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

Almost simultaneously, a short warning rang out from the old drainage outlet: "Footsteps underground! Two or three people are retreating towards the river!"

Lynn grabbed his coat and headed out. The analyst called out "Detective!" from behind, but he didn't turn around; he just pressed his earpiece tighter.

The car was already waiting downstairs. In the deepest darkness, the lights in the Federal branch's underground passage were blindingly white. Lynn got into the second car, the driver floored the gas pedal, the tires screeching against the pavement, and they headed straight for the East River.

The reports from the front lines kept coming through my headset.

"One person was apprehended on the second floor. He was wearing protective clothing and carrying a pistol. He has been subdued."

"The underground cold storage area is locked, possibly due to electronic linkage."

"Two escapees were discovered during the cordon operation on the north embankment; one was shot and fell to the ground, while the other fled back towards the drainage outlet!"

"A large number of medical refrigerated boxes were found on the west side; their serial numbers have been sealed off!"

When Lynn arrived, portable searchlights were already on outside the warehouse. The entire abandoned area was bathed in a stark white light, and the wind, carrying the smell of river water and old engine oil, blew straight into his collar. The west door was wide open, and people were constantly going in and out, carrying sealed boxes and detainees. A man in a white protective jacket was being held down on the ground, cursing, his face pressed against the cement.

Jason was just coming out, his face covered in dust he hadn't had time to wipe. The first thing he said to Lynn as she got out of the car was, "Couldn't you have stayed in the control room?"

"How is the situation?"

"The underground warehouse is deeper than I thought," Jason cursed, pointing inside. "It's not a simple transfer point; it's half a live animal processing chamber. See for yourself."

Lynn followed him inside. The first floor of the warehouse looked like a cold chain warehouse that had been abandoned for many years; half of the paint on the walls had fallen off, but the floor had clearly been cleaned. Several large freezers were placed against the wall, and cables stretched all the way to the inside. The further they went in, the lower the temperature became, and the stronger the smell of hospital waste mixed with bleach became, exactly as Matteo had described.

A thick door hidden behind the shelves had been blown open, revealing a staircase leading underground. The staircase was narrow, with a new moisture-proof coating on the walls that clashed drastically with the dilapidated exterior above. At the bottom, the view suddenly opened up—the underground area was a converted storage zone, with half of the cold white light bulbs still lit, and drag marks, footprints, and equipment that hadn't been taken away scattered all over the floor.

On the left were four rows of medical refrigerated cabinets, their doors open, revealing injection boxes and vacuum sample tubes covered with coded labels. On the right was a makeshift laboratory area, where metal tables, centrifuges, disposable protective equipment, discarded needles, and recording screens hadn't been completely removed. At the far end were three narrow beds with restraints, their side lamps casting a cold, dim light.

Lynn stopped in his tracks, his eyes suddenly turning stern.

"Have you found the live record?" he asked.

"Found some." The technician strode over from the other end, carrying a tablet and an evidence bag, his voice trembling with excitement. "Initially, it appears to be a prohibited gene-editing agent, in considerable quantities, along with a high-concentration crystalline sample derivative. The injection protocol doesn't list the standard drug names, but internal codes. Look here—GX-R7, GX-R9, and an encrypted K-seed sequence."

"K-seed," Jason repeated, "key seed."

Lynn took the tablet; the screen scrolled through experimental records that hadn't been completely erased yet. Several pages listed terms like "fit rate," "lattice reaction period," and "carrier tolerance threshold," along with response curves for different numbered subjects. Flipping further, a few photos flashed by—different degrees of transparent crystallization on the arms and sides of the neck.

The fine, transparent marks on the back of Matteo's hand look almost exactly the same as in two of the photos.

Lynn's expression gradually turned cold: "Seal off the entire venue. Mirror all data. Don't miss a single sample."

"It's already underway." The technician nodded hurriedly. "We also found a standby server at the very back; it didn't have time to completely self-destruct. The data recovery team is taking over."

Jason gestured with his chin in another direction: "There's something even more disgusting."

Lynn followed them to the innermost semi-enclosed room, where a row of transparent storage clips covered the wall. These weren't ordinary inventory slips, but rather personnel files with photos, height, weight, and basic biochemical indicators. Some files had "good response," "can continue," or "needs observation" circled in red. Most names were pseudonyms or numbers.

One of the photos, with a picture of Matteo pasted in the corner, was clearly taken from a street camera. Below it was written: "Project M, peripheral transportation, moderate to high reactivity, induced, requires further pressure testing."

Lynn stared at the few lines of text without saying a word.

Jason gritted his teeth beside him: "They really treat people like expendable resources."

Another file was marked "deeper," and the photo showed a man in his early twenties with faint, shiny lines on the left side of his face. Lynn glanced at it and remembered the driver Matteo had mentioned.

The technician ran over again: "Detective, the identity of the second person we caught on the north embankment has been revealed. He has a missing little finger on his left hand and a dragging gait due to an old injury to his right foot. This matches your description at the scene."

Jason whirled around: "Alive?"

"Alive. Shot in the leg, but under control."

"Good." Jason chuckled coldly. "Finally, we've caught someone who can talk to us tonight."

A new message came through the earpiece: "The drainage outfall pursuit team reports that the third escapee has been apprehended below the riverbank. His bag contains three unmarked syringes and a half-burnt transport manifest."

Lynn turned around: "Bring up the shipping documents."

"Possibly," Lynn said, looking at the code name, "it could just be another disguised node."

"But at least it shows they have a transfer plan for tonight," Jason said.

"And we interrupted them." Lynn handed the evidence bag back. "Check the number of freezers and see if anything is missing."

The technician immediately got to work. The lights in the underground area were so bright that they clearly illuminated the fatigue on everyone's faces. But no one cared about being tired; the site was like a high-speed machine, with every box, every vial of medicine, and every piece of paper being rapidly numbered, photographed, and sealed.

Lynn walked to the rows of refrigerated display cases and reached in to pick up a vial sealed in a transparent sleeve through her gloves. The liquid was a very pale bluish-gray, with an unnatural, fine sheen under the light. The label didn't have an official drug name, only a printed code and a batch number.

"If this batch gets out, what will happen on the streets?" he asked.

The biochemical consultant standing nearby turned pale: "Judging from the dosage form, some may be enhanced induction injections, some are inhibitors used to suppress reactions, and a few look like high-risk gene modulation base solutions. They are unregistered, have not undergone clinical trials, and their ingredients are mixed. If used on ordinary people, they could cause organ failure at best, and irreversible mutations at worst."

"What about the quantity?"

"At a glance, there are no fewer than two hundred vials, plus a number of sample tablets and compatibility solutions." The consultant swallowed hard. "This is no longer a small-scale trial."

Jason said coldly from the side, "Yeah, this is called a production line."

Just then, someone shouted from the other end: "The server is on!"

Several people immediately went over. The recovery team had already connected the host to the isolation terminal, and a partial directory tree appeared on the screen. The top few folders were disguised with pseudonyms as logistics and refrigeration maintenance records, and the real contents were only revealed one level inward: compatibility list, drug batch number, transit node, cost sharing, and deletion instructions.

"Look here." The analyst zoomed in on a page. "This contains internal communication notes. 'Mr. Wei' isn't a specific person; it's more like a general external designation. People at different points in the chain of command are required to report to 'Mr. Wei's office.'"

"Shell code," Lynn said.

"And this too." The analyst clicked on another page, where a larger network node diagram appeared on the screen. The East River warehouse was just one link in the chain, connecting to the shell of a clinic in Queens, an empty freight line in New Jersey, and several anonymous locations marked "deep points" or "temporary observation areas."

Jason cursed, "That's a huge net."

"Pull out all the nodes," Lynn said. "Freeze them first, don't move them all at once. Let's see who knows something's wrong here first."

The analyst acted swiftly: "There are also a batch of outsourcing records. For the past two months, they have been testing the 'enhanced gene agent' with several underground buyers and private security channels. The buyer notes include black market competitors, illegal security companies, and even overseas intermediaries."

Lynn stared at the screen: "So the crystallized samples are the research and development side, and the prohibited gene-based drugs are the trading side. They're running both sides at the same time."

Jason nodded: "No wonder the higher-ups always felt that the scattered cases weren't quite similar to each other; in reality, they deliberately broke up the chain."

Just then, a middle-aged manager in a suit led two men down from the upper floor. The man was the deputy assistant director on night duty; he was usually quiet, but his expression changed visibly upon seeing the scene in the underground area. He stopped at the edge of the area, glanced at the rows of freezers and restraint beds, and then turned to Lynn and Jason.

"Did you find this tonight?"

"The access card was the trigger," Jason said. "The scene basically confirmed the presence of prohibited gene-editing agents, live-fitting experiments, and illegal sample transport."

The deputy assistant director didn't speak immediately, as if quickly processing the information before him. After a few seconds, he asked, "Is there a risk of leakage?"

"The perimeter is sealed off, two and a half of the three escapees have been caught, the server didn't completely self-destruct, and most of the samples are still there," Lynn said. "But don't get too excited, this is just one point."

The other person glanced at him, probably noticing his complexion and the condition of his arm, and frowned slightly: "Aren't you still on the injury list?"

"The list will not affect the event."

"I think the medical department will have their opinions tomorrow."

"They do it often."

The deputy assistant director seemed about to say something, but ultimately held back, only glancing down at the brief catalog that had just been handed to him. The words "GX-R Prohibited Gene Agent," "K-Seed Samples," and "Accommodation List" were at the very top of the catalog, enough to make anyone who wasn't completely numb feel a chill run down their spine.

He paused for a moment, then looked up: "This isn't ordinary spoils. This is something that deserves to be reported in the ministry's morning paper."

Jason grinned. "That's what we think too."

"The chain of evidence must be complete," the deputy assistant director said. "From access cards, samples, on-site arrests, to drug catalogs, server logs, transfer slips, and personnel files, not a single one can be missing. I need a preliminary report ready to be submitted before dawn."

"I'll give it to you," Lynn said.

The other person nodded, his gaze sweeping over the underground area again before finally settling on the rows of refrigerated display cases. He lowered his voice slightly and said, "Well done."

These four short words, placed in this underground area filled with the smell of disinfectant and cold light, seemed to tighten everyone's already tense nerves. Jason didn't show it too obviously, only raising an eyebrow. Lynn simply nodded, saying nothing more.

Before turning away, the deputy assistant director added, "If the higher-ups ask, who started this case first?"

Jason gestured with his chin toward Lynn: "Him."

The other person followed their gaze, lingering on Lynn's face for a couple of seconds as if confirming something, before finally saying, "I'll include it."

Once everyone was out of sight, Jason muttered under his breath, "Well done, Inspector, time to collect your reward."

Lynn looked up: "Your tone sounds like you're mocking me."

"How could I dare?" Jason said. "I'm just worried about you. If they praise you, you'll probably stay up even less."

"Those are two different things."

“It’s never been like that with you.” Jason had barely finished speaking when an analyst next to him suddenly held up his tablet. “We found a supplementary list on the server, which contains a list of recent peripheral deployments. There’s an updated note at the back of the M Project page.”

Lynn turned around: "Read it."

The analyst swallowed hard, speaking quickly: "'Peripheral transporter M has been emotionally unstable for the past two weeks and shows signs of detachment. If necessary, use the address of his immediate family member as a pressure point; if samples are leaked, prioritize the recovery of items, followed by the recovery of the target person.'"

The underground area fell silent instantly.

Jason's face darkened completely: "They never intended to talk to that kid in the first place."

"I told you," Lynn said, his voice almost flat and cold, "he's just someone who thinks he still has leverage."

The analyst flipped through the document a couple more times: "There's an even earlier internal assessment. 'Strong family ties, which can be exploited; a clear protective instinct towards her sister, making her suitable as a control anchor.'"

Jason cursed and turned to Lynn: "You'd better not go to Matteo right now, or you'll probably slap this page right in his face."

Lynn stared at the few lines of text, his eyes seemingly covered by a thin layer of ice. He didn't speak, but took the tablet and read it again himself. The text was short, coldly dissecting a young man's most hidden vulnerability into a few lines of instructions.

"Make a copy," he said.

"Show him?"

"Not now." Lynn handed the tablet back. "Wait until he wakes up."

It was still dark outside, but the wind was blowing harder along the East River. The search of the underground area continued until nearly five o'clock. The refrigerated containers and servers were transported away in batches, and the detainees were also escorted away in groups. After the last batch of evidence was loaded onto the truck, Lynn stood on the embankment outside the warehouse, and a very faint gray tinge had already appeared on the horizon.

Jason walked over to him and handed him a cup of black coffee he'd somehow gotten his hands on: "It's hot. Don't mind it."

"I just said two hours ago that I didn't want coffee."

"That's a different story now." Jason shoved the cup into his hand. "You look like a dead man."

Lynn took the cup; it was scalding hot. He didn't drink it immediately, but instead gazed at the still-lit buildings across the river. A breeze blew across the water, carrying the chill unique to the early morning, gradually washing away the fatigue of a sleepless night. (End of Chapter)