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

“His emotional state has improved a lot,” Elisa observed. “Although the pain is still there, the oppressive sense of despair has noticeably lessened.”

“Knowing the truth did give him a certain strength,” Lynn agreed. “Even though the truth was painful, it gave him a clear goal—to fight for justice, instead of being consumed by hatred.”

“I will arrange for him to interact with other mutants as soon as possible,” Elisa said. “I believe this will be very helpful for his recovery.”

“I will also speed up the investigation,” Lynn promised. “Now that we have David’s full cooperation, we may be able to find more clues.”

"Do you really believe we can find the mastermind behind this?"

“I must believe,” Lynn said firmly, “not just for David and Merlin, but for all mutants who may be threatened. If we don’t stop this organized hate crime, it will only get worse.”

The next day.

At seven o'clock in the morning, Lynn arrived at the freight company where Wilson worked. It was a medium-sized logistics company located in the industrial area of ​​Queens, mainly responsible for freight transportation within New York City. The company's parking lot was full of trucks of all types, and the air was filled with the smell of diesel.

Lynn showed his FBI badge to the receptionist and requested to see Thomas Wilson. The receptionist, a woman in her forties, appeared visibly nervous upon seeing the FBI badge.

“Mr. Wilson has a shift today and is getting ready to leave,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just a routine inquiry, related to his previous car accident,” Lynn said in a businesslike tone. “I need to speak with him alone.”

“I’ll go get him.” The receptionist immediately picked up the phone.

A few minutes later, a tall, burly man walked into the reception room. Thomas Wilson was about forty-five years old, with the typical appearance of a blue-collar worker—rough hands, tanned skin, and the smell of engine oil from his work clothes. But Lynn noticed that his eyes were alert, unlike those of an ordinary truck driver.

“I am Thomas Wilson.” He extended his hand for a handshake. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m FBI Detective Hall,” Lynn showed his badge. “I’d like to talk to you about the car accident that happened six months ago.”

Wilson's expression changed slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "Wasn't that case closed?"

“Just some routine follow-up investigation,” Lynn said. “Is there a quiet place where we can talk?”

Wilson hesitated for a moment, then pointed to a small conference room at the back of the office. "It's quieter there."

In the conference room, Lynn carefully observed Wilson's every move. The man appeared cooperative on the surface, but Lynn could sense his inner tension. Years of interrogation experience told him that Wilson was far from the simple truck driver he appeared to be.

“Mr. Wilson, first of all, I want to clarify that this conversation is voluntary, and you may request that a lawyer be present at any time,” Lynn said, following procedure.

“No, I have nothing to hide,” Wilson replied quickly, but Lynn noticed his fingers tapping lightly on the table, a sign of nervousness.

“Okay. So let’s review what happened that night.” Lynn opened his notebook. “You said you crashed into Merlin Chen’s car because you were driving while fatigued?”

“Yes, I drove for twelve hours straight and was a bit sleepy,” Wilson repeated what he had said six months ago. “I didn’t see the red light and crashed.”

“Twelve hours?” Lynn questioned. “But according to your work records, you only worked eight hours that day.”

Wilson paused for a moment, then said, "I mean the combined working hours of the two consecutive days. I also worked four hours the day before."

Lynn noted down the explanation, but was already convinced Wilson was lying. A truly tired driver wouldn't remember such precise time details.

"Were you fully conscious immediately after the accident?" Lynn continued to ask.

"The sound of the impact woke me up," Wilson replied.

"Then you should remember the specifics of the situation. What color was Merlin Chen's car?"

“Blue. No, it’s a white Honda,” Wilson said.

“Are you sure?” Lynn raised her voice. “Because the police report says it was silver.”

Wilson's forehead began to sweat. "Yes, it was silver. I misremembered; I was too nervous."

Lynn knew it was time to change tactics. Direct questioning would only make Wilson more wary; he needed to use more subtle techniques.

“Mr. Wilson, I understand that night must have been very painful for you.” Lynn’s tone suddenly turned sympathetic. “Killing someone, whether by accident or whatever, will cause the driver immense psychological trauma.”

Wilson was somewhat surprised by this change in tone. "Indeed...it's really painful."

"Did you receive any psychological counseling afterward?" Lynn asked with concern.

"No, I don't think it's necessary."

“But your insurance company should recommend counseling. In this situation, the psychological trauma can be more serious than the physical injury,” Lynn continued, showing concern. “And I heard you received some threats afterward?”

Wilson immediately became alert. "What threat?"

“Merlin Chan’s husband has hired a private investigator to look into the case,” Lynn deliberately revealed. “I’m worried they might harass you.”

“I…I wasn’t threatened.” Wilson’s voice was somewhat unsteady.

“That’s good.” Lynn nodded, then suddenly changed the subject, “By the way, do you know Robert Kingsley?”

The name sent Wilson's face turning deathly pale. He tried to remain calm, but Lynn had already caught the reaction.

“Kingsley? I don’t know him. Who is he?” Wilson answered hastily.

“Just one person connected to the case,” Lynn said casually. “Not important.”

Over the next few minutes, Lynn deliberately talked about trivial matters to make Wilson think the questioning was over. Then he suddenly brought up Kingsley's name again.

"By the way, regarding Kingsley, are you sure you've never met him?"

This time Wilson was much better prepared. "I'm sure, I've never heard of this name before."

But Lynn noticed a change in Wilson's body language—his shoulders were tense and his hands were clenched into fists, typical signs of lying.

“Mr. Wilson, I’d like to ask you a question directly,” Lynn suddenly became serious. “Are you a member of the ‘Human Purity’ organization?”

Wilson's pupils contracted instantly, a natural reaction to fear. "I don't know what you're talking about."

“This isn’t a crime,” Lynn continued pressuringly. “Joining a political organization is a legal right. I just want to know if you’ve become a target for someone because of your political views.”

“I am not affiliated with any organization,” Wilson insisted.

Lynn produced a photograph he had obtained from private investigator Sam Brown. The photograph showed Wilson at an anti-mutant rally.

“Then can you explain this photo?” Lynn pushed the photo toward Wilson.

Wilson visibly panicked upon seeing the photograph. His breathing became rapid, and sweat beaded on his forehead. "This...this happened a long time ago," Wilson tried to explain. "I was just passing by and happened to see it."

“Just passing by?” Lynn questioned. “But the photos show you holding a sign in the crowd.”

Wilson realized he had been caught but still tried to struggle. "Okay, I have attended a few rallies. But that's not illegal."

“Of course it’s not illegal,” Lynn agreed, “but I need to know, what are your motivations for participating in these activities?”

Wilson paused for a moment, seemingly weighing whether to tell the truth. Ultimately, he chose a relatively safe answer.

"I think mutants are dangerous. They have abilities that ordinary people don't have, and that's not fair."

“And what about Merlin Chen?” Lynn asked directly. “Do you know she’s a mutant?”

This problem put Wilson in a dilemma. If he said he didn't know, it would be difficult to explain why he was waiting precisely on her expected route. If he admitted he did know, it would be tantamount to admitting that it wasn't an accident.

“I’m not sure.” Wilson chose a vague answer.

“Unsure?” Lynn pressed. “But you just said you thought mutants were dangerous. If you weren’t sure if Merlin was a mutant, why did you run into her?”

Wilson realized he had fallen into a logical trap and began to get more nervous.

“It was truly an accident,” he insisted. “I didn’t bump into her on purpose.”

Seeing that Wilson's psychological defenses were beginning to crumble, Lynn decided to use a more direct strategy.

“Mr. Wilson, let me tell you what we already know.” Lynn’s tone became authoritative. “We know that Robert Kingsley provided you with detailed information about Merlin Chan, including her working hours and routes. We have recordings of your conversations with Kingsley. We also know that you received a $50,000 reward after the accident.”

Wilson's face turned deathly pale. "You...you can't prove anything."

“Perhaps not yet,” Lynn admitted, “but we will continue our investigation. Kingsley is dead, you know?”

The news left Wilson speechless with shock.

"Dead? When? How did you die?"

“Two months ago, the cancer recurred,” Lynn observed Wilson’s reaction, “shortly after he started worrying that he would be discovered.”

Wilson's hands began to tremble. "This...this has nothing to do with me."

“I didn’t say there was a connection,” Lynn said calmly. “But what do you think would happen if your employer considered you a potential threat?”

These words exploded in Wilson's mind like a bomb. He realized that he might also be in danger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilson’s voice began to tremble. “Nobody hired me to do anything.”

"Where did that $50,000 come from?" Lynn asked directly.

Wilson remained silent for a long time, and Lynn could see that he was engaged in a fierce internal struggle. Fear, anger, and a sense of despair alternated on his face.

“I need a lawyer,” Wilson finally said.

“Of course, that’s your right,” Lynn nodded. “But before your lawyer arrives, I’d like to offer you some advice.”

"What suggestion?"

“Now that Kingsley is dead, you are the only living witness who knows the truth.” Lynn’s tone turned serious. “Do you think the people who hired you will let you continue to live?”

Fear flashed in Wilson's eyes. Clearly, he hadn't considered this possibility before.

Why did they hurt me? I never said a word.

“Kingsley didn’t say anything, but he still died,” Lynn pointed out. “And now that the FBI is investigating the case, do you think your value has increased or decreased?”

Wilson began to feel genuinely afraid. He realized that he might have become a burden, and burdens are usually eliminated.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilson asked, his voice filled with despair.

“Tell me the truth,” Lynn said simply. “Cooperate with our investigation, and we can protect your safety.”

"If I tell the truth, can you guarantee my safety?"

“I can provide witness protection procedures,” Lynn promised, “but only if you fully cooperate.”

Wilson pondered for a long time. Lynn could tell he was weighing various options, each fraught with risk.

“If I tell you everything I know,” Wilson finally said, “can you guarantee I won’t die like Kingsley?”

“I will do everything I can to protect you,” Lynn said sincerely, “but that requires your complete cooperation. No reservations, no lies.”

Wilson took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said in a low voice, “but I need to clarify first, I really don’t know who hired me.”

"What's the meaning?"

“From beginning to end, I never met the actual employer,” Wilson began to recount. “Kingsley approached me and said someone wanted to hire me to do something. But that person wouldn’t contact me directly.”

"So how did you contact them?"

“Through an intermediary,” Wilson said, “someone I’ve never met. We only communicate by phone and email.”

Do you remember my phone number and email address?

“I remember the phone number, but the email address was disposable. A different email address was used for each contact,” Wilson provided the phone number, “but I suspect that was also a disposable phone card.”

Lynn wrote down the number. Although it might not lead to a specific person, it was at least a clue.

"What did that agent ask you to do?"

“At first, they just wanted me to gather some information,” Wilson recalled, “about the activity patterns of certain mutants, when they appeared where, what their habits were, and so on.”

"Then what?"

"Later, Kingsley provided Merlin Chan's details. The agent required me to appear at a specific place at a specific time." Wilson's voice trailed off. "They said it was just to teach her a 'lesson,' to let her know that mutants are not welcome." (End of Chapter)