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

“They’re in New York, they’re not coming,” Sinclair said.

“Then we’ll send you to New York!” the bearded man said, taking a step forward.

Lynn stopped him again, "There will be no kidnapping. Mr. Sinclair, would you be willing to come downstairs and sit down with all the workers to talk?"

Sinclair hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the security guards, seeking protection.

“You don’t need security,” Lynn said. “I’ll guarantee your safety. But you need to face them and give them an explanation.”

Sinclair took a deep breath and finally nodded. "Alright."

Just as everyone was preparing to go downstairs, suddenly, another person rushed out of the office—another security guard, clearly terrified, holding a handgun. His hand was trembling, and the muzzle of the gun was pointing erratically in various directions.

"Don't move! Don't move!" the security guard shouted hysterically.

"Put down your gun!" Lynn ordered immediately. "You're only making things worse!"

But the security guard was completely panicked, his finger on the trigger. Lynn recognized the gesture—it was the reaction of an untrained person in extreme fear, very dangerous, because he could accidentally pull the trigger at any moment due to nervousness.

Jack sensed the danger and raised his hands. "Hey, bro, calm down. We won't hurt you. Put the gun down."

Jack's voice was gentle as he slowly took a step forward, trying to calm the panicked security guard.

“Jack, don’t come any closer,” Lynn warned in a low voice. His experience told him that any sudden movement at this moment could trigger disaster.

But Jack seemed confident he could persuade the security guard. He continued walking forward, hands raised. “Listen,” he said, “I know you’re just an employee, like us. You have a family, right? Nobody wants anyone to get hurt. Put your gun down and let’s resolve this peacefully.”

The security guard's eyes darted between Jack and the other workers. His hands were still trembling, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Jack, stop,” Lynn warned again, his voice more stern. He had already begun to move, ready to pounce on the security guard if necessary.

But at that very moment, footsteps echoed from the stairwell—more workers rushed upstairs, hearing the commotion and fearing the conflict would escalate.

The sudden influx of people brought the already tense situation to a breaking point. The security guard was startled, his fingers instinctively tightening.

A gunshot rang out in the narrow corridor.

Lynn saw Jack's body shudder violently, then slowly collapse. Blood gushed from his abdomen, quickly soaking through his work clothes.

Time seemed to stand still for a second. Then, chaos erupted completely.

The workers stormed at the security guard, several of them shoving him to the ground and seizing his gun. Others screamed and cursed. The guards tried to escape back to their offices. Sinclair was also jostled by the chaotic crowd.

But Lynn's attention was entirely on Jack. He rushed to Jack's side, knelt down, and checked his injuries.

"Damn it," Lynn cursed under his breath. The wound was on the right side of his abdomen, deep, and bleeding rapidly. It was a serious injury that required immediate medical attention.

“Jack, look at me,” Lynn pressed her hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, “You’ll be alright.”

Jack's face had turned pale, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. "I...I just wanted to help everyone."

“I know, you did a great job,” Lynn shouted, pressing on his wound. “We need an ambulance! An ambulance immediately!”

But the surrounding chaos drowned out his voice. Lynn realized that if he waited any longer, Jack might not make it. He needed to act immediately.

“Listen, Jack, I need to get you out of here,” Lynn quickly assessed. “We don’t have time to wait for the ambulance to get here.”

Lynn took off his coat and pressed it firmly against the wound, then secured it tightly with a belt. It was a temporary first aid measure, imperfect, but it could temporarily control the bleeding.

“It will hurt, but you have to bear it,” Lynn said, then he used the techniques he had learned in training to carefully carry Jack on his shoulder.

Jack groaned in pain, but did not lose consciousness.

Lynn turned to the workers and shouted, "Make way! I need to take him to the hospital!"

Seeing Jack's condition, the workers immediately made way for him. Lynn carried Jack quickly down the stairs, taking each step as steadily as possible to avoid aggravating his injuries.

Upon reaching the lobby on the first floor, the police had already rushed to the entrance and, hearing the gunshots, prepared to storm the building. Chief Brady, standing at the front, saw Lynn carrying a blood-covered man out and immediately understood the situation.

“Clear the road! Where’s the ambulance?” Lynn shouted.

“On the outskirts,” Brady replied, “it’ll probably take another five minutes to get in.”

“Five minutes is too long,” Lynn quickly assessed the situation. “Where is my car?”

"Over there, but—"

Before Brady could finish speaking, Lynn rushed to his car. He carefully placed Jack in the back seat, laid him flat, and then checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed down, but it was still flowing.

“Hold on, Jack,” Lynn said, then jumped into the driver’s seat.

“Hall, you can’t—” Brady caught up and tried to stop him.

But Lynn had already started the engine. "Where's the nearest hospital?"

“There’s a medical center in town, but it’s limited and can’t handle gunshot wounds,” Brady said quickly. “The best is the Medical University of New Jersey Hospital in Newark, about a 30-minute drive.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Lynn said, stepping on the gas.

The vehicle lurched across the police line, sirens blaring and red and blue flashing lights. Lynn gripped the steering wheel with one hand and picked up the walkie-talkie with the other. "This is FBI Agent Hall. I have a patient with a gunshot wound to the abdomen, en route to Newark Medical University Hospital. The trauma team needs to be on standby."

"Received," came the reply from the walkie-talkie. "We will notify the hospital."

The vehicle sped along the road at over 100 miles per hour. Lynn's driving skills had been honed in FBI high-speed pursuit training; he knew how to maintain speed while ensuring safety. He skillfully changed lanes, avoiding other vehicles, each movement precise and decisive.

“Jack, talk to me,” Lynn said, glancing at the young man in the back seat through the rearview mirror. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me about your family.”

“I…I have a wife,” Jack said weakly, “and a…a three-year-old daughter.”

“They must love you very much,” Lynn said. “You must hold on for them.”

"I don't want to die," Jack's voice began to slur.

“You won’t die,” Lynn said firmly. “I promise.”

The car sped onto the highway, and Lynn pushed it to its limit. Other vehicles, hearing the sirens, quickly gave way. But even so, every second felt like an eternity. Lynn constantly checked Jack's condition through the rearview mirror. The young man's face grew paler and his breathing weaker. Lynn knew he was losing blood and had to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

“Jack, tell me your daughter’s name,” Lynn continued to keep him awake.

“Emily,” Jack said softly, “she…she loves…princess stories.”

“Then you must stay awake and tell her more stories,” Lynn said, glancing at the hospital sign out of the corner of her eye—five miles away.

The vehicle sped along the road, its engine roaring. Lynn was highly focused, trying to maintain the speed while ensuring that Jack in the back seat wouldn't suffer further injury from the bumps.

“Almost there, Jack,” Lynn said. “Just hang in there.”

But the response from the back seat grew fainter and fainter. Lynn's heart sank—Jack was losing consciousness.

"Jack!" Lynn shouted, "Don't sleep! Think of Emily! Think of your wife!"

The call seemed to work, and Jack responded weakly.

Finally, the hospital building came into view. Lynn jerked the steering wheel, and the car drifted toward the hospital's emergency entrance. The tires screeched against the pavement, leaving long skid marks in the parking lot.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Lynn jumped out and opened the back door. A team of medical personnel was already waiting, rushing over with a stretcher.

"A gunshot wound to the abdomen, right side, severe blood loss," Lynn reported quickly. "He was wounded approximately fifteen minutes ago."

The medical staff quickly and professionally transferred Jack to a stretcher. One nurse immediately began checking his vital signs, while another began preparing for intravenous infusion.

"Blood pressure is dropping and pulse is weak," the nurse reported.

"Send him to the trauma room immediately and notify the surgery department," the lead doctor ordered.

The stretcher was quickly pushed into the hospital. Lynn wanted to follow, but a nurse stopped him. "Sir, you can't go in. They will do their best."

Lynn stopped and watched the paramedics push Jack away, disappearing behind the emergency room door. His hands and clothes were covered in blood, and his body was still trembling slightly from the adrenaline rush.

A security guard approached and said, "Sir, you need to register patient information."

“His name is Jack Morrison,” Lynn said, then realized he didn’t know any more information. “Damn, I don’t know anything about him.”

Lynn took out his phone and dialed Chief Brady's number. "Brady, I need Jack Morrison's personal information and emergency contact."

"You're at the hospital?" Brady asked.

“We’ve arrived. He’s in the operating room now,” Lynn said. “How’s he doing? What about the factory?”

“Things have calmed down for now,” Brady said. “The shooting has calmed everyone down. The workers have agreed to evacuate, and management has agreed to pay part of the owed wages immediately as a gesture of goodwill. Representatives from the state labor department have also arrived and will be involved in mediation.”

“Very good,” Lynn said, “but the most important thing now is Jack. Give me his family's contact information; I need to inform them.”

A few minutes later, Lynn received the information. He sat in the emergency room waiting area, took a few deep breaths, and then dialed Jack's wife's number.

The phone rang a few times before being answered, and a young woman's voice came through, "Hello?"

"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Morrison?" Lynn tried to keep her voice steady.

"Yes, that's me. Who are you?"

“I am FBI Agent Lynn Hall,” Lynn said, then paused. “Madam, I need to inform you that your husband, Jack, was injured in the factory incident.”

A gasp came from the other end of the phone, "What? How...how is he?"

“He’s at Newark Medical University Hospital right now, and the doctors are treating him,” Lynn said. “He had a gunshot wound, and it’s serious, but the doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I…I’m coming right away,” Mrs. Morrison’s voice trembled. “Oh my God, how could this be…please, tell me he’ll be alright.”

“The doctors will do their best,” Lynn said. “Drive carefully when you come, and don’t rush.”

After hanging up the phone, Lynn leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

I don’t know how long it took.

"Agent Holt?"

Lynn opened her eyes and saw a doctor in surgical scrubs walking towards her.

“I’m Dr. Thomas, from the trauma surgery department,” the doctor said. “The patient is in surgery, and I’m just coming out to update you.”

"How is he?" Lynn immediately stood up.

“The injuries are severe; the bullet went through his abdomen, damaging his liver and part of his intestines,” Dr. Thomas said. “He lost a lot of blood, but your first aid saved his life—if you hadn’t stopped the bleeding and brought him to the hospital in time, he might not have made it this far.”

"Will he survive?" This was Lynn's biggest concern.

“We are doing everything we can,” Dr. Thomas said. “The next few hours are crucial. If the surgery goes well, he has a very good chance.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Lynn said. “Please do everything you can.”

Lynn sat in the waiting area for nearly three hours. During that time, Mrs. Morrison arrived at the hospital. She was a young woman in her twenties, holding a little girl—presumably Emily, whom Jack had mentioned. Both mother and daughter had red, swollen eyes from crying.

Lynn stood up to greet them. "Mrs. Morrison, I am Lynn Hall."

"How is my husband?" her voice was filled with anxiety. "Please tell me he'll be alright."

“He’s still in surgery,” Lynn tried to keep her voice steady and reassuring. “The doctors said our emergency measures were timely, and he has a good chance of survival.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Morrison said, wiping away her tears. “Thank you for saving him. The police chief told me on the phone that you were the one who brought him out of the factory and drove him to the hospital.”

“It’s what I should do,” Lynn said. “Your husband is a brave man. In the midst of this chaos, he’s been working hard to stop the violence and protect everyone.”

“That’s just Jack’s character,” Mrs. Morrison said with a wry smile. “He’s always thinking of others. This morning when he left, I begged him not to go to the factory; I felt something was wrong. But he said he had to go, that if he didn’t, the more radical ones would mess things up.”

Little Emily looked up at Lynn with her big, tearful eyes. "Uncle, will Daddy come back?"

Lynn crouched down to the little girl's eye level. "Your father is very strong. The doctors are helping him. You must believe he will get better." (End of Chapter)