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

The two bodyguards exchanged a glance, seemingly assessing the possibility of continuing to resist, but seeing that their leader had been subdued, they finally decided to surrender. They slowly laid down their weapons and prostrated themselves on the ground.

Lynn quickly handcuffed Cruz and then checked his condition. The mutant security chief was still breathing evenly, but was temporarily unconscious. Lynn removed his other glove and carefully examined it, discovering sophisticated electronic equipment and some kind of energy focusing system inside.

“This isn’t a mutant ability,” Lynn realized. “It’s technology. A high-tech weapon system, possibly based on some kind of energy control technology.”

Ethan emerged from the hideout, looking both shocked and curious. "So he's not a mutant?"

“No,” Lynn confirmed, “this is some kind of advanced weapon system developed by Black Hawk, possibly based on technology they researched on Tonalí Island.”

Ethan looked both relieved and somewhat disappointed. "I spent months investigating the connection between mutants and Black Hawk, and even received information from informants that Black Hawk was using mutant abilities to develop weapons. But I never expected it to be such technological imitation."

Lynn remembered seeing Ethan's mysterious car outside the café earlier. "Was it the informant who brought you here?"

Ethan shook his head, his expression darkening. "No, that was my editor. I told him I had a major discovery and planned to publish an investigative report on Black Hawk International and mutants. Then this morning, I received an anonymous message saying someone was willing to provide more evidence and asked me to come to this address. But when I arrived, Cruz and his men were lying in wait."

George approached, holding the weapon he'd seized from the bodyguard. "I've already contacted backup. Agent Mark Wilson's team should be here soon."

Just then, sirens blared in the distance, and a team of FBI agents and police stormed into the warehouse, quickly taking control of the area in standard tactical formation. Mark, walking at the front, showed a visibly relieved expression when he saw Lynn.

“Detective Hall,” he strode over, “Gwen told us the situation could be dangerous. It seems you’ve taken the situation under control.”

Lynn nodded, pointing to the subdued Cruz and his men. "This is Victor Cruz, the security chief of Black Hawk International. They kidnapped this journalist in an attempt to lure me into their scheme."

Mark immediately signaled to his team to take the suspect away, then turned to Lynn, "Are you alright? Where's George?"

“We’re all fine,” Lynn replied, then pointed to Ethan, “but Mr. Redlich needs a medical check-up; he was beaten.”

Mark nodded and immediately arranged for medical personnel to take care of Ethan. While the surrounding agents were busy dealing with the scene and the suspects, Lynn walked over to Ethan, who was still sitting in a folding chair.

“Thank you,” Ethan said sincerely, though his face still showed signs of fatigue and pain. “If it weren’t for you, I might already be…”

Lynn waved him off. “No need to thank me. I was just doing my job.” He paused, his expression growing more serious. “I must apologize to you, Mr. Redlich. I wasn’t friendly enough to you at the café. I misjudged your intentions.”

Ethan shook his head and smiled slightly. "No, your caution is justified. In our line of work, maintaining a skeptical attitude is key to survival. And," his expression grew more serious, "given what happened today, I understand why you're so wary of discussing mutants."

Lynn thought for a moment, then made a decision, “When you recover, perhaps we can talk again. Not as an agent and a journalist, but as two people who care about the truth.”

Ethan's eyes lit up. "I'm looking forward to it. I believe the public has the right to know the true nature of organizations like Black Hawk International and how they use technology and lies to create panic and division."

Lynn nodded in agreement, "But only if the reporting is accurate and doesn't exacerbate prejudice against mutants due to fear or speculation."

“Of course,” Ethan responded seriously, “that’s exactly what I’ve always tried to avoid. My column has always aimed to present diverse perspectives and promote understanding rather than division.”

Lynn recalled Gwen's description of Ethan's work and realized she might be right—Ethan was indeed a journalist with ethical standards, dedicated to presenting the truth rather than just pursuing sensationalism.

Medical staff came to examine Ethan, and Lynn left them to go to Mark, who was on the phone with Deputy Director Clayton.

“Sir,” Mark handed Lynn his phone, “Deputy Director Clayton wants to speak with you.”

Lynn took the phone. "Hall reporting, sir."

“Detective Hall,” Clayton’s voice came through the phone, “I just received a preliminary report. Looks like you’ve run into trouble again while on leave, haven’t you?”

Lynn tried to explain, "Sir, this is related to Black Hawk International. They kidnapped a journalist, trying to lure me into their scheme."

“I know,” Clayton interrupted him. “Agent Wilson has already briefed me on the situation. Your operation, while unconventional, was the right one. We captured a senior Black Hawk executive, which will help us further investigate their network.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lynn said, feeling somewhat relieved. “About the special operations team?”

Clayton's voice grew more serious. "We'll be formally forming the team tomorrow. Given today's events, it's clear Black Hawk is more dangerous and complex than we initially thought. They're not only conducting illegal experiments, but also developing advanced weapons systems, possibly based on technology that mimics mutant abilities. We need to act as quickly as possible."

"Understood, sir. I will be prepared."

After hanging up the phone, Lynn walked toward George, who was talking to several FBI agents. Seeing Lynn approach, George ended the conversation and turned to his adopted son.

"Looks like my old police instincts haven't completely faded," George said half-jokingly, but his eyes were full of pride. "Even in retirement, I can still be of help in a pinch."

Lynn smiled and patted his adoptive father on the shoulder. "Your appearance was a crucial turning point. If it weren't for the distraction you created, I might not have been able to subdue Cruz."

George's expression turned serious. "That glove technology... can it really mimic mutant abilities?"

Lynn nodded. "It seems so. This is likely part of the results of Black Hawk's research on Tonalí. They're not only trying to create super soldiers, but also developing weapon systems capable of mimicking specific mutant abilities."

“This is a dangerous path,” George commented. “The consequences of this technology falling into the hands of terrorists would be catastrophic.”

“That’s precisely why we must completely destroy Black Hawk’s network,” Lynn said firmly, “not only to stop their illegal experiments, but also to prevent the spread of these dangerous technologies.” They stepped out of the warehouse, the sunlight warm and bright on their faces, a stark contrast to the tense standoff they had just endured in the dark warehouse.

“You know what,” George said suddenly, “my impression of that young reporter has changed. He risked his life to investigate Black Hawk; that takes courage.”

Lynn nodded, looking at Ethan who was receiving treatment. "Yes, me too. Gwen is probably right—he's a journalist of principle, concerned with the truth and the public interest."

“You should apologize to Gwen,” George suggested, half-jokingly and half-seriously. “She’ll be angry for a while because of how you treated her friend.”

Lynn smiled. "I will. But first, I need to call her and let her know we're all okay. She must be frantic with worry right now."

Just as Lynn expected, when he dialed Gwen's number, she answered almost immediately, her voice filled with anxiety and worry, "Lynn? Are you alright? How's George? How's Ethan?"

"That's all good," Lynn said with a smile.

Gwen smiled with relief: "It's good that you're alright."

After saying a few more words, Gwen hung up the phone.

Although Lynn wanted to go home for dinner, things were complicated today, and he had to go back to the precinct to keep a close eye on the case.

Silent all night.

The next day.

The morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating Lynn Hall's tired face. The rescue operation last night left faint dark circles under his eyes, but he still got up on time and donned his signature dark blue suit.

"What exactly do they want from Ethan?" Lynn muttered to himself, picking up the FBI badge from the bedside table and solemnly pinning it to his waist.

Lynn's apartment was in an unassuming old building in downtown New York City. It wasn't large, but it was neat and tidy. Only a coffee machine was running in the kitchen, emitting a soft hum. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and stood by the window, overlooking the city that had already begun to awaken.

After finishing the last sip of his coffee, Lynn picked up his car keys and left the apartment. He drove a low-key black Ford to Ethan's studio in Brooklyn.

The car radio was broadcasting the latest news: "Continuing coverage of last night's explosion in Harlem, witnesses report seeing the Hulk at the scene, causing extensive property damage. Authorities are..."

Lynn frowned and reached out to turn off the radio. News about the Hulk had been everywhere lately, with mainstream media almost unanimously portraying him as a dangerous monster, a threat that needed to be controlled or even eliminated. But Lynn, as a law enforcement officer, was used to seeking evidence rather than blindly accepting propaganda.

Brooklyn's streets are narrower than Manhattan's, lined with old buildings adorned with graffiti art, exuding an artistic atmosphere. Ethan's studio is located in such a five-story red brick building; the ground floor houses a small café, emitting an enticing aroma of coffee.

Lynn parked his car across the street and observed the surroundings for a while. This was a habit of his, as a well-trained FBI agent. After confirming that nothing was amiss, he walked towards the building and pushed open the glass door of the café.

"Good morning," a young barista with a beard greeted with a smile. "Would you like something?"

“Thank you, but no need,” Lynn replied politely, gesturing upstairs. “I’m here to see Ethan Black.”

“Oh, Ethan? He’s on the fourth floor, on the left. He’s usually busy by now. That guy hardly ever sleeps, you know?” the barista said in a friendly manner.

Lynn nodded his thanks and headed towards the adjacent staircase. The building had no elevator, and the narrow stairwell reeked of a mixture of wood and paint. With each step he climbed, Lynn's questions grew. What exactly was Ethan researching? Why was Black Hawk International so eager to capture him?

Upon reaching the fourth floor, Lynn gently knocked on the door of the studio on his left. A simple wooden sign hung on the door, engraved with "Ethan Black - Independent Investigative Journalist."

no respond.

Lynn knocked again, this time with more force. "Ethan? It's me, Lynn Hall."

There was still no response, but he could hear the faint sounds of electronic devices running and papers rustling inside. Lynn tried turning the doorknob and found the door unlocked. He hesitated, considering yesterday's events, Ethan might be in danger. As an FBI agent, he decided to go in and check.

“Ethan? I’m coming in,” Lynn said as he slowly pushed open the door.

The studio was larger than he had imagined, but extremely cluttered. Various kinds of equipment, documents, and photos covered almost every surface. The walls were studded with photos, clippings, and maps, connected by red lines to form a complex network. The air was thick with the smell of coffee and paper, and several computers were running simultaneously, their screens flashing various data and news images.

In the heart of this chaos, Ethan Black, with his back to the door, stared intently at a particular wall, completely oblivious to Lynn's arrival. That wall was covered with articles and photographs about the Hulk, and unlike the other walls, these clippings seemed meticulously organized, forming a kind of timeline.

Ethan was a tall, thin young man in his early twenties with messy, unkempt brown hair. He wore a wrinkled plaid shirt and jeans, and old sneakers. The table was piled high with empty coffee cups and energy drink cans, indicating he had been working for a long time.

Lynn cleared her throat. "Ethan?"

Ethan whirled around, his eyes wide with surprise, but quickly relaxed. "Lynn! Good heavens, you startled me." He gave a tired but genuine smile. "Sorry, I was so focused I didn't hear the knock."

Lynn noticed the prominent dark circles under Ethan's eyes, and the stubble on his cheeks indicated that he hadn't had a proper rest for several days. "Looks like you didn't sleep all night," Lynn said, his gaze sweeping across the room, instinctively assessing the surroundings.

Ethan shrugged. “Sleep is a luxury that can be sacrificed, especially when you’re tracking what could be the biggest news of the century.” He turned to a coffee machine. “Want a coffee? Nothing fancy, but something to keep you awake.” (End of Chapter)