American comic book: I, with my abundant martial virtue, love to do good to others.

Massive relocation!

Lynn immediately struggled to climb ashore from the water.

He took off his tactical jacket, which was already torn and soaked with blood, and hung it on a patch of thorny brambles on the opposite bank of the stream.

The clothes still retained a lot of heat and a strong smell of blood; in the eyes of the thermal imaging camera and the tracking dogs, that was Lynn himself.

After setting up the fake target, Lynn turned and lunged at a muddy patch on his side of the shore.

It was silt left behind after the stream receded, mixed with rotting leaves, and the temperature was almost the same as the ambient temperature.

Lynn grabbed a handful of cold, pungent mud with his right hand and smeared it on his face and neck without hesitation.

Then he lay down in the mud, rolled around twice, and let the black, smelly mud completely cover his exposed skin and equipment.

He transformed himself into a "cold stone" that blended into his surroundings.

Just as they finished doing all this, a pale white light suddenly shone above the forest.

A drone's searchlight pierced through the gaps in the tree canopy, shining directly onto both banks of the stream.

Lynn curled up tightly under a fallen, dead tree, half of his body submerged in mud and water, his breathing reduced to the shallowest possible level.

The beams of light swept back and forth through the woods, while the drone's infrared camera scanned frantically.

Less than two minutes later, the sound of tactical boots stomping on fallen leaves came from the hill behind Lynn.

"Over here! The drone has detected a source of intense heat in the brambles on the opposite bank! And there's blood!"

Four fully armed mercenaries, each carrying a rifle equipped with a thermal imaging scope, charged rapidly in combat formation from seven or eight meters above the dead tree where Lynn was hiding.

The sound of boots snapping dry branches and the rustling of tactical vests were right next to me.

Lynn lay in the mud, his eyes covered by mud, only able to see above through a small gap.

He saw a pair of mud-covered combat boots standing on a rock above his head, and several pebbles even rolled down the rock and hit his helmet.

"Stay alert! He's injured, he can't get far!" The mercenaries overhead communicated in low tactical terms, the infrared lasers from their guns drawing deadly red lines in the darkness.

They didn't look at the mud beneath their feet.

In their thermal imaging view, there were no signs of heat from any living creature in the mudflats, only the tactical jacket hanging on the thorn bushes on the opposite bank radiating an alluring warmth.

Four mercenaries waded across the river and rushed toward the decoy target.

Lynn lay in the mud for a full five minutes.

Only when he heard the angry curses of mercenaries from the other side and the buzzing of drones searching further into the distance did he slowly straighten half of his body from the mudflats.

cold.

It was so cold that even my thinking started to become sluggish.

Lynn felt that her fingers were so stiff that she couldn't bend them.

"Lynn—" Miles' anxious voice came through the earpiece, "They were tricked into heading east by a fake target."

You now have a vacuum period of about twenty minutes.

Get up! You need to move! Your body temperature has dropped below the danger level!

"I'm walking."

Lynn used his frozen right hand to support himself on the ground and stood up unsteadily.

His legs felt as heavy as lead, and each step required him to muster the last bit of willpower he had left.

Lynn couldn't remember how he got to the next three miles.

His vision began to blur, a physiological reaction caused by extreme fatigue and blood loss.

The surrounding tree trunks seemed to have turned into twisted monsters, and the sound of the wind in my ears had become a strange whisper.

He fell countless times.

Once, he slipped and rolled down a steep slope, crashing heavily into a tree.

The impact knocked him unconscious for almost a minute.

When he opened his eyes again, it was because his chin had hit a sharp rock.

The smell of blood stimulated his nerves.

"I can't sleep—if I do, I'll really be burned as trash—"

Lynn bit her lip until it bled, using the pain to force her brain to start working again.

He grabbed onto the surrounding weeds, like a wounded lone wolf, and slowly climbed up the earthen slope.

I don't know how long we climbed, but the forest seemed to have thinned out a bit.

In the darkness ahead, a straight, flat gray band appeared.

That's a county road.

Lynn stopped at the edge of the woods, leaned against a tree, and gasped for breath.

His vision was blurry, and he could only vaguely see that there was no one on the county road.

"Miles—" Lynn pressed the communicator, "I've arrived—Milestone 7—"

"I see you!" Miles' voice trembled with obvious joy.

At the corner of the county road, two blinding headlights suddenly shone brightly.

The gray Ford Transit surveillance vehicle charged forward like a mad bull, its tires screeching on the wet asphalt, and suddenly stopped less than two meters in front of Lynn.

The sliding door was pulled open with a "whoosh".

Miles jumped out before the car had even come to a complete stop.

When he saw Lynn leaning against the tree trunk, the FBI analyst, who was used to seeing bloody scenes, gasped.

Lynn was covered in black mud and dark red blood. His left arm was tightly bound to his chest with a tactical strap, and his entire shoulder was swollen and twisted in an extremely unnatural way.

His face was as pale as a sheet of paper, his lips were frozen purple, and his whole body was trembling violently and uncontrollably.

"Gods—what have you done—" Miles rushed forward and grabbed Lynn's uninjured right arm.

"Got the live stream?" Lynn ignored Miles's exclamation, his voice so faint it was almost inaudible, but he gripped Miles's arm tightly.

"Got it! The Department of Homeland Security responded just two minutes ago! Top-level biohazard counterterrorism response! The Special Response Force helicopter squadron is already on its way. The 0FAC freeze order prevents them from using any means of transportation for a large-scale transfer!" Miles said, while using all his strength to drag Lynn into the car.

"That's good----"

Lynn was pulled into the warm carriage by Miles.

The car's heater was on full blast, and when it blew onto his cold skin, it produced a sharp, needle-like pain.

Hang in there, Lynn.

There's a first-aid kit in the carriage. I'll give you a shot of morphine first, and then we'll go to the nearest [location] immediately.

Before Miles could finish speaking, Lynn's hand, which was gripping his arm tightly, suddenly loosened.

He collapsed heavily onto the metal floor of the carriage like a log that had lost its support, and closed his eyes.

In the last second before losing consciousness, Lynn heard the extremely dense, deafening roar of the propellers of a group of military Black Hawk helicopters in the distant sky.