fight—he could make attacks pass through his body, but his attacks were always real.

Lynn was struck in the shoulder with a heavy punch, and his entire arm went numb. He staggered backward and leaned against a metal frame.

The young man approached him with a smile. "It's over, Agent."

Just then, Lynn noticed a bucket of paint on the shelf.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the bucket of paint with his still-functioning hand and splashed it at the young man.

White paint spread through the air, covering the young man's entire body. The young man was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting this move.

“You think paint can hurt me?” he scoffed, beginning to make his body invisible.

But the paint didn't disappear with his body. It clung to his surface, clearly outlining his features—even when he was invisible.

Lynn picked up the gun that had fallen to the ground, aimed at the outline marked with paint, and fired three shots.

At least one shot hit the target. The young man screamed, his body instantly returning to solid form, and he collapsed to the ground clutching his abdomen.

Lynn stepped forward and pointed the gun at his head. "Don't move."

The young man lay on the ground, his face contorted with pain and resentment. "How...how did you know?"

“Your ability has a weakness,” Lynn said. “You can make yourself invisible, but whatever is attached to you won’t disappear. This reveals your location.”

He took out handcuffs from his waist and cuffed the young man's hands behind his back.

“Lynn!” Sarah came running from a distance. “Eileen Shaw ran away! She escaped through that underground passage. We chased her for a while, but the passage branched off in several directions, and we lost her.”

Lynn's heart sank. Erin Shaw—a key figure in the Brotherhood—had escaped from their grasp once again.

“Where are the explosives?” he asked.

“Found it,” Sarah said, a hint of relief in her voice. “Eight crates full of C4 in the back of the warehouse. The bomb disposal team is already handling them.”

Lynn breathed a sigh of relief. At least the explosives had been intercepted and the attack in Times Square had been averted.

But his victory was incomplete. Erin Shaw was still outside, and the Brotherhood was not completely destroyed.

"How many people did we arrest?" he asked.

“Seven, including the one you just subdued,” Sarah said. “Three others were killed. But Eileen Shaw and at least two others escaped through the underground passage.”

Lynn looked at the young man handcuffed to the ground, then looked towards the dark underground entrance at the back of the warehouse.

"Where does that passage lead?"

“We’re still investigating,” Sarah said. “It looks like an old sewer system with several outlets. They could have come out from anywhere.”

Lynn nodded and turned to the tactical captain. “Seal off all exits around the shipyard and notify the Newark Police Department for assistance in the search. Erin Shaw couldn't have gone far; she's still somewhere nearby.”

"Yes, Agent."

The next few hours were a long search and a wait.

Lynn led a team into the underground passage, tracing Eileen Shaw's trail along the damp, dark sewers. The passage was intricate and branched off frequently, forcing them to split into several groups to search separately.

The air was thick with the stench of decay and sewage, and the ground was slippery with wet concrete and puddles. The beam of a flashlight swayed in the darkness, illuminating the moss-covered walls and rusty pipes.

They found some clues—footprints, dropped items, even a drop of blood—but they still couldn't catch up with Erin Shaw.

At 2 a.m., they had to abandon the search.

Lynn stood outside the shipyard, watching the bustling scene. Police cars, ambulances, and FBI vehicles filled the area, their lights flashing in the night. Technicians were collecting evidence in the warehouse, bomb disposal teams were carefully handling the explosives, and medical personnel were tending to the wounded.

Sarah came over and handed him a cup of hot coffee. "Are you alright?"

"It's alright," Lynn said, taking the coffee and taking a sip. The coffee was already cold, but he didn't care.

“We stopped the attack,” Sarah said. “Two hundred pounds of C4 is enough to kill thousands. You saved many lives, Lynn.”

“But Eileen Shaw is gone,” Lynn said, his voice weary and frustrated. “As long as she’s out there, the Brotherhood won’t stop. This is just a temporary victory.”

“At least it’s a victory,” Sarah said. “We’ll find her.”

Lynn did not answer, but just looked at the dark sky in the distance.

Hours ago, Erin Shaw was standing in that warehouse, only a few dozen meters away from him. What did she say? "This is just the beginning."

He didn't know what she meant, but he knew this wouldn't be the end. The Brotherhood would strike again, and Erin Shaw would reappear. And when that day came, he had to be prepared.

At four in the morning, Lynn finally returned to his Manhattan apartment. He was covered in injuries—a rib might be broken, his shoulder was bruised, and his entire body was covered in abrasions and bruises. The paramedics gave him basic first aid and recommended that he go to the hospital for a full check-up, but he refused.

He was so tired that he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a while.

The apartment was quiet, with only the low hum of the refrigerator in the background. Lynn took off her clothes, which were covered in mud and sewage, took a hot shower, and then collapsed onto the bed.

His mind was still replaying everything from tonight—gunshots, explosions, chases, fights, and Erin Shaw's mocking voice.

"This is just the beginning."

He didn't know when he fell asleep. When he woke up again, sunlight was streaming into the room through the curtains, drawing golden streaks on the floor.

He glanced at his watch. It was 11 a.m.

His phone had several missed calls and messages. Deputy Chief Morrison asked him how things were going, Sarah said the interrogation was ongoing, and Kevin sent a short message: "Well done, Agent Lynn."

Today, he can take a break and enjoy this hard-won victory.

He got dressed, opened the door, and greeted the sunlight outside.

The streets of Manhattan were bustling with people, taxis weaving through traffic, and pedestrians hurrying by, heads down, looking at their phones. It was an ordinary day, and for most, life went on as usual.

They didn't know what happened last night, or how many people fought to protect them.

Perhaps this is better, Lynn thought. Let ordinary people continue with their ordinary lives, while people like him take care of dealing with the threats from the shadows.

He walked towards the subway station, ready to go to work.

On the newsstand on the street corner, today's headline read: "Gunfight Erupts in New Jersey Industrial Area; FBI Uncovers Major Terrorist Plot."

Lynn glanced at the headline and then continued walking forward.

As Lynn pushed open the glass doors of the FBI's New York office, the warmth of the lobby filled the room, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. He stamped his feet in the doorway, shaking off the remaining snow from his shoes—it had started snowing that morning, not heavily, but enough to blanket the streets of Manhattan in a thin layer of white.

The receptionist looked up and gave him a friendly smile. "Good morning, Agent Ashford. I heard last night's operation was very successful?"

“I’m fine,” Lynn nodded. “Thank you for your concern.”

He walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The mirror in the elevator reflected his appearance—distinct dark circles under his eyes, a paler complexion than usual, and a layer of bluish stubble on his chin. He had slept for less than six hours last night, and the quality of his sleep was very poor, constantly disturbed by various chaotic dreams.

The elevator doors opened, and he walked into the office of the Special Task Force on Mutant Affairs.

The office was unusually quiet. Sarah's desk was empty, and Kevin wasn't there either; only a few administrative staff were typing away at their keyboards. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting bright dappled patterns on the floor, and the air was filled with the smells of coffee and printer toner.

"Where's Sarah?" Lynn asked a passing clerk.

“Agent Connors is in the interrogation room downstairs,” the clerk replied, “and seems to be questioning those arrested last night.”

Lynn nodded and walked to his desk. A stack of documents lay on it—mostly reports on last night's operation and various forms requiring his signature. He sighed, sat down, and began to tackle the tedious administrative work.

About half an hour later, Kevin walked into the office with a paper bag and two cups of coffee in his hand.

“Agent Lynn!” His eyes lit up when he saw Lynn, and he strode over. “You’re here! I thought you were taking the day off.”

"What is rest?" Lynn asked with a wry smile. "I've forgotten what that word means."

Kevin placed one of the coffee cups on Lynn's desk. "Here you go. I guess you might need something to perk you up."

"Thank you." Lynn took the coffee and took a sip. It was his favorite black coffee, without sugar or milk, with just the right amount of bitterness.

Kevin sat down on the chair next to him, took a bagel from the paper bag, and started eating. “I’ve been thinking about last night,” he said, chewing. “That mutant—the one who can walk through walls—his abilities were really powerful. How did you defeat him?”

Lynn gave a brief description of last night's battle, including the move he made to mark the opponent's position with paint.

"That's brilliant!" Kevin exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "To come up with such a solution in that situation—that's the power of experience!"

“It wasn’t experience, just luck,” Lynn said. “If there hadn’t been any paint on that shelf, I probably wouldn’t have been so lucky.”

"But you noticed that can of paint and figured out how to use it. That in itself is a skill."

Lynn didn't continue the conversation. He looked at Kevin and asked, "You did a great job tracking that intruder last night. Without your intelligence, we might have missed a lot of crucial information."

Kevin's face flushed slightly, clearly pleased with the praise. "I just did what I was supposed to do."

“No, you did more than that,” Lynn said earnestly. “You proactively tracked down leads, remained calm in dangerous situations, and provided us with timely and accurate location updates. These are all qualities that an excellent agent should possess.”

Kevin's eyes brightened, and he couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Agent Lynn. This means a lot to me."

They chatted for a while longer, then Kevin returned to his workstation to handle some data analysis. Lynn continued to bury herself in the pile of documents, signing, reviewing, and filing, repeating the tedious but necessary administrative procedures.

Around noon, Sarah returned from the interrogation room.

She looked exhausted, her eyes bloodshot, and her hair loosely tied in a ponytail. She walked over to Lynn's table, plopped down in the chair next to her, and let out a long sigh.

"How did it go?" Lynn asked. "Did those people reveal any useful information?"

“Not ideal,” Sarah shook her head. “That guy who can walk through walls—his name is Derek Chen—did speak, but he doesn’t know much. He’s just a peripheral member of the Brotherhood, mainly responsible for carrying out thefts and raising funds for the organization. He knows nothing about the core members or future plans.”

"What about the others?"

"Even more useless. Most of them are just ordinary mercenaries who only know how to follow orders. They don't even know who Erin Shaw is; they've only heard of a leader called 'The Queen.'"

Lynn frowned. "It seems the Brotherhood's security measures are very effective. They have a strict hierarchical system; lower-level members have absolutely no access to core secrets."

“Yes,” Sarah said, “this makes our investigation even more difficult. Every time we catch a small fry, the real big fish always manage to escape.” (End of Chapter)