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

“Eileen Shaw,” Lynn murmured the name, “who exactly is she? Why did she form the fraternity? What is her ultimate goal?”

“We looked into her background,” Sarah said. “Eileen Shaw, 45, was born in Boston. Her father was a successful investment banker, and her mother was a university professor. She received an elite education from a young age, graduated from Harvard University with a major in psychology and political science. After graduating, she worked on Wall Street for a few years, and then suddenly disappeared from the public eye.”

"Disappeared? When?"

“About ten years ago,” Sarah said, “before that, she had a few records of contact with extremist political groups, but no criminal record. Then she just vanished into thin air—no bank records, no official documents, nothing. Her name only reappeared three years ago when the Brotherhood became active.”

“Ten years,” Lynn pondered. “She spent ten years building the Brotherhood. That requires a tremendous amount of funding, connections, and planning. She wasn’t just an ordinary terrorist; she was a visionary organizer.”

“The question is, what is she trying to achieve?” Sarah asked. “Ordinary terrorists want to create fear and spread an ideology. But the Brotherhood doesn’t seem to fit that pattern. Their attacks are scattered, they don’t have a clear political agenda, and they haven’t made any statements to the media.”

“Perhaps their goal isn’t terrorism,” Lynn said. “Perhaps the attack is just a means to achieve some larger objective.”

"What's the goal?"

“I don’t know,” Lynn admitted, “but I have a feeling that what we’re seeing is just the tip of the iceberg. The Brotherhood’s real plans are far more complex than we imagine.”

They were silent for a while, each lost in thought.

The snow outside the window fell heavier and heavier, white snowflakes dancing in the air, casting a hazy veil over the Manhattan skyline. Pedestrians on the street quickened their pace, and taxi wipers swung wildly, trying to clear the snow from their windshields.

“Oh, right,” Sarah suddenly remembered something, “Deputy Director Morrison said he wants to see you. Apparently, to discuss the aftermath of last night’s operation.”

“Okay,” Lynn stood up, “I’ll go find him.”

He walked out of his office and down the corridor to Morrison's office. The door was open, and he knocked on the doorframe.

“Come in,” Morrison’s voice came from inside.

Lynn went inside. Morrison's office was a bit larger than that of an average agent, but the furnishings were simple—a large desk, a few chairs, and some certificates of honor and photos hanging on the wall. Morrison was sitting behind the desk, looking at a document.

“Sit down,” Morrison said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Lynn sat down, waiting for him to speak.

Morrison put down the documents and looked at him. “Last night’s operation was generally successful. We intercepted two hundred pounds of C4 explosives, apprehended seven suspects, and prevented a potentially serious terrorist attack. These are commendable achievements.”

“But Eileen Shaw ran away,” Lynn said.

“Yes, it’s a pity,” Morrison nodded, “but it’s not surprising that she was able to escape in that chaotic situation. The Brotherhood obviously has a well-developed contingency plan, including that underground tunnel system. This isn’t their first time dealing with law enforcement.”

“We will continue to investigate her,” Lynn said.

“Of course,” Morrison said, “but before that, I need you to do one thing.”

"What's up?"

“Rest,” Morrison’s expression turned serious. “I’ve looked at the medical report. You fractured your ribs last night, have severe bruising on your shoulder, and other injuries, big and small. You need time to recover.”

“I’m fine,” Lynn said. “These are just superficial injuries; they won’t affect my work.”

“Lynn,” Morrison’s tone turned stern, “I’m not discussing this with you, I’m giving you an order. You’re the most experienced agent in this task force, and I can’t let you ruin yourself by overexerting yourself. Finish what you’re doing today, and take three days off starting tomorrow.”

“Three days?” Lynn frowned. “That’s too long. What if there’s an emergency during that time—”

“Sarah and Kevin will handle the emergency,” Morrison interrupted him. “And for the next three days, we’ll continue searching for Eileen Shaw, but there won’t be any large-scale operations. You can rest assured.”

Lynn wanted to argue, but seeing Morrison's determined look, he knew it was an unchangeable decision.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly, “three days. But you must let me know if there’s any significant progress.”

"certainly."

Lynn stood up, ready to leave.

“Lynn,” Morrison called after him as he reached the door, “you did a great job last night. Not only did you stop the attack, but you also subdued a capable mutant in close combat. Not everyone can do that.”

Lynn turned around and nodded. "Thank you, Deputy Director."

He walked out of Morrison's office and returned to his workstation.

He didn't know how to spend his three-day break. Since joining the FBI, he had almost never had a real rest. Even during his so-called vacation, his mind was constantly racing, thinking about various cases and clues.

Maybe he could go to the gym or find a quiet place to read. Or perhaps... he thought of Disneyland, and the relaxing afternoon he spent with Sarah. Maybe he could do something similar to temporarily escape from work.

As he was lost in thought, the phone on his desk rang.

“Ashford.” He picked up the receiver.

“Agent Lynn, this is the front desk,” the operator’s voice came through the receiver. “You have a call for you from the Trenton Police Department in New Jersey. They say there’s an emergency and they need the FBI’s assistance.”

“Turn around.”

A clicking sound came from the phone, followed by an unfamiliar male voice.

"Detective Ashford? This is Detective James Webb of the Trenton Police Department, New Jersey. We have a very unusual case here that requires the assistance of experts from your Mutant Affairs Task Force."

Lynn's attention immediately focused. "What kind of case?"

“A serial murder case,” Weber’s voice sounded tense. “We’ve found three bodies in the past week, all in the same wooded area outside Trenton. The circumstances surrounding the deaths are very strange, and we suspect the killer might be a mutant.”

"Strange? Could you elaborate?"

“It’s hard to describe in words,” Weber said. “You have to see it for yourself to understand. Our forensic and investigation personnel have never seen anything like it before. That’s why we called the FBI—our capabilities are limited and we can’t handle cases like this that are beyond the norm.” Lynn glanced at his watch. It was 1:20 p.m.

“I can come over this afternoon,” he said. “Give me the address, and I’ll be there in about two hours.”

“Thank you so much,” Weber said, his voice tinged with obvious relief. “I’ll have someone waiting for you at the scene. The address is Blackwood Forest, just outside Trenton. Drive east on Highway 42, and you’ll see the police tape.”

Lynn wrote down the address and hung up the phone.

He stood up and began packing his things. Sarah noticed him and came over, asking, "What's wrong? Something's happened?"

“The Trenton Police Department in New Jersey is requesting assistance,” Lynn said. “It’s a serial murder case, and they suspect the killer is a mutant.”

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Lynn thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No need. You continue interrogating the suspects and see if you can dig out more information about the Brotherhood. This case should be unrelated to the Brotherhood; I'll go check it out myself."

“Okay,” Sarah said. “Contact me anytime if anything happens.”

Yes, it will.

Lynn picked up her coat and walked towards the door.

“Agent Lynn!” Kevin called out to him from his workstation. “Can I come with you? I’d like to learn more about fieldwork.”

Lynn stopped and looked into the young man's eager eyes. He remembered Morrison's words—three days of rest. But this case clearly couldn't wait, and bringing Kevin along might be a good opportunity to train him.

“Okay,” he said, “get ready, and meet me in the garage downstairs in five minutes.”

"Great!" Kevin quickly packed his things.

Five minutes later, they were in a black FBI sedan, driving out of the underground parking garage. Lynn was driving, and Kevin was in the passenger seat, holding a notebook, ready to take notes.

A thin layer of snow covered the streets of Manhattan, with car tires leaving clear tracks in the snow. The sky remained overcast, with low-hanging gray clouds pressing down on the city, making the whole world feel oppressive and gloomy.

They passed through the Holland Tunnel and entered New Jersey. The scenery along the road gradually changed from the city's high-rise buildings to the low-rise buildings and open fields of the suburbs. The snow fell heavier here, and the trees and shrubs along the roadside were covered in a white coat.

"What does Inspector Webber mean by 'strange'?" Kevin asked, breaking the silence in the car.

“I don’t know,” Lynn said. “He said it’s hard to describe in words. That usually means two things—either he’s exaggerating, or there really is something extraordinary about it.”

Do you think the killer is really a mutant?

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “An ordinary killer wouldn’t seem ‘strange’ to an experienced cop. If the condition of the body is indeed as unusual as Webber described, it likely involves some kind of special ability.”

"What kind of ability would be used to kill?"

“Too many,” Lynn said. “Superhuman strength can tear a person to pieces, fire control can burn a person to ashes, telepathy can drive someone to suicide. Mutants’ abilities vary greatly, and each one can be used for violent crimes.”

Kevin shuddered. "That sounds terrifying."

“Yes,” Lynn said, “that’s why our task force exists. Regular law enforcement agencies lack the capacity to handle cases involving mutants; we need specialized knowledge and methods to address these threats.”

They continued along the highway, passing through several towns, and finally arrived at Blackwood Forest outside Trenton.

Yellow police tape had been put up at the entrance to the forest, and several police cars were parked on the roadside, their flashing lights standing out against the gray sky. Several uniformed police officers were maintaining order, and a few forensic vehicles were parked not far away.

Lynn parked the car on the side of the road and got out with Kevin.

A cold wind immediately swept over me, carrying with it the damp scent of snowflakes and the unique aroma of the forest. There was a faint smell of pine and decaying leaves in the air, along with something deeper and more ominous—the scent of death.

A middle-aged man in a dark overcoat walked towards them. He was about fifty years old, with wrinkles etched on his face, short gray hair, and a tired but alert look in his eyes.

“Agent Ashford?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“It’s me,” Lynn said, showing his badge. “This is my colleague, Agent Kevin Zhang.”

“James Webb,” the man shook hands with them, “thank you for coming so quickly. Please follow me; the location is in the forest, about a ten-minute walk.”

They followed Weber into the forest.

The path was covered in snow, making it a bit slippery. Tall pine and oak trees lined both sides, their branches rustling in the wind. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick clouds and dense canopy, making the forest exceptionally dark, as if it were forever twilight.

"Is there anything special about this forest?" Lynn asked as they walked.

“Nothing special,” Weber said. “Just an ordinary state forest, where hikers and campers occasionally come. In the last week, we’ve found three bodies in this area, all in different locations, but no more than a mile apart.”

"What do the victims have in common?"

“We’re investigating,” Weber said, “but so far, there doesn’t appear to be an obvious connection between them. The first victim was a 35-year-old construction worker, the second a 42-year-old accountant, and the third a 28-year-old graduate student. Different ages, professions, backgrounds—the only thing they have in common is that they are all male, and they were all found in this forest.”

How did they get here? Has anyone reported them missing?

“Two are, one isn’t,” Weber said. “The first victim—the construction worker—his family reported he hadn’t returned home for three days. The second—the accountant—his colleagues said he hadn’t come to work and couldn’t be reached. The third—the graduate student—so far no one has reported him missing.”

"Were they brought here and murdered after they went missing, or did they come here on their own and encounter the killer?"

“We’re not sure,” Weber shook his head. “There were no signs of a struggle at the scene, nor any clues as to how they got here. It’s as if they suddenly appeared in the forest and then suddenly died.”

Lynn frowned. This was indeed very strange. (End of Chapter)