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

“Mark, keep investigating. He can’t just disappear like that,” Lynn said in a deep voice, his tone resolute. “I don’t believe Alan really appeared out of thin air.”

Mark nodded and began to intensify the search. "Okay, I'll continue the search, but you need to be careful too. He doesn't seem like an ordinary enemy." He looked at Lynn, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes. "If Alan really is some kind of experimental subject or someone being manipulated by an organization, then his target might not just be you."

Lynn took a deep breath, a cold glint in his eyes. "No matter what, I must find him as soon as possible and end all of this."

The following morning, Lynn sat in his FBI office, elbows propped on his desk, hands clasped, brow furrowed, eyes glued to the computer screen. Case files were scattered on the desk, but his attention was elsewhere. He was pondering Alan's identity, increasingly convinced that Alan was no ordinary adversary, especially given his exceptional strength, extraordinary regenerative abilities, and menacing aura.

Lynn broke the silence, rubbing his aching temples. He surmised that Alan was likely a marginalized figure, an anonymous person without a fixed identity or social security. Such people usually lack registration information and can only survive by operating in the gray or even black markets. For someone like Alan, the only way to survive was to enter those inconspicuous and extremely dangerous underground worlds.

"Maybe he smuggled himself in from abroad and is trying to hide in a place like this," Lynn muttered to himself. Thinking this, his focus sharpened. He needed to find more information about Alan, and Manhattan, a place with a large underclass, might offer some clues in those gray areas.

“Go to Manhattan and investigate Alan’s background.” Lynn had made up his mind. He tidied up the files on his desk, stood up, and prepared to leave.

He drove from the FBI building toward Manhattan's bar district. This place was another side of the city, a blend of glitz and glamour. The streets were lined with all sorts of bars, clubs, and underground casinos, teeming with illegal transactions and social outcasts. Lynn knew that this place might offer him some clues, especially in the bars, where those who frequented the underworld might know something about strangers like Alan.

He parked his car in a dimly lit alley and walked towards a nearby bar. The bar was called "Dark Alley," its entrance adorned with dim light bulbs. The facade was shabby, and the glass windows were covered in a layer of dust, making it almost impossible to see inside. Lynn went inside. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol. Various people sat at the surrounding tables; some looked dazed, others conversed in hushed tones.

The bar owner was a middle-aged man with a messy stubble and somewhat unfocused eyes. Lynn walked to the bar, took out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to the owner: "I need to inquire about some people."

The shopkeeper glanced at him, then lowered his head to pour the wine into his glass. "Asking about someone?" His eyes held a sly glint. "What do you want to know?"

Lynn glanced around, trying to find any potentially useful clues. "I'm looking for a man named Alan. He's tall, strong, and usually wears black."

"Alan?" The boss seemed hesitant, then said in a low voice, "Are you here to cause trouble? You need to understand the rules here. People in bars have their own survival rules."

Lynn stared into his boss's eyes and said in a deep voice, "I don't want any trouble, I just want to get some information. Do you know him? If you do, tell me where he is. I'll pay you."

The shopkeeper paused, his eyes flickering, but he quickly realized that Lynn wasn't there to cause trouble, but rather had some kind of persistent purpose. He sighed, hesitated for a moment, and then answered in a low voice, "I've heard of him. Alan... is definitely not someone to mess with. He comes here often, but he never interacts with anyone. He usually sits alone in a corner, drinking, with a cold look in his eyes."

Lynn's heart skipped a beat, and she pressed on, "Has he come by recently?"

The boss nodded. "He did come a few days ago and got into a bit of a fight with a group of people. I'm not entirely sure where he went. But he did say something like, 'I won't be staying here long; I'll leave after a while.'"

Lynn's heart tightened. It seemed Alan didn't intend to stay in Manhattan long, which meant he wouldn't be able to find him easily. Lynn continued, "Does anyone know anything about his background? Who did he contact when he came here?"

The shopkeeper shook his head, clearly not knowing much about Alan. "Alan isn't a regular customer here and hardly interacts with anyone. As for his background, no one dares to ask. If you really want to know more, go ask those old customers who hang around in the corner all year round; maybe they know something."

Lynn didn't bother the bartender any longer and turned to walk to a corner of the bar. He sat down at a table by the window and looked around. Most of the people in the bar seemed a bit off; many were struggling at the bottom of the city, their lives weighing them down, and only alcohol could give them a temporary escape from reality.

Lynn noticed several older-looking men in the corner, occasionally whispering and glancing in his direction. A thought struck Lynn, and he decided to try his luck. He walked to one of the tables, smiled, sat down, and said softly, "I'm looking for someone you might have heard of."

The men looked up at him, their expressions wary; clearly, in this dark place, it wasn't easy to gain the trust of strangers.

"Who are you looking for?" a man asked in a low voice, his eyes darting around, clearly not completely letting his guard down.

Lynn didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pushed the wine glass on the table towards the man and said, "I'm looking for a man named Alan. I heard he was here before. Do you know him?"

The man glanced at his wine glass, sighed, and slowly said, "Alan? I've heard of him, but he doesn't have many friends and often comes alone. What do you want to know?"

Lynn moved closer. "Have you seen him in contact with anyone? Has he been in contact or made deals with certain people?"

"A deal?" The man glanced down at the table. "Alan won't do deals with these people. He only associates with the boss's group. I've heard he has connections with some big shot, but I don't know the specifics."

"The boss? Which boss?" Lynn's heart skipped a beat, and he pressed on. The man hesitated for a moment, but still said in a low voice, "If you want to know, you'd better go find the owner of that underground casino. He's met Alan. Every time Alan comes to the bar, he greets him. You can try going to the underground casino."

Lynn nodded. "Underground casino, I understand." He stood up and quickly left the bar. As he stepped outside, the chill of the night filled the air. Lynn knew he was getting closer to the truth. Alan's trail had finally found some clues in this place rife with shady dealings and the black market.

Lynn quickly drove to the underground casino near the bar. The casino was located in a seemingly dilapidated old building with no obvious signs, only a dark door. Lynn pushed the door open without hesitation, and was greeted by dim lighting and a cacophony of noise. The whispers among the crowd, the clatter of cards on the gambling tables, and the constant clinking of coins filled the entire casino with a tense and oppressive atmosphere.

He quickly glanced around and spotted a luxurious office area in one corner of the casino, with two security guards in black standing at the entrance, clearly there for protection. Lynn stepped forward and calmly said, "I need to see the boss."

One of the security guards glanced at him impatiently and said coldly, "I don't know you, you can't see me." Just as he was about to close the door, Lynn calmly took out his FBI badge and gently showed it to the guard. "This is my badge. I'm an FBI agent, here to see your boss about something."

Upon seeing this, the security guard's expression changed, and he immediately pushed open the door: "Wait a moment, come with me."

Lynn was led by security into a private office inside the casino, the door slamming shut behind him, shutting out the outside noise. The office was dimly lit, a heavy wooden table piled high with documents and ledgers, old gambling posters hanging on the walls, and a mingled smell of tobacco and alcohol in the air. The boss sat behind the desk, his gaze sharp, a half-smile playing on his lips. He glanced at Lynn standing in the doorway, a hint of wariness in his eyes.

"You say you're from the FBI?" the boss's voice was deep, carrying a subtle threat. "What are you doing here?"

Lynn didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took out Alan's portrait, placed it on the table, and looked directly into his boss's eyes. "You should know this person, right?"

The shop owner's gaze swept over the portrait, momentarily freezing before his expression hardened. He didn't answer immediately, turning his attention to the night outside the window, seemingly contemplating how to handle the situation. Lynn remained calm, waiting patiently, already quite prepared. For the owner of a place like this, unexpected calmness was often the biggest warning sign. Lynn continued to observe the owner discreetly, waiting for his reaction.

After a few seconds, the boss finally spoke, his tone carrying an undeniable calmness: "Alan..." He swallowed, seemingly deliberately avoiding certain topics, "I know him. But you've come to see him, probably not to have a drink with him."

Lynn nodded, his voice steady: "I'm not here to drink. I'm looking for Alan, to find out where he is and what he's been doing lately."

The boss stubbed out his cigarette, seemingly finally deciding to stop hiding the truth. "You want to know where he is and what he's been doing lately?" He smiled, a hint of mockery in his eyes. "Alan is a mysterious man; no one truly understands him, not even me. If you want to know what he's up to, you'll probably have to ask him yourself."

Lynn didn't give up. He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on his boss. "I know he doesn't interact with people often, but he must have had contact with you. Tell me where he went; maybe you can avoid trouble." He paused, his tone becoming more determined. "You also know that Alan's background isn't simple. You don't want trouble, right?"

The boss gave Lynn a deep look, his lips twitching slightly, before finally lowering his head and rubbing his forehead. "Alright, you win. Alan did have some contact with me, but that was when he came over occasionally, and I only know that he doesn't stay here for long." He paused, his gaze complex. "But I must warn you, Alan is not the simple person you imagine. His background is far more complicated than you can comprehend."

Lynn's heart tightened; he realized Alan wasn't just a simple underworld figure. The boss continued, "You want to know where he went? I can give you a clue, but you have to promise not to reveal it. You can go to the underground boxing ring; he's been going there a lot lately."

Lynn's tense body relaxed slightly. An underground boxing ring! He already knew Alan was exceptionally skilled; anyone who could fight him wouldn't be an ordinary thug, but rather a master honed in the ring. "An underground boxing ring...where is it?"

The boss pointed outside, "After you go out here, walk along the street for five minutes, and you'll find it in a small alley. Remember, don't let anyone know you went there. The underground boxing ring is a gray area; many people gamble their lives there. Alan is just more comfortable in that environment."

Lynn nodded, quickly memorized the information, thanked his boss, and turned to leave the office. He returned to the casino lobby, his gaze sweeping around, a target already in mind. Underground boxing rings, though not well-known, were places where many unassuming individuals congregated amidst these illegal activities. If Alan went there, it certainly wasn't for simple gambling; there was likely a deeper purpose.

Stepping out of the casino, the chill of the night returned. Lynn took a deep breath and quickened his pace. Following the shopkeeper's directions, he walked along the street and soon found a seemingly inconspicuous alley. The dim light in the alley cast strange shadows, and it was eerily quiet, almost deserted. Lynn entered the alley and followed the narrow street to what appeared to be an abandoned old warehouse. The door was tightly shut, but a sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, and he could vaguely hear bursts of noise coming from inside.

He knocked lightly on the door, and after a moment, a burly man peeked out from behind it, eyeing him warily. "What do you want?" the man's voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an undeniable threat.

"I'm here to find someone," Lynn said calmly and unhurriedly.

"Who are you looking for?" The burly man narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at Lynn.

“Alan,” Lynn replied briefly, his gaze fixed directly on the big man’s eyes.

The burly man paused for a moment, seemingly making a decision in an instant, then abruptly pushed open the door. "Come in." He stepped aside a crack, and Lynn entered without hesitation. (End of Chapter)