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

He began browsing the files on the computer. Most were business documents, similar to the paper ones. But in a hidden folder labeled "Private," he found something different.

photo.

Dozens of photos, all of the same building—the Grand Central Tower. There are exterior photos, interior photos, floor plans, and some that look like screenshots from surveillance cameras. Each photo is accompanied by detailed annotations recording the time, location, and other technical details of the shooting.

“This is reconnaissance,” Sarah said in a low voice, looking at the screen. “They’re preparing for an explosion.”

“And they were very well prepared,” Lynn said.

He continued looking through the files and found a series of email backups in another folder.

The sender was an anonymous email address, and the recipient was Fisher. The emails mostly contained brief instructions:

"The third batch of materials has been delivered. Please confirm."

"Meet next Monday, same place."

"How's the plan progressing? It needs to be sped up."

The last email was dated three days ago and contained only one sentence:

"Thank you for your service. We'll handle the rest."

“Thank you for your service,” Lynn repeated. “This is a farewell. They decided to kill him three days ago.”

“But why?” Sarah asked. “He’s already completed the tasks they gave him—buying explosives, scouting targets. Why not let him continue?”

“Maybe he knows too much,” Lynn said, “or maybe they never intended for him to live to see the day of the operation. The dead don’t speak, they can’t be arrested, and they can’t betray.”

He copied all the files on his computer to a USB drive and then shut down the computer.

“We have a target,” he said, “the Grand Central Building. We have a timeline—they’re speeding up. Now what we need to do is figure out when they plan to act and how to stop them.”

As they left the study and passed through the living room, Lynn saw Fisher's wife sitting on the sofa, holding a photo frame in her arms, tears streaming silently down her face.

The framed photo contained a family portrait: Fisher, his wife, and two young people who looked to be in their twenties—possibly their children. Fisher was smiling broadly in the photo, looking nothing like someone who would be involved in a terrorist attack plan.

Lynn stopped in her tracks.

“Mrs. Fisher,” he said, “has your husband been behaving strangely lately? Perhaps suddenly becoming tense, anxious, or associating with strangers?”

The woman looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "He...he's been under a lot of pressure lately. He said there were some problems at work that needed dealing with. I asked him what those problems were, but he never said. But he often goes out late at night, sometimes not coming back until the early hours of the morning. I thought...I thought he was having an affair."

Have you seen him with anyone?

The woman thought for a moment. "Once, about a month ago, I saw him talking to a woman in a coffee shop. I didn't know her, but she seemed very elegant. Blonde hair, and wearing very high-end clothes."

Lynn's heart raced. "Did you notice anything unusual about that woman's eyes?"

"Eyes?" The woman paused, then said, "I...I don't quite remember. I only glanced at them from a distance, I didn't get close. But her eyes seemed to be a very light color, almost silver...No, that's impossible, it must be the lighting."

Silver eyes.

Eileen Shaw.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fisher,” Lynn said. “Please feel free to contact us if you remember anything else.”

He and Sarah left Fisher's house and walked toward their car parked outside.

The sun was fully up, and the streets of Brooklyn were beginning to bustle. People hurried by on their way to work, cars weaved through the traffic, and everything seemed so normal, so ordinary.

But Lynn knew that somewhere in the city, a group of people were plotting a disaster.

“Eileen Shaw personally recruited Fisher,” he said in the car, “which shows how important this plan is to them.”

“The Grand Central Building,” Sarah said as she started the car, “if they actually detonated a bomb there, the death toll could be in the thousands, or even more.”

“I don’t think their goal is simply terrorism,” Lynn said. “The Brotherhood’s goal is mutant supremacy, and mass killing of ordinary people doesn’t directly benefit them. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless they want to create chaos,” Lynn said, “what would a large-scale terrorist attack cause? Panic, anger, and fear for security. The government would take emergency measures, and the public would demand stronger action. If, at that time, someone points the finger at mutants…”

“Public opinion will turn against mutants,” Sarah understood what he meant. “The government may introduce policies to restrict mutants, or even conduct large-scale roundups and detentions.”

“That’s exactly what the Brotherhood wants,” Lynn said. “They don’t need to directly confront human governments; they just need to let humans oppress mutants themselves. When mutants feel persecuted and marginalized, they’ll be more easily drawn to the Brotherhood’s extreme ideologies.”

“Create enemies, then reap the rewards from followers,” Sarah said, her voice filled with disgust. “It’s one of the oldest political tactic.”

“And it’s extremely effective,” Lynn said. “History has proven this countless times.”

He watched the Brooklyn street scene rushing past the window, his mind racing with various possibilities.

They now know the target is the Grand Central Building, that 500 pounds of C4 are missing, and that Erin Shaw was directly involved in the plan. But they still don't know the specific timing of the operation, where the explosives are currently hidden, or how many other people besides Fisher are involved in the conspiracy.

time is limited.

“I need to take another look at that bombing plan,” he said. “The marked locations of the explosion points might tell us how they intend to place the bombs.”

He took the sketch out of his pocket and began to study it carefully.

The sketches show the main lobby of the Grand Central Building and several key structural support points. Each detonation point was carefully chosen, clearly to cause maximum structural damage. If these bombs detonated simultaneously, the entire building could collapse within minutes. "This wasn't an amateur plan," he said. "The people who designed this understood structural engineering and demolition engineering. They knew where to place the bombs to cause the greatest destruction."

“Fischer is a demolition expert,” Sarah said. “He has the expertise.”

“But he couldn’t possibly do all the preparations alone,” Lynn said. “He needed help, someone to transport the explosives, install the detonators, and even conduct reconnaissance inside the building. This means the Brotherhood has an active cell in the city.”

How do we find them?

“Start with Fisher’s communications,” Lynn said. “The number that frequently called him, and the addresses from which those anonymous emails were sent. If we can trace these leads, maybe we can find the other members.”

Sarah nodded and sped up.

“There’s one more thing,” Lynn said. “I’m now certain that Fisher’s death wasn’t natural.”

How did you determine that?

“I was lying on his bed,” Lynn said. “I was trying to imagine what it would be like when he died. If it were a normal heart attack, his body should have reacted in some way—struggling from the pain, shifting position from difficulty breathing. But his position didn’t change at all, as if he had been instantly ‘shut down’ in his sleep.”

"You believe it's a psychological attack?"

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “Eileen Shaw has telepathic abilities, as evidenced by what she did to me at the dinner party. If she can remotely access someone's mind, perhaps she can also remotely kill someone.”

“Leaving no physical trace,” Sarah said. “A perfect murder.”

“Yes,” Lynn said, “and it’s almost impossible to prove. Toxicological tests won’t find anything because her weapon isn’t poison, it’s the mind itself.”

It was past 10 a.m. when we got back to the FBI's New York field office.

The atmosphere inside the building was completely different from a few hours earlier—people were coming and going in the corridors, phones were ringing incessantly, and everyone was busy with their work. News reports were playing on the television in the break room, with images of the chemical plant explosion appearing repeatedly, accompanied by the serious narration of the anchor.

Lynn and Sarah went straight to Morrison's office and laid out all the evidence they had found at Fisher's house on his desk—the bombing plan sketch, the files copied from the computer, and the transcript of Fisher's wife's testimony.

Morrison's expression turned extremely serious after hearing their report.

“The Grand Central Building,” he repeated, tapping his fingers on the table, “is one of New York’s busiest transportation hubs. If they really did detonate a bomb there…”

“The death toll could reach several thousand,” Lynn said, “and it will paralyze the entire city’s traffic.”

How much time do we have now?

“Uncertain,” Lynn said. “The operation date marked 'to be determined' on the sketch means they haven’t finalized the specific time. But judging from Fisher’s killing, their plan is in its final stages. The explosives have been moved, the intermediaries have been eliminated, and the next step is execution.”

Morrison stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to them. Outside, the Manhattan skyline stretched out, sunlight reflecting off the skyscrapers with a blinding gleam.

“I will contact the Department of Homeland Security and the NYPD,” he said. “We’ll increase security at Grand Central, deploy more officers, and send bomb-sniffing dogs. But that’s just passive defense; we need to take the initiative—find the explosives, find the perpetrators, and stop them before they act.”

“On this,” Lynn said, “I have an idea.”

Morrison turned around and looked at him.

“Fischer’s death wasn’t natural,” Lynn explained. “He was killed by psychic abilities. There were no physical signs, no signs of poisoning; he simply died peacefully in his sleep. Not many mutants can do that.”

"You mean Eileen Shaw?"

“She’s one of the suspects, but her abilities are primarily telepathy and mild mind control,” Lynn said. “I experienced it firsthand at the dinner party. She can invade your mind, read your memories, and even influence your judgment. But killing someone remotely requires much more powerful and specialized abilities.”

"You mean, there's another mutant involved?"

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “Shaw may be the mastermind, but the person who actually carried out Fisher's murder might be another mutant with mind-control abilities. If we can find this person, we might find clues to the entire organization.”

Morrison pondered for a moment. "How do you plan to find it?"

“Start with the mutant database,” Lynn said. “The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security have a registry of known mutants. While incomplete, it includes most of the publicly documented mutants. I want to sift through that list, identify all mutants with mind-control abilities, and then investigate them one by one.”

“This list is confidential,” Morrison said. “Access requires special authorization.”

“I know,” Lynn said, “that’s why I came to find you.”

Morrison looked at him, a complex emotion in his eyes. Then he nodded, walked back to the table, and made a few moves on the computer.

“The authorization has been issued to you,” he said. “You have access 24 hours a day. But I warn you, Lynn, the information on this list is extremely sensitive. Any leak could have serious consequences.”

"I see."

“Furthermore,” Morrison added, “this matter should not be made public for now. The chemical plant explosion is already in the headlines; if we add a terrorist plot against the Grand Central Building to that, the public will panic.”

“I’ll keep it a secret,” Lynn said, then left the office with Sarah.

The Special Task Force on Mutants' Affairs is located on the seventh floor of the building in a small, recently cleared meeting room. It contains only a few tables, chairs, and basic office equipment—a computer, printer, and whiteboard. An American flag and a map of New York City hang on the wall, and outside the window is the densely packed cityscape of Manhattan.

This will be their new base, although it looks quite rudimentary now.

Lynn sat down at one of the computers, entered the authorization code Morrison had given him, and accessed the Federal Mutant Database.

A search interface appeared on the screen, with various filtering options—capability type, threat level, scope of activity, known affiliated organizations, and so on. Lynn began setting the search parameters.

"Ability type: Mind-based," he typed to himself, "Subtypes: Mind Intrusion, Thought Control, Mental Attack."

“What’s the area of ​​operation?” Sarah asked from the side. “How large an area do you plan to search?” (End of Chapter)