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

After the medical team confirmed that the man was not in life-threatening condition, he was handcuffed and put into an FBI vehicle. Wilson slumped to the ground, trembling all over.

“You did a great job, Wilson,” Lynn reassured him. “Although there was a slight mishap, we successfully captured an important person.”

“He will retaliate against me,” Wilson said worriedly.

“No,” Lynn said firmly. “We will protect you, and soon this entire organization will be dismantled.”

Two hours later, in the interrogation room of the FBI's Manhattan office, the man sat in a metal chair, his wrists still handcuffed. Doctors had treated his head injuries, but his expression remained cold and uncooperative.

Lynn walked into the interrogation room, carrying a thick folder. "Sir, we don't know your name yet. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

The man stared at Lynn silently, without reacting.

“Okay, let’s start with what we already know.” Lynn opened the folder. “Fingerprint analysis shows you are Jack Morrison, forty-two years old, a former Marine who served in Afghanistan. After retiring, you worked as a private security guard, and your work history for the last few years is unclear.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Morrison's eyes, but he remained silent.

“We also found some interesting things in your car,” Lynn continued. “Three different cell phones, a fake passport, and $20,000 in cash. This doesn’t seem like the equipment an ordinary security guard would have.”

Morrison remained silent, but Lynn could tell he was carefully assessing the situation.

“Jack, may I call you that?” Lynn adopted a more friendly tone. “I know you’re just a middleman. What we really want is your employer. If you cooperate with us, we can consider a lenient approach.”

Morrison finally spoke, his voice hoarse but firm: "I want to see a lawyer."

“Of course, that’s your right,” Lynn nodded. “But before the lawyer arrives, I’d like to tell you some information that might be useful to you.”

"What information?" Morrison asked, clearly interested.

“We know how this organization deals with underperforming subordinates,” Lynn said. “Robert Kingsley is a prime example.”

Morrison's expression changed slightly. "Kingsley died of cancer."

“On the surface, yes,” Lynn agreed, “but do you really believe it’s just a coincidence? Someone who had just started to worry about being discovered suddenly died from a relapse of cancer?”

“That’s none of my business,” Morrison said, but his tone wasn’t as firm as before.

“Maybe it’s none of your business right now,” Lynn said, “but what do you think will happen when your employer finds out you’ve been arrested by the FBI and that you might become a witness?”

Morrison fell silent, and Lynn could tell he was considering the possibility.

“We can protect you, Jack,” Lynn continued, “but only if you cooperate with us. Tell us who your employer is, tell us the structure of this organization, tell us their next target.”

Just then, there was a knock on the interrogation room door. A young FBI agent walked in.

“Detective, I’m sorry to bother you,” the detective said, “but someone outside wants to see you. It’s about this case.”

"Who?" Lynn asked, somewhat surprised.

"A man named Richard Blackwood. He claims to represent Mr. Morrison's employer and offers to provide legal assistance to Morrison."

Lynn and Morrison were both shocked. A glint of fear flashed in Morrison's eyes—not because he had been captured, but because his employer had actually shown up on his own initiative.

“Blackwood?” Lynn repeated the name. “I think I’ve heard of that name before.”

“Richard Blackwood, an investment banker on Wall Street.” The agent provided more information: “CEO of Blackwood Investment Group, with a net worth exceeding five billion dollars.”

Lynn realized the case was larger than he had imagined. The fact that a Wall Street tycoon was personally providing legal assistance to a middleman spoke volumes.

“Tell Mr. Blackwood I’ll see him soon,” Lynn said to the agent, then turned to Morrison. “It seems your boss values ​​you highly.”

Morrison's expression grew even more complicated. "He didn't come here to save me."

"What's the meaning?"

“He’s here to make sure I don’t say a word.” Morrison’s voice carried a desperate resignation. “You don’t understand Blackwood. They never leave any loose ends.”

"Then why did he have to come in person?" Lynn asked, puzzled. "If he really wanted you to stay silent, there are many more subtle ways."

“Because he knows you’ve caught me,” Morrison explained. “He needs to control the damage now. Showing up in person lets him know how much information you have, and also sends a message to me—he knows where I am.”

Lynn began to understand Morrison's fears. A person with immense wealth and influence, even under FBI surveillance, could threaten the safety of witnesses.

“Jack, if you’re truly worried about your safety, cooperating with us is your best option,” Lynn said. “We can provide witness protection to completely free you from his control.”

Morrison considered for a long time before finally nodding. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything I know. But I need real protection, not just the FBI’s promise.”

“You will receive the highest level of protection,” Lynn promised. “Now, tell me about Blackwood.”

“Richard Blackwood is more than just an investment banker,” Morrison began. “He’s an extreme human supremacist who believes the existence of mutants threatens humanity’s survival.”

"So he funds anti-mutant organizations?"

“It wasn’t just funding,” Morrison shook his head. “He essentially created a nationwide network dedicated to identifying, tracking, and eliminating mutants he deemed dangerous.”

“Eliminate?” Lynn’s tone turned stern.

“At first it was just threats and harassment to get them to move out or stop using their abilities,” Morrison said. “But for those he considered particularly dangerous, like Merlin Chan who could cure diseases, his attitude was zero tolerance.”

Why is healing ability considered particularly dangerous?

“Because this ability would allow mutants to gain the gratitude and dependence of ordinary humans,” Morrison explained. “Blackwood believed this would undermine humanity’s fear and vigilance towards mutants, ultimately leading to mutant dominance over humanity.”

Lynn felt a chill. This twisted logic turned kindness into evil and helping others into a threat.

“Does he have other targets?” Lynn asked. “Many,” Morrison nodded. “I know of at least a dozen cities where mutants are on his watch list. Some of them have already been ‘dealt with.’”

"deal with?"

“Some died in what appeared to be accidental deaths, some mysteriously disappeared, and some were forced to flee their homes,” Morrison’s voice trailed off. “I was involved in several of these operations.”

Just then, there was another knock on the interrogation room door. The same detective walked in.

"Detective, Mr. Blackwood insists on seeing you immediately. He says he has urgent legal matters to discuss."

Lynn glanced at Morrison, whose face had turned pale.

“Tell him I’ll see him in ten minutes,” Lynn said, then turned to Morrison, “Is there anything else you need to tell me immediately?”

“Be careful of him,” Morrison warned. “Blackwood is smart and dangerous. He’ll try to control the whole conversation and make you think he’s innocent.”

“I’ll be careful.” Lynn stood up. “You’ll be moved to a safe facility now. We’ll continue our conversation shortly.”

“Detective,” Morrison called out to him, “the fact that Blackwood dared to show up in person shows he’s very confident in his legal standing. He might have a backup plan we don’t know about.”

Lynn nodded and then left the interrogation room.

Lynn walked toward the FBI's senior conference room, his heart filled with tension and anticipation.

Two men in expensive suits stood at the door of the conference room; they were clearly Blackwood's bodyguards. Their alert and professional demeanor reminded Lynn of a presidential security team. As Lynn approached, one of them politely but firmly gestured for him to stop.

"Please show your identification, Detective." The bodyguard's tone was polite, but carried an unquestionable air of authority.

Lynn showed his FBI credentials, which the bodyguard carefully checked before nodding and then opening the conference room door.

"Mr. Blackwood, FBI Inspector Hall has arrived."

Lynn stepped into the conference room and was immediately struck by the scene before him. It didn't feel like FBI headquarters; it resembled the boardroom of a high-end corporation. The original simple conference table had been replaced by an exquisite mahogany table, adorned with expensive crystal glasses and silver cutlery. The room was filled with the scent of fine cologne, and several priceless works of art hung on the walls.

But the most striking figure was the man seated at the head of the table. Richard Blackwood, about fifty-five years old, had silver-white hair and deep gray eyes. He wore a clearly tailored dark blue suit, the diamond cufflinks gleaming under the light. His handsome, aloof face exuded an innate sense of authority.

To Lynn's further surprise, Blackwood didn't look at him, but instead focused intently on a document in his hands. Standing beside him were three lawyers, one of whom Lynn recognized as Jonathan Webber, one of New York's most prominent criminal defense lawyers.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Lynn greeted him, but the other man seemed not to hear him.

A full minute passed before Blackwyd slowly raised his head, scrutinizing Lynn with his grey eyes. His expression was cold and arrogant, as if he were looking at an insignificant nobody.

“Detective Hall, I think,” Blackwood’s voice was deep and magnetic, with a typical East Coast elite accent, “please sit down.”

He didn't stand up, nor did he extend his hand to shake hands—a clear sign of contempt. Lynn suppressed his anger and sat down in the designated chair.

“Mr. Blackwood, thank you for coming.” Lynn tried to maintain a professional tone. “I think we have a lot to discuss.”

Blackwood chuckled, a clear sarcasm in his voice. "Discussion? Inspector, I think you've misunderstood something. I'm not here to discuss anything."

"Then why did you come here?" Lynn asked directly.

“To ensure my employees receive the legal protection they deserve,” Blackwood replied, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather, “Jack Morrison is a consultant for my security company, and he is entitled to the best legal representation.”

“Your security company?” Lynn repeated. “You mean Morrison works for you?”

“Of course.” Blackwood nodded. “Attorney Webber, please explain the relevant legal documents to the Inspector.”

Attorney Jonathan Webber produced a thick folder. “Detective, here are the registration documents for Blackwood Security Consulting and Jack Morrison’s employment contract. Everything is perfectly legal.”

Lynn quickly glanced through the documents and found that they did indeed appear perfectly legal. Morrison was listed as a "special project consultant" with an astonishingly high monthly salary.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s suspected of murder,” Lynn pointed out.

"Suspected?" Blackwood's eyebrows rose slightly. "Detective, in America, we believe in the presumption of innocence. Anyone is innocent until proven guilty in court."

"But we have evidence that Morrison was involved in Merlin Chan's murder."

"What evidence?" Attorney Weber immediately interjected. "We need to see all the allegations and evidence against our client."

Lynn realized he had fallen into a legal trap. They couldn't reveal all the evidence before a formal lawsuit was filed.

“We will provide evidence through proper channels when the time is right,” Lynn replied.

“My client should be released before that happens,” Weber insisted.

“He is charged with multiple felonies, including murder and terrorism. He will not be granted bail,” Lynn stated firmly.

Blackwood chuckled again, then slowly stood up. Standing over six feet tall, he exuded an overwhelming aura.

“Detective, I think there might be some misunderstanding between us.” He began pacing slowly around the room. “You seem to think I’m involved in some criminal activity.”

"Do you deny it?" Lynn asked directly.

“I deny all criminal charges,” Blackwood said, his tone growing colder. “I am a legitimate businessman engaged in legitimate investment activities. All my activities have been conducted within the legal framework.”

"Then how do you explain the funding for anti-mutant organizations?"

“Charitable donations are perfectly legal,” Blackwood replied. “My support for many organizations that advocate for human rights is a civil right of mine.”

"Even if these organizations are involved in violent activities?" (End of Chapter)