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

“Let’s start with a few states in the Northeast,” Lynn said. “New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts. Fisher lives in Brooklyn; if the killer attacked him psychologically while he was sleeping, the distance can’t be too far.”

Is there a distance limit to psychological attacks?

“According to Professor X, most telepaths have a limited range,” Lynn said. “An ordinary telepath might only be able to affect people within a few dozen meters, while a powerful telepath—like Professor X himself—can sense thoughts globally. But even for a powerful telepath, precisely targeting a specific individual requires a relatively close distance or some kind of connection.”

"for example?"

“Photographs, personal belongings, or previous direct contact,” Lynn said. “Eileen Shaw met with Fisher a month ago, and if she established some kind of mental connection, she could theoretically influence him remotely afterward.”

He pressed the search button, and the screen began loading results.

A few seconds later, a list appeared. Twenty-three names.

“Twenty-three mutants with mind-control abilities, operating in several northeastern states,” Lynn said. “Fewer than I thought.”

“Perhaps most of them are not registered,” Sarah said.

“Very likely,” Lynn agreed, “but it’s at least a starting point.”

He began to examine these files one by one.

The first is an elderly woman in her sixties living in a Boston nursing home. Her ability is to read the surface thoughts of people at close range. Threat level: Low. Last activity record: Three years ago.

Not too possible.

The second is a young man in his twenties living in Philadelphia, whose ability is to enter other people's dreams while they are asleep. Threat level: Medium. He currently works at a mental health clinic, helping patients with post-traumatic stress disorder.

It's possible, but the motive is unclear.

The third one.
Lynn checked them one by one, eliminating those who clearly did not meet the criteria—those who were too old or too young, too incompetent, had clear alibis, or had no known connection to any criminal organization.

He stopped when he looked at the seventeenth file.

The photograph in the file shows a white man in his thirties with a thin face, deep-set eyes, and a gloomy, indifferent gaze. His hair is dark brown and hangs messily over his forehead, and there is a faint scar on his chin.

Marcus Wayne, codenamed Dreamweaver.

Lynn's eyes lingered for a long time on the words "being able to enter the consciousness of a target while they are asleep, causing psychological trauma or even death."

“Sarah,” he said, “look at this.”

Sarah leaned closer and looked at the information on the screen.

“Dreamweaver,” she read the code name aloud, “the name doesn’t sound very friendly.”

“His abilities perfectly match our suspicions,” Lynn said. “He specializes in mental attacks while the victim is asleep, capable of causing death. Fisher died in his sleep, without any sign of struggle.”

“But his file says he’s missing,” Sarah pointed out. “The last confirmed location was six months ago in Newark. How can we be sure he’s involved?”

“Newark,” Lynn repeated, “is where the chemical plant explosion happened. This is no coincidence.”

He continued examining the Dream Weaver's file, searching for more details.

The files show that Marcus Wayne's abilities first awakened when he was fifteen years old, when he accidentally killed a classmate during a bullying incident at school. The boy suddenly suffered cardiac arrest in his sleep, and the cause of death was attributed to congenital heart disease. However, the subsequent investigation revealed that Wayne had told the boy before the incident, "You will die in a nightmare."

From then on, Wayne was labeled a dangerous mutant and placed in a government facility for "observation." He stayed there for three years before escaping during a facility malfunction and disappearing from public view.

“He has a history of murder,” Sarah said, “and in the same way—murdering in his sleep.”

“Yes,” Lynn said, “and he’s been missing for six months. Long enough for him to be recruited by some organization and become their assassin.”

"You think it's a fraternity?"

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “The Brotherhood needs mutants with various abilities to carry out their plans. An assassin who can kill in his sleep would be an extremely valuable asset to them.”

He downloaded the Dream Weaver's profile from the database, including his photo, known aliases, and all his activity records. Then he began to think about his next step.

“We need to find him,” he said. “If he’s the one who killed Fisher, he’s likely still in the city, preparing for his next mission.”

“How do we find him?” Sarah asked. “He’s been missing for six months, with no record of any activity.”

Lynn thought for a moment. "Fischer was killed in his own bed. While the Dream Weaver's abilities are ranged, they should still have distance limitations. If he launched a mental attack on Fisher at the time of his death, he's likely near Fisher's house."

"You mean check the surveillance footage?"

“Yes,” Lynn said, “Fischer died between two and three in the morning. If the Dreamweaver was nearby, the street security cameras should have captured him.”

He began operating the computer, accessing New York City's public surveillance network. This required another authorization, but Morrison granted him sufficient privileges for direct access.

“I need Fisher’s address,” he said.

Sarah gave him the address. Lynn entered the address and pulled up all the security cameras within half a mile of Fisher's house.

“There are seventeen cameras in total,” he said. “We need to review all the footage from 11 p.m. last night to 4 a.m. this morning.”

“That’s five hours of recording, from seventeen cameras,” Sarah did a simple calculation. “Eighty-five hours of video. How long do we want to watch it?”

“We don’t need to look at them all,” Lynn said. “We just need to find the Dreamweaver’s face. I can use facial recognition software to filter them.”

He uploaded the Dream Weaver's photo to the system and started the facial recognition program. A progress bar appeared on the screen and began to move slowly.

“This will take some time,” he said. “Let’s go get something to eat while we can. I haven’t eaten anything since noon yesterday.”

Sarah glanced at him, a slight smile playing on her lips. "You were lying on that bed for several minutes; I thought you were going to take a nap there."

“That’s to get a sense of the deceased’s perspective,” Lynn explained. “It’s an investigative technique.”

“Of course,” Sarah laughed. “Let’s go, there’s a nice coffee shop downstairs, the sandwiches are pretty good.”

They left the office and took the elevator down to the first floor. The FBI building lobby was bustling with people: uniformed guards, agents in suits, and ordinary citizens who looked like they were there to report a crime or be questioned. Sunlight streamed in through the tall glass windows, reflecting bright light onto the marble floor. The café, a small fast-food restaurant in a corner of the building, offered coffee, sandwiches, and simple hot meals. Lynn ordered a black coffee and a turkey sandwich, while Sarah ordered a latte and a Caesar salad. They found a table by the window and sat down.

“When did you start knowing so much about mutants?” Sarah asked, eating her salad. “I mean, the distance limitations of telepathy, the connection mediums, and stuff like that. These aren’t things you’d normally learn in FBI training.”

“I spent a few days at Xavier’s School of X,” Lynn said. “Professor X gave me a lot of extra lessons. He said that if I wanted to join the Mutant Affairs Task Force, I needed to understand the basic rules of the mutant world.”

"Professor X is the world's most powerful telepath?"

“Yes,” Lynn said, “he was a good man, or rather, a good mutant. He genuinely believed that mutants and humans could coexist peacefully and was willing to give anything for that ideal.”

"You trust him?"

Lynn thought for a moment. “I trust his intentions. As for his judgment, I reserve my opinion. Sometimes idealists overlook real dangers.”

"for example?"

“Take the Brotherhood, for example,” Lynn said. “Professor X believes that every mutant has a good side, and even those who go to extremes can be saved. But some people… some people have gone too far, there’s no turning back.”

"You mean Eileen Shaw?"

“She, and others,” Lynn said, “the fraternity leadership aren’t misled victims; they are planned, purposeful extremists. They know what they’re doing, and they believe it’s right. These kinds of people won’t change their minds with a few words of persuasion.”

They were silent for a moment, each eating their own food. Outside the window, pedestrians hurried by, cars lined up at traffic lights—everything was so ordinary, so routine. No one knew that somewhere in this city, someone was plotting an attack that could change everything.

“Are you scared?” Sarah suddenly asked.

Lynn looked at her. "What are you afraid of?"

“All of this,” Sarah said, “mutants, mind control, terrorism. A few weeks ago, my life was normal. Tracking suspects, gathering evidence, testifying in court. Now I’m investigating mutants who can kill with their minds, investigating plots that could blow up entire buildings.”

Do you regret joining this work group?

Sarah shook her head. "It's not regret, it's just that sometimes it feels unreal. Like living in a science fiction movie."

“I understand,” Lynn said. “I felt the same way a few months ago. The first time I saw Logan heal from a bullet wound, the first time I saw a one-eyed man shoot lasers from his eyes. These things can change your perception of the world.”

"And then? How did you adapt?"

“I told myself that no matter how unusual the enemy was, the essence of my job hadn’t changed,” Lynn said. “Protect the innocent and catch the bad guys. Mutants just made the job a little more complicated, but the core principles remained the same.”

Sarah nodded, seemingly comforted by his words.

Lynn's phone vibrated. He picked it up and saw it was a notification from the facial recognition program.

“We have the results,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

They hurried back to their office on the seventh floor.

The computer screen displayed the facial recognition results—the program found three possible matches from 17 cameras and 85 hours of video footage.

Lynn clicked on the first match.

This is footage from a street corner camera about 300 meters northeast of the Fisher family home. The footage shows a quiet residential street lined with detached houses similar to the Fisher family's, with streetlights casting a dim yellow glow.

The timestamp shows 1:47 AM.

A person walks into the frame from the left, strolling slowly along the sidewalk. He's wearing a dark hooded jacket, the hood obscuring most of his face, but as he passes under a streetlamp, the light illuminates his face—

They are dream weavers.

That gaunt face, those sunken eyes, that gloomy gaze—it was exactly the same as the one in the file photo.

“It’s him,” Sarah said, her voice tense. “He’s near the Fisher’s house.”

“And it happened about twenty minutes before Fisher died,” Lynn said. “This is no coincidence.”

He clicked on the second match.

This is footage from another street corner camera, located about 200 meters southwest of Fisher's house. The timestamp shows 2:31 AM.

The same person appeared in the frame, but this time he was walking in the opposite direction—away from Fisher's house. His pace seemed faster than before, as if he was in a hurry to leave.

“2:31,” Lynn said. “Fischer’s time of death was approximately between 2 and 3 a.m. He left after committing the murder.”

He clicked on the third match.

This is a security camera in a parking lot, about half a mile from Fisher's house. The timestamp shows 2:43 AM.

The dream weaver walked into the parking lot and approached a dark-colored sedan. He opened the door, got into the driver's seat, and then the headlights came on, and the car drove out of the parking lot.

Lynn paused the video and zoomed in on the car's license plate.

“New Jersey license plates,” Sarah said. “Can you find the vehicle's registration information?”

“Of course,” Lynn entered the license plate number into another database, and a few seconds later, the result came out.

“The car is registered to a car rental company,” he said, “Rent-a-Car in Newark. The renter’s name is John Smith.”

“A pseudonym,” Sarah said.

“No doubt about it,” Lynn agreed, “but at least we know he rented a car. If he hasn’t returned it yet, we might be able to track him down using GPS.”

He picked up the phone and dialed Morrison's office number.

“Deputy Chief, it’s me, Lynn,” he said. “We’ve made a breakthrough. I need an emergency search warrant for a car rental company in Newark. I need their GPS data for one of their vehicles.”

He briefly explained the situation and then hung up the phone. (End of Chapter)