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

Red Bull Arena is a modern football stadium with a capacity of 25,000. Although it wasn't a major event, it still attracted a considerable number of fans as a home game for the New York area. Crowds poured into the stadium from the subway station, wearing various jerseys and waving flags and banners.

Lynn waited at the main entrance for a while and saw Sarah walk in with three FBI colleagues. Besides Sarah, there was David, a technical analyst; Mark, an agent from another operations team; and Emily from the logistics department.

“Lynn! You’re here!” Sarah waved and handed him a ticket. “This game should be interesting. Although it’s not the playoffs, both teams are looking to improve their ranking.”

“Thank you,” Lynn said, taking the tickets. “Are you Red Bull fans?”

“Mark is,” Sarah pointed to the burly agent, “he buys season tickets every season. The rest of us are just there for the fun of it.”

"Come on, you guys enjoyed watching it too," Mark laughed, patting Lynn on the shoulder. "I heard you just got back from Alaska? How was it, spending time in the freezing cold?"

“Very fruitful,” Lynn said simply.

“You’re always so modest,” Emily said. “Sarah told us you did something amazing this time.”

“It’s just work,” Lynn said, not wanting to elaborate.

The group entered the stadium and found their seats. Their spots were quite good, in the stands near midfield with a wide view. The stadium gradually filled with spectators, and the atmosphere was electric. Fans waved flags, sang their team's anthem, and cheers and laughter filled the air.

At 2:00 PM sharp, the game started on time. The referee blew the whistle, and the Red Bulls kicked off. Although Lynn wasn't a die-hard fan, he knew how to appreciate the excitement of the game. The players sprinted across the field, passing and shooting, and every transition between offense and defense elicited cheers or sighs from the audience.

"Number 15 is good," Mark commented. "His dribbling skills are excellent."

“But there were some weaknesses in the defense,” David added. “That counter-attack just now, if the opponent had been a little faster, it would have been dangerous.”

Sarah turned to Lynn: "You seem distracted. What are you thinking about?"

“It’s nothing,” Lynn said, though he was indeed a little distracted. His professional instincts as an FBI agent made him unconsciously observe his surroundings—the distribution of people, the positions of security personnel, the direction of emergency exits. These were subconscious actions, deeply ingrained in his instincts.

The match was intense. In the 23rd minute, the Red Bulls were awarded a penalty, and the entire stadium held its breath. The player took a run-up and shot—goal! The stadium erupted in deafening cheers, and Mark next to Lynn jumped up excitedly, high-fiving strangers around him in celebration.

"Good shot!" Mark yelled. "That's it!"

Lynn clapped along, infected by the collective enthusiasm. This is the charm of sports events—temporarily forgetting daily troubles and pressures, immersing oneself in the passion of the game.

The first half ended with the Red Bulls leading 1-0. The players left the field and headed to the locker room. The spectators also began to get up, some going to the restrooms, others to buy food and drinks.

“I’ll go buy some hot dogs and beer,” Mark said. “What do you want?”

“Give me a Coke,” Sarah said.

“I want a Coke too,” Emily chimed in.

“I want a beer,” David said.

“Lynn?” Mark asked.

“Water will do,” Lynn said. “Thank you.”

“How boring, how can you watch a game without a beer?” Mark joked, but nodded anyway. “Okay, a bottle of water. I’ll be right back.”

Lynn stood up and stretched his legs. He had been sitting for over forty minutes and his body was a little stiff. He looked at the field; the staff were clearing the turf, preparing for the second half of the game.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise.

It didn't come from the field, but from inside the stadium. A deep, powerful explosion could be clearly heard even in the noisy stands. This was followed by screams, and the crowd began to stir.

Lynn's body immediately went on alert. His hand instinctively moved to the pistol under his jacket, and his eyes quickly scanned the surroundings to determine the source of the threat.

"What was that sound?" Emily asked in a panic.

“An explosion,” Lynn said calmly, already analyzing the situation, “came from inside the stadium, probably in the lounge area.”

Several more screams followed, then chaos erupted in the crowd. Some spectators began frantically moving towards the exits, but most, unaware of what was happening, looked around in confusion.

The stadium's public address system announced: "Attention everyone, please remain calm. We are currently assessing the situation. Please remain in your seats and do not panic."

But such appeals clearly had limited effect. Panic spread through the population like a virus, and more and more people began rushing towards the exits.

“What should we do?” Sarah asked. Although she was also an FBI agent, she was mainly responsible for intelligence analysis and did not often deal with emergency situations on the ground.

“You guys stay here and make sure everyone around stays calm,” Lynn said decisively, already moving towards the field. “I’ll go check the situation.”

“Lynn, wait—” Sarah tried to stop him, but Lynn had already climbed over the railing and jumped to the next tier of stands.

Lynn moved quickly, using the chaos of the crowd as cover, heading towards the direction from which the explosion had come. As an FBI agent, even on leave, he was responsible for taking action in emergencies.

He jumped over the last row of seats, landed on the edge of the court, and then sprinted toward the players' tunnel. Several security personnel tried to stop him, but Lynn quickly pulled out his FBI badge.

“FBI!” he shouted. “Get out of the way!”

Security personnel saw the identification and immediately made way. Lynn rushed into the players' tunnel, where the air was thick with smoke and the smell of burning. He heard painful groans and cries for help coming from ahead.

Lynn quickened his pace, turned a corner, and the sight before him made his heart sink.

A door at the end of the passage had been blown open, its frame twisted and deformed, and the walls were covered with burn marks and debris. Thick smoke billowed from the room, where several people lay on the floor, some moving, some completely still.

Lynn rushed over and immediately assessed the situation. The closest person was a staff member, whose face was covered in blood, but who was still conscious.

“Don’t move, the rescue is coming soon,” Lynn told him, and then continued forward.

The situation was even worse inside the lounge. The explosion had clearly occurred there; the room was a complete mess. Wardrobes were overturned, benches were shattered, and tactical boards hanging on the wall were lying on the floor, broken into pieces.

Worst of all, there were two people in the room—two players in jerseys—lying motionless on the floor. Lynn quickly checked their pulses.

No heartbeat.

One person was seriously injured, clearly in the epicenter of the explosion. The other was in slightly better condition, but had also stopped breathing.

“Damn it,” Lynn cursed under his breath. He immediately began CPR on the second player; though the chances were slim, he had to try.

"One, two, three, four," Lynn counted, pressing on the player's chest. He had received professional first aid training, and his movements were precise and powerful. Footsteps sounded behind them, and several paramedics and firefighters rushed in.

"FBI agent, there are two injured people here, neither of them has a heartbeat!" Lynn reported loudly, continuing CPR. "This one still has a chance, that one is..."

He didn't finish speaking, but the medical staff understood what he meant. A nurse immediately took over Lynn's position and continued CPR, while another doctor brought out a defibrillator.

"Charging, 200 joules," the doctor said. "Prepare to discharge!"

An electric shock. The player's body twitched, but the electrocardiogram monitor remained flat.

"One more time, 300 joules!"

Another electric shock. This time, a slight fluctuation appeared on the monitor, but it quickly returned to flat.

“Continue CPR!” the doctor ordered.

Lynn stepped aside and let the medical professionals do their work. He knew that despite their best efforts, the chances of the two players surviving were slim.

He began to observe the scene, an instinct of an FBI agent—to gather information and preserve evidence even in chaos.

The epicenter of the explosion appeared to be in the center of the room, near the bench. There was a destroyed backpack there, surrounded by metal fragments and charred fabric. It was an elaborately designed explosive device, powerful enough to be lethal, but contained within a relatively small area—the casualties would have been far greater if it had been detonated in a larger space or with more people.

Lynn noticed a piece of paper in the corner, blown there by the shockwave of the explosion. He carefully walked over and picked it up with his handkerchief—he couldn't contaminate the evidence.

The paper was printed with the words: "History repeats itself."

Lynn's heart tightened. This way of leaving messages was exactly the same as the recent series of bombings.

This is not a coincidence. It's the same killer.

“Agent, please step back, this area needs to be sealed off!” a firefighter said to Lynn.

“FBI, I need to secure this scene,” Lynn said, pulling out his badge. “This could be part of a serial crime.”

The fire chief walked over, glanced at his credentials, and nodded: "Understood. We will preserve the integrity of the scene, but first we must ensure there is no risk of a secondary explosion, and then we must treat the injured."

“Of course,” Lynn agreed. “Do what you’re supposed to do. I just need to make sure no evidence is destroyed.”

More emergency personnel arrived—police, more paramedics, and bomb disposal teams. The entire area was quickly cordoned off.

Medical personnel eventually discontinued resuscitation efforts. The two players were pronounced dead, and their bodies were carefully removed from the locker room and taken to the morgue. The other injured individuals at the scene—the staff member and several players with minor injuries—were taken to the hospital.

Lynn stood outside the lounge, his expression grave. This was no longer a simple bombing. The perpetrator's targets had escalated from buildings and deserted areas to public places where casualties had occurred. And choosing to detonate it during a sporting event clearly indicated an intention to create a greater impact.

“Agent Holt?” a voice called out.

Lynn turned around and saw a middle-aged man in an NYPD uniform walking towards him; his badge indicated he was a captain.

“I’m Tom Reynolds, the captain of the NYPD’s bomb disposal team,” the man said, extending his hand. “I heard you were the first to arrive at the scene?”

“Yes,” Lynn shook his hand, “FBI Special Operations Team, Lynn Hall. I was in the stands and came over immediately after hearing the explosion.”

“You’re so dedicated to your work, even during your vacation,” Reynolds said, but there was no sarcasm in his tone; rather, it was genuine appreciation. “Could you tell me about what you’ve been seeing?”

Lynn described in detail everything he saw when he arrived at the scene—the location of the injured, the traces of the explosion, and the note.

"A note?" Reynolds' expression turned serious. "What did it say?"

“History repeats itself,” Lynn said, “and the note’s format is exactly the same as the one from that recent series of bombings. Captain, I think it’s the same killer.”

Reynolds was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I think so too. The previous five explosions didn't cause any serious casualties, so we assumed the perpetrator didn't want to kill. But this time…"

“This time he’s escalated it,” Lynn said. “From warning to action. The question is, why? Why here? And why these two players?”

“I don’t know,” Reynolds said, “but we have to find out as soon as possible. If he continues like this, there could be more deaths next time.”

“I want to participate in the investigation,” Lynn suddenly said.

Reynolds looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Weren't you on vacation?"

“The vacation can be postponed,” Lynn said. “I’ve studied the previous explosions in this case. I think I can offer some assistance.”

“I have no objection,” Reynolds said. “In fact, we need the FBI’s assistance. This case is complicated enough, and now with the loss of life, the pressure will only increase. Welcome to the team, Agent Holt.”

The two shook hands, reaching a tacit understanding on cooperation.

Just then, Sarah and the others finally found Lynn. Sarah looked worried: "Lynn! Are you alright? We heard there was an explosion in the break room, and people died."

“I’m fine,” Lynn said, “but two players did die.”

“Oh my God,” Emily covered her mouth, her face pale.

“This is terrible,” David said. “This happened while we were watching the game.”

Mark walked over, carrying several bottles of drinks—he had clearly been stranded on his way to buy them and had just returned. He looked shocked: "I heard about the explosion. Was it a terrorist attack?"

“It’s not certain yet,” Lynn said, not wanting to reveal too many details, “but the police are investigating.”

The stadium's loudspeakers blared again, this time officially announcing the match's cancellation and instructing all spectators to evacuate in an orderly fashion. The crowd began to move slowly towards the exits, the atmosphere heavy and tense. The fans who had been cheering just moments before were now silent, some wiping away tears.

“We should go too,” Sarah said. “Lynn, will you come with us?”

“You all go first,” Lynn said. “I need to stay here to assist with the investigation.”

“Are you sure?” Sarah looked at him worriedly. “You just went on vacation.”

“I’m certain,” Lynn said firmly, “I must be involved in this case.”

Sarah, seeing the look in Lynn's eyes, knew that persuasion was useless. She nodded: "Okay. Be careful, and contact me anytime if you need any help." (End of Chapter)