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

Chapter 199 is a big challenge.

"Yes, but they are clearly key." The young agent adjusted his glasses and continued, "According to intelligence from our informants, these 'relics' seem to have a direct connection to the Holy Blood Alliance's belief system. They believe these things are not merely symbols or legacies, but rather tools that can grant them power, even 71..."

"Supernatural abilities?" Hans chuckled. "Sounds like the script for some low-budget horror movie."

"Enough, Hans," Lynn interrupted him, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Whether these things are real or fake, the Holy Blood Alliance clearly cares about them. That's what we need to focus on."

He turned and pointed to a blurry photograph on the whiteboard, one they had obtained from a transaction location of "Marco" mentioned by Ramos. In the photograph, a blurry figure stood in a dimly lit warehouse, carrying a metal box. Although the face was indistinct, the symbol on the box was crystal clear—a dagger-shaped symbol surrounded by drops of blood.

"Marco might be our breakthrough point," Lynn said, his tone calm yet authoritative, "but we all know the Holy Blood Alliance already knows we're investigating them. Tonight's attack is the best proof."

“Speaking of that mutant,” Hans looked up, turning his gaze to Lynn, “you really think he was remotely controlled? That doesn’t sound like the Blood Brotherhood; don’t they prefer traditional knives and bloody rituals?”

"Their methods are changing," Lynn said in a low voice. "They're becoming more sophisticated, and more dangerous. The technology to control that mutant isn't something an ordinary gang could get their hands on. What does that mean?"

"They're working with a larger organization," another older detective chimed in, his brow furrowed. "Perhaps a tech crime syndicate, or some shadowy agency with government ties."

“That’s right.” Lynn nodded. “Our current intelligence isn’t enough to prove that, but what is certain is that the Holy Blood Alliance is no longer just a simple underground gang. Their actions are beginning to show a certain strategic element—and this time, the target is clearly more important than ever before.”

"The question is, what exactly are they looking for?" Hans shrugged. "An amulet that can summon demons? Or some kind of antique that can turn them into superhumans?"

"Don't forget, their belief system is mixed with a lot of distorted religious elements." The young agent flipped through his notebook. "The Holy Blood Alliance believes they are 'Chosen Ones,' and they've been pursuing an ancient tradition—something that can make them 'transcend mortals.' This could be a legendary artifact, or some kind of technological creation."

"If it's true," Hans spit, "it sounds like a villain's plan in a superhero movie."

Lynn ignored Hans's sarcasm and turned to an agent in charge of technical analysis. "What about that mutant? Has the body been sent for analysis?"

"Yes, it's been sent to the lab." The agent nodded, looking somewhat hesitant. "However, the initial report indicates that his body isn't entirely that of a 'mutant,' but rather more like a product of biochemical modification. We discovered implanted metal organs and neural interfaces—these things may be the key to his being controlled."

Lynn's expression shifted slightly. Though he didn't say it explicitly, the news clearly deepened his worries. "These technologies couldn't possibly be obtained by street gangs," he said in a low voice. "We need to find out who's supporting the Holy Blood Alliance behind this."

"Maybe it's some mad scientist," Hans said casually. "There are always some lunatics who enjoy doing these human experiments."

“Whoever it is,” Lynn turned around and tapped his fingers on the whiteboard, “they are our number one target right now. And our most urgent task is to find ‘Marco.’ He’s the only lead we can grasp at this stage.”

"Do we have any information about him?" the older detective asked.

"Not yet," Lynn shook his head. "However, according to the information we currently have, the Holy Blood Alliance has been frequently active in some abandoned buildings in the West Side of Manhattan recently. Those might be where Marco is hiding."

"Abandoned buildings, gangs, cyborgs," Hans rubbed his temples. "This sounds like a nightmare."

"Welcome to reality," Lynn said coldly. "I need your full strength. Split into two groups. One group will continue investigating the Holy Blood Alliance's financial flows and its backers, while the other group will focus on the operation points in Manhattan's West Side. Don't alert them, but don't overlook any clues."

"Understood." The other agents nodded and began organizing the information.

Hans stood up, picked up his coat, and said, "Well, Lynn, looks like we'll be out on the streets again."

"Be careful this time," Lynn said in a low voice, a deep premonition in his eyes. "The Holy Blood Alliance has realized that we are tracking them, and things will only get more dangerous from here on out."

Hans patted Lynn on the shoulder and grinned. "Danger? Buddy, that's part of the fun of our job."

Lynn didn't respond. He simply picked up his weapons and equipment, turned, and walked out of the conference room. His steps were steady, but each step felt heavy, as if he were carrying some unseen burden.

The midnight wind carried a slightly damp scent as Lynn drove into a quiet street in Brooklyn. The houses along the street were neat but old, their streetlights glowing dimly like fireflies, exuding a peaceful atmosphere. For Lynn, this was a rare haven. He parked the car in his familiar driveway, let out a long breath, and lingered on the steering wheel, not getting out of the car.

He rubbed his temples, feeling a wave of weariness. The constant chases, gunfights, and the perplexing investigation weighed heavily on his shoulders, while the shadow of the Holy Blood Alliance loomed like a persistent nightmare. He needed a moment to catch his breath. And he knew that here, at least he could find a semblance of home.

He pushed open the car door and got out, hearing a familiar metallic clanging sound. He looked up at the yard.

Light streamed from the open garage, casting a warm yellow glow over an old, vintage car. The hood was open, revealing a lean yet still powerful figure bent over, tools in hand, working under the vehicle.

"George," Lynn called out, a faint smile playing on his lips. He walked into the garage, hands in his coat pockets. "Still messing with this old car so late?"

George Stacy looked up, his wrinkled face appearing especially warm in the lamplight. His white hair was slightly disheveled by oil stains, and his metal-framed glasses had slipped down his nose due to sweat. He gave Lynn a wary look, then grinned. "What brings you back, kid? Weren't you supposed to be working all night?"

"Every now and then you need a break, don't you?" Lynn walked to the car, giving the antique engine a wary look. "Can this thing even move? Or do you just like the sound of metal clashing?"

George shook his head, tapping the wrench on the hood with a crisp sound. "More powerful than you think. This was your favorite car when you were a kid, don't tell me you've forgotten."

Lynn squinted at the car, memories slowly resurfacing. This Ford sedan was George's beloved possession from many years ago, and the only "luxury" Lynn could enjoy as a child. He remembered George driving him around the streets of Brooklyn, when the world wasn't as complicated as it is now.

"I thought it should have been scrapped a long time ago," Lynn said in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the car.

"Don't underestimate it," George straightened up, shaking the grease off his hands. "It's tougher than you or me."

Just like us, no matter how many wounds we suffer, we can always heal.

Lynn chuckled softly, said nothing more, and picked up a clean rag to wipe the oil stains around the engine. George glanced at him, didn't stop him, and instead handed him a wrench: "Since you're free, why don't you help the old man?"

"Okay, but don't expect me to fix it faster than you." Lynn took the wrench, bent down, and started fiddling with the engine.

The atmosphere in the garage was quiet and warm, with only the clanging of tools echoing in the air. Lynn liked this quiet; it allowed him to temporarily forget the gunshots and the smell of blood outside. George, on the other hand, calmly guided Lynn in repairing the car, their conversation simple and casual.

"You look tired," George said suddenly, his voice low but with a hint of concern.

Lynn stopped what she was doing, looked up at George, and said, "This week has been a bit busy."

"So busy that you're preoccupied?" George frowned, took off his glasses and wiped them. "I know you, Lynn. Ever since you first tried to lie when you were ten, I've known you're not good at hiding your emotions."

Lynn didn't answer immediately, but lowered his head, pretending to continue fiddling with the engine. He didn't know how to explain the recent events, especially the Holy Blood Alliance. Although George had once been a renowned captain in the police department, this situation was far more complex than any ordinary case. Lynn wasn't sure if George could fully understand.

"This case is very tricky," he finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost a soliloquy. "And,"

More dangerous than usual.

George stopped what he was doing and quietly watched Lynn. There was no urging in his eyes, only patience. He knew Lynn needed time.

"Danger?" George spoke slowly, his tone gentle. "Kid, I've been a cop for thirty years. I've heard the word 'danger' more than you've eaten meals. What kind of danger could make someone as calm as you uneasy?"

Lynn was silent for a moment, then finally sighed, "Have you heard of the Holy Blood Alliance?"

George frowned, put down the wrench, and rested his hands on the hood. "Of course I've heard of them. That insane underground organization likes to use blood sacrifices and intimidation to proclaim their 'sacred mission.' So, your case is related to them?"

“They’re not just an ordinary criminal organization.” Lynn straightened up, looking George into his eyes. “They’re looking for something, something that would make them even more dangerous. And they seem to have received higher-level support—some kind of technology or resources that ordinary gangs wouldn’t have access to.”

George's expression turned serious, and he muttered under his breath, "This sounds like the most troublesome case ever."

“Yes,” Lynn nodded. “We’ve touched a nerve. Last night, they sent a mutant to attack Hans and me. That thing—it wasn’t a normal human.”

George's face darkened further. He removed his gloves, crossed his arms, and fell into deep thought. After a few seconds, he looked up. "Lynn, this is beyond the scope of an ordinary case. You need more resources and support. You and a few agents alone can't handle this kind of organization."

"I know," Lynn said, her voice weary, "but headquarters doesn't believe we have enough evidence right now. Besides, even if we did, I'm not sure I can trust everyone."

Upon hearing this, George's face showed a complex expression. He was silent for a few seconds, then walked over to Lynn, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "Listen, kid, no matter what happens, remember one thing—don't let your instincts be wrong. I've watched you grow up, I know you have ability and judgment, but sometimes, don't be too stubborn."

Lynn looked up and smiled for the first time all day. "That sounds like a piece of advice telling me to be obedient."

"Maybe," George shrugged, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "But it would be even better if you could come back alive to listen to my rambling."

Lynn chuckled but didn't say anything more. He continued fiddling with the engine, while George continued repairing the car body. The two stood side by side beside the car, their silence revealing an unspoken understanding.

The morning sun shone through the thin mist onto the streets of Brooklyn. Lynn leaned against the kitchen counter, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand, his gaze fixed on the clock on the wall. The hands moved slowly, the time approaching eight. His phone lay quietly on the table, the screen dim, with no missed calls or messages.

"Damn it," he muttered, setting his coffee cup aside and grabbing his phone to dial Hans's number.

The phone rang a few times before being answered. Hans's voice came from the other end, sounding noticeably tired: "Don't tell me you don't even spare me in the morning, Lynn."

"Any news?" Lynn asked directly.

"No," Hans sighed. "Our men have been searching the West District all night, and haven't found a soul. The Holy Blood Alliance is more cunning than we thought; they won't show themselves easily."

Lynn was silent for a few seconds, then his brow furrowed slightly. "What about the lab? Have the results of the mutant analysis come out yet?"

"Not yet." Hans sounded somewhat frustrated. "But they said the technology behind that metal implant is very complex, definitely not something you can get through ordinary channels. It might involve some private laboratories..."

Even military projects.

Lynn gripped his phone tightly, a flicker of frustration crossing his mind. The shadow of the Holy Blood Alliance remained like a thick fog shrouding the city; he could see it, but he could never quite grasp it.

"Alright then." Lynn finally sighed. "Keep an eye on it, and let me know immediately if there's any progress."

"Understood." Hans hung up the phone.

Lynn put down his phone, his fingers tapping lightly on the counter. He knew that waiting was the most tedious part of the investigation, but each wait only strengthened his intuition—the Holy Blood Alliance was definitely brewing some nefarious scheme. And at this moment, time felt like an enemy to them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. He turned around and saw Gwen rushing down the stairs, her backpack slung over her shoulder and a folder containing sheet music in her hand.

"Lynn, can you take me to school?" She looked up at him, her voice urgent. "I don't want to be late. There's rehearsal today, and the teacher said we'll get points deducted if we're late!"

"Rehearsal?" Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say you didn't like these performances?"

"Yes," Gwen bit her lip, speaking softly and somewhat shyly, "but this time it's a band thing, not some boring chorus. I'm playing the main theme, Lynn, the main theme! Do you know what that means?"

Lynn looked at her slightly proud expression and couldn't help but smile. "Okay, main theme. I understand. I'll take you there."

"Thanks!" Gwen turned and rushed towards the door with a relaxed expression, then turned back and shouted, "Hurry up!"

I don't want to be stared at by the whole band.

Lynn grabbed her coat and car keys and followed her out.

As their car drove through the streets of Brooklyn, Lynn remained silent, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

His thoughts were still focused on the investigation of the Holy Blood Alliance, and he was desperately trying to piece together the fragmented clues into a complete picture.

"Lynn, why are you so quiet today?" Gwen, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced at him. "Is something wrong at work?"

"No," Lynn replied casually, her gaze still fixed ahead.

"You lied," Gwen called him out directly, her tone light. "Every time you lie, you unconsciously grit your teeth. I can tell."

Lynn gave a helpless smile. "Can't I have some private space?"

"No." Gwen gave a sly smile. "You're my brother, tell me, what happened?"

Lynn gave her a wary look, then finally sighed, "It's nothing serious, just that the recent cases have been a bit tricky. Don't worry, everything will be fine."

"Then why do you look like the whole world is weighing on your shoulders?" Gwen frowned.

They clearly don't believe it.

Lynn hesitated for a moment, then decided to change the subject, "Tell me about your performance. What's the program today?"

Gwen stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly wanting to press further, but ultimately relented. "Alright, since you don't want to say—it's Tchaikovsky's 'Andante Cantabile.' I'm in charge of the melody, and the whole band has to follow my rhythm. That's going to be a big challenge."

"Sounds great," Lynn nodded. "But that also means if something goes wrong, the whole band will blame you, right?"