Maybe It Was Just a Coincidence

Morning sunlight slanted through the basement's high little window, cutting through the damp air like a dull knife. Lin Mo opened his eyes. The fan was still humming; he had forgotten to turn it off last night. He reached over and touched his wrist—the band was quiet as usual, its countdown ticking away: 331 days 14 hours.

He sat up, and the air mattress let out a faint hiss. Over the past month, he had grown used to this rhythm of life: up at five, wash up, work out—push-ups and squats in the cramped space—then walk to Fortune House for work. Ten hours of washing dishes, mopping floors, and serving food, then back at night to study maps, practice "Basic Phasing," and occasionally mooch a meal at Martha's place.

Life was rough but orderly, like a stone polished over and over until its sharp edges of panic had slowly worn away.

Today was Saturday, and the restaurant would be hit with a rush of family gatherings at noon, so he had to get there early. Just as he was about to get up and get dressed, he heard hurried footsteps outside, followed by the click of a key entering the lock.

The door opened a crack, and Martha poked her head in. She did not even have a cigarette in her mouth, and her expression was unusually grim.

"Kid, something happened." She lowered her voice. "The building across the street collapsed halfway."

Lin Mo shot to his feet. "What? When did it happen?"

"Around three in the morning." Martha frowned. "The firefighters and police all came. The cordon reaches our front door. They said it was a gas line explosion, but..." She paused. "Someone saw the flames start upstairs, not below."

Lin Mo's heart skipped a beat. Queens? A gas explosion? And at such a convenient time?

He quickly got dressed and rushed out, following Martha onto the street. Sure enough, an old apartment building three blocks away was still smoking. Its charred walls had split open, exposing twisted rebar like it had been gnawed apart by some colossal beast. Police cars and fire engines surrounded it, while residents crowded beyond the yellow tape.

"I heard two died and five were injured." Martha took a drag from a freshly lit cigarette, her gaze cold. "All ordinary people. Tenants."

Lin Mo stared at the ruins, unconsciously rubbing the metal band around his wrist. His mind raced—in the Marvel Universe, any "accident" could be the result of powers going out of control, an experiment leaking, or even a covert conflict between Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.

Then... he suddenly remembered something and pulled out his phone, opening a local news app:

[The building had once housed the private laboratory of the late Dr. Ethan Choi, who died of heart disease two weeks ago.]

Lin Mo's pupils contracted.

Dr. Ethan Choi?

He did not recognize the name, but the words "private laboratory" put him on alert. Before crossing over, he had been a programmer, and he was not completely unfamiliar with the research world. Anyone who could maintain a private laboratory in New York was no ordinary person. Besides, the cause of death was "heart disease"? In this world, eight out of ten scientists were silenced.

"Does Brother Qiang know about this?" he asked Martha.

"Who? That guy at the Chinese restaurant?" The old woman blew out a smoke ring. "He was cursing this morning, saying it was hurting business. Even the smell from the kitchen exhaust got drowned out by the sirens."

Lin Mo fell into thought. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but he did not dare gamble on it. This world was too dangerous. One stray hit could mean game over.

Back in the basement, he switched on the desk lamp and spread out the Directory of New York Research Institutions he had borrowed from the library. He began looking up information on "Dr. Ethan Choi." After searching for a long time, he finally found an entry in the appendix:

> **Dr. Ethan Choi | Biochemical engineering specialist | Former external consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. | Research focus: genetic stabilizers and Mutant suppression mechanisms**

Lin Mo's breathing stopped.

S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant? Researching Mutant suppression?

No wonder he had suddenly suffered a "heart attack." This was obviously a cleanup operation. And the explosion at his laboratory... was probably no accident either.

He suddenly thought of his wristband—the "X Check-in System," which granted a random X-Men ability once a year. Could this system be connected to Mutants? Perhaps... even to Dr. Choi's research?

As he pondered, the wristband suddenly flashed blue:

[Detected severe emotional fluctuations in host (anxiety level increased by 47%)]

[Recommendation: Remain calm and avoid exposing abnormal physiological signals]

[Notice: Some government agencies possess biological monitoring networks]

Lin Mo's heart turned cold. It could even monitor his emotions? Just how advanced was this system?

He forced himself to take deep breaths and steady his heartbeat. The most important thing now was not to draw attention. He was just a dishwasher. He should not know about any of this.

But at that moment, footsteps sounded outside again—this time, they did not belong to Martha.

A man in a gray trench coat stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a notebook with an ID badge pinned to his chest. He looked to be around forty, with a stern face and eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

"Mr. Lin Mo?" the man said evenly. "FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Alarm bells blared in Lin Mo's head.

FBI? They had come for him? How was that possible? He had been washing dishes yesterday!

"I... I am." He tried to remain calm as he stepped out of the room.

"Regarding this morning's explosion, nearby surveillance footage shows you in the vicinity of the scene at 4:17 a.m." The man opened his notebook. "Can you explain that?"

Lin Mo's heart sank.

Damn it.

He really had been there—it was part of his daily morning exercise route. A lap around the park happened to take him past that building. But he could not say it was his "routine," or that would seem far too suspicious.

"I... couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk," he said quietly. "I saw the smoke and stopped for a moment, but I didn't get close."

The man in the trench coat watched him for several seconds, then suddenly asked, "What country are you from? What kind of visa do you have?"

"Chinese international student... My visa expired." Lin Mo gritted his teeth and admitted it. This was one of the holes in his fabricated identity, and now he could only tough it out.

The other man narrowed his eyes and wrote something in his notebook.

"We'll follow up." He turned to leave, then stopped again. "Stay indoors for a while. Don't go near the scene. Some things, even if you see them, don't mean you can understand them."

There was a deeper meaning behind those words.

Lin Mo stood where he was, a chill creeping up from the soles of his feet.

This was not an ordinary investigation. They were after people who knew too much.

After the man left, Lin Mo immediately locked the door and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. His wristband lit up again:

[Warning: Host has been added to a temporary observation list (codename: Grey Sparrow)]

[Recommendation: Avoid using superpowers in the short term, reduce frequency of outings, and disguise yourself as an ordinary laborer]

[Note: The FBI Special Events Unit has been active recently and is suspected of tracking a runaway experimental subject]

Lin Mo panted, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

An experimental subject? Who? Had someone taken Dr. Choi's research results out of the lab? Or had he... altered someone himself?

He suddenly realized something: if Dr. Choi had truly been researching "Mutant suppressants," then working backward, did that mean he also possessed the technology to activate Mutant genes?

And his wristband happened to say "X-Men abilities"...

"No way..." he muttered. "Could this system of mine have been made by Dr. Choi? Or rather... did it come out of his laboratory?"

If that was the case, then he was not merely someone who had crossed over. He was also an unknown variable in some enormous plan.

He had to uncover the truth, but he could not act recklessly again.

That night, he went to work at Fortune House as usual and acted as though everything was normal. Seeing that he looked unwell, Brother Qiang handed him a bowl of hot soup. "Drink this. Build up your strength."

"Thanks, Brother Qiang." Lin Mo accepted it and took a sip. The scalding heat gave him a small sense of reality again.

Sister Li leaned over and asked quietly, "I heard the FBI came looking for you?"

Lin Mo was startled. "How did you know?"

"The whole street's talking about it." She sighed. "These days, even street sweepers are afraid of being mistaken for terrorists."