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

Chapter 699 meets the requirements!

"Any news from the dormitory?" he asked.

“The guard said Carmela got up once around 4 a.m., went to check on Matteo, saw him asleep, and went back to her room,” Jason said. “That kid probably really couldn’t hold on any longer; he went in and never came out again.”

"Ah."

Jason turned to look at him: "When do you plan to tell them the results from the warehouse?"

“Let’s prepare a list of what we can say first.” Lynn took a sip of coffee, the bitterness instantly hitting his tongue. “Carmela knows we’ve located the key points, but we won’t reveal everything about the experimental beds and the compatibility list yet. Matteo—”

"Show him the note about the stress point from relatives?"

"Correct."

Jason clicked his tongue: "Ruthless enough."

"He needs to fully understand what he was negotiating with."

“That’s true.” Jason paused, then added, “But seriously, tonight’s move is enough to earn you a formal commendation. The higher-ups have been having trouble connecting a few lines lately, and your move has pulled them all together into a complete network.”

Lynn looked at the river, expressionless: "Don't celebrate prematurely. It's a big online movie, and many people will run away."

“At least we’re not just grabbing things randomly anymore.” Jason nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “It won’t kill you to occasionally admit you did a good job.”

Lynn took another sip of his hot coffee before saying calmly, "I want to live a little longer."

When the two returned to the branch office, it was already beginning to lighten. The city outside Federal Plaza was slowly waking up, with traffic picking up again on the streets, and a pale morning light creeping onto the glass facades. Inside the building, the night shift and the morning shift were changing hands, and there were more people at the elevator entrance than in the middle of the night. The air was filled with the smells of printing paper, coffee, and the clean scent of morning disinfection.

The initial report was sent up page by page. Before seven o'clock, the deputy assistant director personally came to the technical department and placed a newly signed internal bulletin on the table. The wording was very formal, but the concluding sentence, "Special commendation is given to the relevant investigation and on-site decision-making," was enough to tell the story.

Jason glanced at it, then immediately looked up at Lynn: "See, what did I tell you?"

Lynn took the paper, scanned only half a page, and casually put it down: "This thing won't let you sleep an extra hour."

"But it can make you more justified when you curse others later."

"Am I not usually assertive enough?"

"...Okay, never mind."

The report was followed by a verbal notification: at 9:00 AM, the department head would make a brief appearance to commend the surprise inspection of the Donghe warehouse and to request further investigation into the supply chain. The meaning couldn't be clearer: last night's operation had already alerted higher-ups.

Lynn didn't go to rest. He went back to his office first and, together with the analysis team, went through the nodes exported from the server again, and added all the fragmented habits, names, smells, and car types that Matteo had mentioned last night into the comparison table. After comparing them, several hidden clues that hadn't been apparent before were indeed revealed: the clinic in Queens had briefly purchased a large quantity of disinfectant wipes; a gray van had been rented under the name of the New Jersey freight depot; and the slang term "the one with eyes" had even appeared once in the margin of a payment list, followed by the outsourcing number of the sniper in the parking lot.

When Jason came in carrying a new stack of documents, Lynn was still staring at the screen.

"You really don't waste a single second."

"How many were caught?"

“The man with the severed finger on the North Embankment has started to soften his tune. He pretended to be confused at first, but when he heard that the entire East River warehouse had been raided, his face changed.” Jason threw the documents on the table. “He said he was only responsible for recycling and road maintenance, and didn’t touch the core, but he admitted that he was ordered to go to Carmela’s apartment last night to ‘force people down.’ The chain of command did indeed use Wei’s office.”

Does he know who Wei is?

“I don’t know, or I dare not say.” Jason pulled out a chair and sat down. “But he mentioned a name, ‘Dr. Ridley.’ He said that many injections and pre-fitness assessments have to go through this person first.”

"Doctor?" Lynn looked up.

“Yes, it sounds like a pseudonym, but there should really be such a person.” Jason flipped through the file. “Also, the man in the protective suit we caught on the second floor was a technician, not an outer-circuit cleaner. He provided some information: the warehouse was recently rushing to move a batch of ‘sellable goods,’ which was originally scheduled to be transferred before dawn today. If we hadn’t arrived first, at least one batch of GX-R drugs would have left New York.”

"Where to?"

“He couldn’t explain it clearly, he only knew that the pier route was not the final destination, and that it would turn onto land.”

Lynn's gaze darkened further, and just as he was about to ask another question, there was a gentle knock on the office door. Standing outside was the duty officer.

"Detective, we received a message from the dormitory area saying that Carmela has woken up and they're asking if you're available."

Lynn glanced at the time; it was already past eight.

Jason immediately smirked, "Go ahead. If you don't go, she'll probably think you've fallen into some basement."

"You're so talkative."

"I'm just offering a friendly reminder."

Lynn stopped arguing with him, got up, put the copy of the internal assessment of Project M and the simplified report of the East River Warehouse into a folder, and walked towards the dormitory area.

The dormitory corridor in the early morning was different from that in the early morning. There was light outside the window, and even the reflection on the ground wasn't so cold. Carmela had changed back into the clean clothes the branch had given her last night, and her hair was tied up again, but the weariness around her eyes was more obvious. She stood by the vending machine at the end of the corridor, holding two cups of hot chocolate. When she saw Lynn coming over, she glanced at him first, as if to make sure he was at least still standing.

“You really weren’t asleep,” she said.

"You don't have any either."

“At least I took a shower.” Carmela handed him one of the glasses. “You look like you grew right out of the office.”

Lynn took the cup, the warmth seeping through the paper to her palm: "Thank you."

“Don’t keep saying thank you, it makes us seem too distant,” Carmela said, then immediately added, “But if you want to say there was a harvest at the warehouse, then I’ll accept it.”

“Yes.” Lynn looked at her. “Last night, we checked the access cards and found a location by the East River. We’ve already taken it down.”

Carmela's fingers tightened: "Really?"

“Really,” Lynn said. “We caught them, found a batch of banned drugs, and discovered where they made samples and transported them. Not everything, but enough to dig deeper.”

The nerves in her eyes snapped open: "Does that mean... Matteo doesn't have to be afraid of them storming in today anymore?"

“Not here,” Lynn said. “There will be people watching outside. You’re safe for now.”

Carmela let out a long sigh, as if she'd been holding it in since last night. She glanced down at the hot chocolate in her hand, her voice lowering slightly: "He fell asleep later last night."

"I know."

"You talked to him, didn't you?"

Lynn paused for a moment: "We talked about it."

Carmela looked up at him, her eyes serious: "Did he... say something?"

"He told you part of it," Lynn said, not going into details, "but there are some things he should have told you himself."

Carmela was silent for a few seconds, as if she already had a vague idea, but she didn't press her further. She only whispered, "At least when he woke up this morning, the way he looked at me wasn't like a cat about to puff up its fur as it was last night."

"This is progress."

"You actually used such a metaphor." She glanced at him and forced a smile. "So, are you going to see him now?" "Yes."

Can I come along?

Lynn thought for a moment and shook her head: "Not yet. I need to show him something."

Carmela's expression changed slightly: "Is it bad?"

"Yes, for him."

Her grip on the cup tightened slowly, but she finally nodded: "Okay. I'll wait for you to come out."

Lynn didn't say anything more and walked towards Matteo's room. The door wasn't locked, and he knocked. A hoarse voice, clearly awake, quickly came from inside: "Come in."

Matteo was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair a mess, his expression even emptier than the night before, like someone who had just woken up from a nap only to be jolted awake by reality. When he saw Lynn holding a folder, his first reaction was to frown.

“Every time you come, it’s like you bring bad news.”

“That means your intuition is pretty good.” Lynn went inside and closed the door behind him.

Where is my sister?

“Outside, safe, awake, everything’s fine.” Lynn sat down in the chair opposite him. “Let’s get down to business.”

Matteo muttered a curse under his breath, probably to prepare himself mentally: "Fine, go ahead."

Lynn pushed the first sheet of paper over. It wasn't a complicated report; it was just a few sentences of notes extracted from the server—not many words, but clear enough.

Matteo had been frowning at first, but by the second line, the color drained from his face. When he saw the phrases "using the addresses of their immediate family members as pressure points" and "strong family ties that can be exploited," he felt as if he had been struck on the head, and his eyes froze.

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Then his Adam's apple bobbed as if he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

“We found this in the warehouse last night,” Lynn said.

Matteo stared at the paper, his knuckles turning white as he clenched it: "...They really wrote it like that?"

"Ah."

"You didn't fabricate this to frame me?"

Do you think it's necessary?

Matteo didn't answer. He just stared intently at the few lines of printed text, as if he had finally seen something he had been unwilling to admit. After a long while, he took a low breath, a breath filled with trembling anger and belated shame.

“I really thought…” his voice was hoarse, “I really thought that as long as they had samples, they would have to talk to me.”

“They will definitely contact you,” Lynn said, “but not to discuss it.”

Matteo slammed the paper down on the edge of the bed, his face ashen as if he was about to vomit: "Damn it."

After uttering that curse, he fell silent. The air in the room seemed to be pressed down, the only sound the soft, rhythmic breathing of him. After a long while, he finally raised his head, the last glimmer of hope in his eyes seemingly utterly shattered.

"What else is in the warehouse?" he asked.

Lynn handed over the simplified report. This one didn't include the most provocative photos, but it contained all the necessary information: drug number, number of refrigerated containers, underground experimental area, and compatibility list. The more Matteo looked, the paler he became; his fingers trembled when he saw the "K-seed" section.

“They really are doing this,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes,” Lynn said, “and it’s bigger than you see.”

Matteo put down the report, as if he had suddenly lost his balance, propped his elbows on his knees, and forcefully covered his face with his hands. That posture made him look no longer like the hot-tempered and stubborn man from the previous night, but simply a young man who had finally realized he had been manipulated from beginning to end.

"Am I ridiculous?" he asked in a muffled voice.

Do you want comforting words or the truth?

“…Never mind, don’t try to comfort me.” Matteo’s voice was hoarse. “You tell me.”

“You’re not ridiculous,” Lynn said. “You’ve been chosen.”

Matteo slowly removed his fingers from his face and looked at him.

“They target people who are afraid, protective, and don’t know the big picture,” Lynn said. “That’s the easiest way to control them. You’re not special enough to warrant their attention; you just happen to fit the bill. It’s cruel, but it’s true.”

Matteo stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly chuckled softly, a laugh that sounded more like a grimace: "You really know how to pick the most painful spot."

“Because you have no room left to keep lying to yourself,” Lynn said.

After those words, Matteo didn't respond. He sat there, silent as if he had been completely emptied out. After a long while, he finally whispered, "Then I'll tell you everything."

“Okay.” Lynn turned to the blank record page.

“I’ll tell you everything I know: every address, code name, car, speaking habits, the smell of disinfectant, which hand someone uses to hold a gun, who clears their throat before speaking.” Matteo raised his head, his eyes still red from staying up all night, but the layer he had been forcing himself to maintain was clearly different. “But I have one condition.”

Lynn looked at him and said, "Speak."

“When I’m talking, my sister shouldn’t be there.” Matteo paused. “Also… after you’ve finished sorting things out, I’ll tell her myself why I went in. Don’t speak for me first.”

"Sure," Lynn replied quickly.

Matteo paused for a moment, as if he hadn't expected the agreement to come so readily.

I thought you would say 'it depends'.

“No need this time,” Lynn said. “That’s your problem.”

Matteo stared at him for a while, then finally let out a low sigh, as if he had finally put something down a little. He reached out and pulled the assessment paper back over, stared at the phrase "protective impulse" for two seconds, and suddenly cursed: "These people even use this to write reports."

"Because they are good at breaking people down into parts that are easy to use," Lynn said.

"And what about you guys?" Matteo suddenly looked up. "Do you guys do that too?"

Lynn looked at him: "We can make assessments, judge risks, and see people's weaknesses. But that doesn't mean we'll use it to force someone to drag my sister down with us."

Matteo remained silent, as if trying to discern whether there was anything he didn't believe in the statement. Finally, he slowly nodded: "...Okay. I'll try to believe it this once."

Over the next two hours, he revealed almost everything he knew.

He spoke of the middleman he first encountered, the always impeccably clean gray van, the driver who constantly sprayed disinfectant, and the woman who habitually wore light-colored gloves, even in summer. He mentioned several people he only knew by nicknames: "Priest," "Greyhound," "Long-Eyed," and "Doctor." He recounted seeing an old label from a long-closed biological supplies company printed on the corner of a plastic box while exchanging goods under the Brooklyn Bridge. He also mentioned a tailless cat always perched at the entrance of a certain transfer point, which must have been near a waste incineration plant, as the wind always carried a burnt smell. (End of Chapter)