American comic book: I, with my abundant martial virtue, love to do good to others.

Chapter 198 Things are getting worse and worse.

The man nodded, his face pale. "I don't know who he is, but—he does have the insignia of the Holy Blood Alliance on him."

Lynn was silent for a moment, then turned to Hans and said, "We need to find this person."

Hans whistled softly. "Looks like tonight will be another sleepless night."

Lynn and Hans parked their car on the edge of an abandoned parking lot, surrounded by dilapidated buildings and musty piles of garbage. This was the location provided by the tattoo artist—a haunt of low-level thugs from the Holy Blood Alliance. At the far end of the parking lot, several figures could be vaguely seen gathered together smoking, their postures relaxed and languid, seemingly unaware of the hunters approaching in the shadows.

"I really don't understand how you convinced the tattoo artist to talk," Hans said in a low voice, taking his gun out of its holster, checking the magazine, and then quickly putting it back. "That guy looks like he's about to wet his pants."

"He's afraid of the Holy Blood Alliance," Lynn replied, observing the parking lot, his voice low and cold. "But he's even more afraid of me."

Hans chuckled. "You're a really likable fellow."

Lynn ignored his sarcasm. He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the target in the distance of the parking lot, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. This was a gamble, because they didn't know what useful information this so-called clue would yield. But Lynn knew that some things had to be taken.

"Remember," Lynn whispered to Hans, "we need to be alive."

"You always deprive me of the joy of shooting." Hans shrugged, but still followed behind Lynn, carefully approaching the target along the perimeter of the parking lot.

Their target was a low-level thug named Ramos, supposedly a henchman on the outer perimeter of the Holy Blood Alliance, responsible for relaying messages and handling odd jobs. But judging from the tattoo artist's description, he seemed unaware of the Holy Blood Alliance's true plans—more like cannon fodder used as a shield.

As Lynn and Hans approached, they overheard Ramos's conversation with several other thugs.

“Listen, I don’t care what those guys are up to,” Ramos’s voice was rough and agitated, “but I want money. Why should I work for them if they’re not paying me?”

"Shut up, Ramos," another thug warned, lighting a cigarette. "You have no idea what kind of people those are. If they knew you were talking about this behind their backs, they probably wouldn't even be able to find your body."

"Damn the Holy Blood Alliance!" Ramos spat, his voice full of resentment. "All they do is use those scary symbols and threats to control people. Let me tell you, if I didn't owe them a mountain of debt, I would have shot myself in the head long ago, rather than be in this situation now."

Lynn and Hans stopped behind a pile of wrecked cars, listening to Ramos's complaints. Hans muttered under his breath, "Goodness, looks like this guy isn't exactly loyal to his boss either."

"Loyalty is not important, intelligence is," Lynn replied coldly.

Ramos continued complaining, but his voice quickly became alert. "Wait a minute," he whispered, his eyes darting around, "have you heard anything?"

Lynn cursed under his breath; he knew they had been discovered. With no time to waste, he stepped out from behind cover, his pistol steadily aimed at Ramos.

"Don't move, FBI." Lynn's voice was as cold as ice, piercing through the night wind.

"Damn it!" Ramos cursed under his breath. His men immediately made a move to draw their guns, but Lynn was faster. He slightly moved his gun, pointing it directly at the thug who was trying to resist.

"Don't lay a hand on me, or you'll be the first one to fall." Lynn's tone was devoid of any emotion, as if he were already used to scenes of violence.

Hans then emerged from behind cover, his gun pointed to the other side. "Gentlemen, we don't have time to waste on you. If you're smart, you'd better cooperate."

Ramos raised his hands, forcing a seemingly nonchalant smile, but his eyes were filled with tension. "Listen, listen, brothers. We don't need to get this worked up, do we? We're just—"

"Just chatting."

"Casual chat?" Lynn sneered. "I've been chasing you for three whole blocks over your 'casual chat' with the Holy Blood Alliance. Now let's talk about something truly important."

Lynn strode forward, shoved Ramos into an abandoned car, and pointed a gun at his forehead. "Tell me, what is the Holy Blood Alliance looking for?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Ramos said慌张地, waving his hands wildly in an attempt to appear innocent. "I'm just a messenger! Really, I don't know anything!"

"You're a terrible liar, Ramos," Lynn's voice was icy cold. "We know you've been passing messages for the Holy Blood Alliance, and we know you owe them a mountain of debt. If you don't want to take a few more lives,

You'd better tell me the truth.

"I swear!" Ramos's voice grew increasingly urgent. "I have no idea what they're looking for! Those people never tell me anything specific! They just have me deliver messages or packages, and I don't even know what's in those packages!"

"What message did you send?" Lynn's gaze was sharp.

"It was just—just some threats, or warnings or something!" Ramos blurted out. "They told me to tell some people to mind their own business, and to pass on the message 'Time's almost up,' that's it! I didn't even know what that meant!"

Lynn's brow furrowed deeply. He stared at Ramos, trying to find a flaw in every subtle expression on his face. But he knew Ramos might be telling the truth. This guy was just a gofer, used as a tool by the Holy Blood Alliance, with no real access to the core.

"Who contacted you? Who gave you instructions?" Lynn's tone remained cold.

“There’s a guy named Marco.” Ramos swallowed, his voice almost trembling. “He’s my only contact. I don’t know his real name, and I’ve never seen his face. He always wears a hat and sunglasses, and his voice is strange, like he’s deliberately altering it.”

"Where is Marco?" Lynn continued to press.

"I don't know!" Ramos almost shouted. "He always contacts me, asking me to meet him in different places, never a fixed location! I swear, I really don't know!"

Lynn took a deep breath, released his grip, and took a step back. But his eyes remained sharp. "Listen, Ramos. This is your only chance. If you lie again, we'll send you to prison for the rest of your life, or worse. Now, I want you to tell me what the Holy Blood Alliance's next move is."

"I don't know!" Ramos almost cried. "They never told me anything about this! I've heard rumors that they're looking for some kind of 'holy relic,' but I have absolutely no idea what it is!"

A flicker of disappointment crossed Lynn's mind, but his expression remained unchanged. He knew Ramos might truly be just a peripheral figure, but even so, this information was still valuable.

"Fine, Ramos," Lynn said coldly, "but if I find out you've been hiding anything from us, you'll regret ever being alive."

Lynn turned and left, and Hans followed, leaving Ramos slumped beside the abandoned car.

"What do we do next?" Hans asked, his voice tinged with weariness. "This guy is clearly just a gofer; he doesn't know half as much as you do."

"He mentioned a name, 'Marco,'" Lynn said in a low voice. "That's our only lead."

Hans shrugged. "Hopefully we'll find something real this time, otherwise I'll really have to consider finding an easier job."

Night had fallen, and the streetlights cast a dim, cold glow. Lynn and Hans had just gotten into the car when the deep rumble of the engine sounded particularly clear in the darkness. Ramos's confession and the mysterious "Marco" were still swirling in their minds. These clues, though few, acted like a fuse, subtly pointing to a greater crisis.

"To be honest," Hans said lazily, chewing gum as he fiddled with the car's navigation system, "I've listened to too much nonsense all night. If I had to deal with another jerk like Ramos, I might really break down."

"Shut up, Hans." Lynn's eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed slightly. He had a feeling something was off, even though the surrounding streets seemed quiet and still, his long-established intuition was constantly sending out warnings.

"Oh, that tone again." Hans rolled his eyes. "Every time you speak like that, something bad happens—"

His voice stopped abruptly, because at that moment, the rear of the car jolted violently, as if it had been hit by something heavy.

Lynn slammed on the brakes, the wheels screeching as they rubbed against the pavement, and the car came to a sudden stop.

"What the hell?" Hans cursed, quickly drawing his pistol and glancing at the back of the car.

Lynn gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. In the dim light of the streetlamp, a blurry figure slowly emerged from the shadows. His frame was tall and twisted, his shoulders broad as if they belonged to a human, and his skin reflected an eerie metallic sheen under the light. Even through the car window, Lynn could feel the unsettling pressure emanating from him.

"What is that?" Hans swallowed hard, his finger already on the trigger.

"Mutants," Lynn said in a low voice, as deep as a stone falling into a deep pool.

The mutant's eyes glowed with an eerie red light, his face expressionless. He stood there like a cold-blooded machine, then suddenly moved. His speed was astonishing; he reached the car in almost an instant.

He slammed his fist into the car door. The steel door dented like paper, and the entire car shook.

"Go!" Lynn roared and slammed on the gas pedal.

The car roared forward. The mutant's fingers traced the rear of the car, creating a series of piercing metallic scrapes, but Lynn's driving skills were incredibly precise. He instantly adjusted the direction and sped away from where he stood.

"That guy wants to tear us to pieces!" Hans roared, turning back to look at the figure that was getting further and further away.

"Don't look back," Lynn said coldly, his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his gaze focused. "He won't let us off easily."

The words had barely left his mouth when a dull thud came from the roof of the car. Lynn immediately understood what was happening; the guy had caught up.

"Damn it! He jumped onto the roof!" Hans yelled, already drawing his pistol. "What do we do?"

Should I shoot?

"Don't do anything reckless!" Lynn gritted his teeth and jerked the steering wheel, trying to throw the mutant off the roof of the car through a sharp turn. However, the guy's arms were like iron hooks, gripping the roof firmly, and no matter how violently the car shook, his body remained as steady as a rock.

Suddenly, a piercing tearing sound came from the roof. Hans looked up and saw that the metal plate above his head had been ripped open by hand! A huge hole appeared in the roof, and half of the mutant's face peeked out from the hole, revealing a chilling smile.

"He's coming in!" Hans suddenly raised his gun, aimed at the face, and pulled the trigger.

Gunshots rang out in the cramped car, bullets striking the mutant directly in the face. However, what was shocking was...

Those bullets were like hitting steel, sparks flying everywhere, unable to penetrate the opponent's skin at all.

"Damn! What is this thing made of?" Hans exclaimed.

Lynn didn't answer. He knew that if things continued like this, they would be torn to shreds by this monster sooner or later. He slammed on the brakes, the car spun around, the mutant lost his balance, tumbled off the roof, and crashed heavily to the ground.

"Shall we go?" Hans called out, his eyes still fixed on the rearview mirror.

"No," Lynn said coldly, then opened the car door and got out.

"Are you crazy!" Hans shouted, but still quickly jumped out of the car, pointing his gun at the mutant on the ground.

The mutant slowly rose from the ground, completely ignoring the impact of the fall. His movements were mechanical and stiff, but his red eyes still gleamed with a dangerous light. He let out a low growl, the sound like the clanging of metal, and then charged towards Lynn.

Lynn reacted with lightning speed, rolling to dodge the opponent's charge and simultaneously drawing his pistol, firing several shots at the opponent's knee. Although the bullets didn't completely penetrate the opponent's metallic skin, this time, their force successfully hindered the mutant's movements.

"Your leg joints are quite fragile!" Lynn shouted to Hans, while continuing to back away, increasing the distance between them.

"Good news always comes late," Hans muttered, but still adjusted his aim and fired two shots at the mutant's knees. This time, the mutant's movements were noticeably slower, but he still didn't fall.

The mutant roared and swung his arm violently. His hand, like some kind of massive metal hammer, slammed directly towards Lynn's location. Lynn dodged, but the impact created a deep crater in the ground, sending debris flying everywhere.

"This guy won't stop!" Hans shouted, continuing to fire. "We have to figure out a way to take him out!"

"Lead him over there!" Lynn quickly pointed to the side of the street where an abandoned truck was parked. "We need more firepower!"

Hans didn't ask any questions, but immediately began to retreat, moving towards the truck. He fired to draw the mutant's attention while quickly approaching his target. The mutant roared and gave chase, completely ignoring Hans's bullets.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Lynn circled around to the mutant's back and quickly climbed onto the truck. He opened the driver's side door, checked it over, and a cold smile appeared on his lips.

"Is the car alright?" Hans asked loudly, while continuing to guide the mutant closer.

"Okay," Lynn replied simply. He quickly started the truck's engine, adjusted the direction, and waited for the best opportunity.

As the mutant finally approached, Lynn slammed on the gas. The truck roared and rammed directly into the mutant. The massive impact echoed through the night, sending the mutant's body flying and crashing heavily into the rubble not far away.

"Shouldn't this be over by now?" Hans panted, looking at the mutant on the ground who was almost embedded in the rubble.

Lynn jumped off the truck, gun in hand, and slowly approached his target. He knew this mutant was no ordinary enemy, and even if he appeared to be knocked down, he couldn't let his guard down.

However, just as Lynn approached, the mutant's body suddenly convulsed violently. His eyes blinked a few times, then he emitted a mechanical sound before his body slowly stopped moving.

"Is he... dead?" Hans asked cautiously, his gun still pointed at the mutant.

“No,” Lynn frowned, carefully examining the other person’s body, “he’s not dead. He was remotely shut down.”

"Remotely shut down?" Hans paused, taken aback. "You mean, he's... being controlled by someone?"

Lynn nodded, his gaze cold and stern. "This guy isn't an ordinary mutant. He's the product of some kind of experiment. And the person controlling him—is very likely connected to the Holy Blood Alliance."

? 7

Hans was silent for a moment, then muttered under his breath, "This is getting worse and worse."

The FBI headquarters conference room was bathed in a cold, harsh light that stung the eyes. Lynn stood at one end of a long table, the whiteboard behind him covered with case photos, evidence reports, and a few blurry surveillance screenshots. The coffee cups on the table emitted a strong, bitter aroma, but no one seemed inclined to touch them.

Hans sat at the table, chewing gum and casually twirling a pen in his hand. Although his expression was relaxed, the weariness in his eyes betrayed his true state. The other agents were either standing or sitting, and the atmosphere was so heavy that even the air seemed oppressive.

"So, what do we know now?" Lynn asked, his tone sharp as a knife, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.

A young, bespectacled agent raised his hand, flipping open his notebook. "According to our current intelligence, the Holy Blood Alliance's activities have recently expanded significantly. They're no longer confined to traditional drug trafficking or black market activities; instead, they've begun pursuing something more clandestine and—frankly, more bizarre."

"For example?" Hans interrupted, his tone tinged with impatience. "Don't tell me about those so-called 'holy relics,' we've heard enough of them."