The mastermind exposed by handwriting profiling, the encirclement trap deep in the wasteland
Outside the interrogation room, a world is crumbling.
The Spatial Rift, like a tattered cloth torn apart by an invisible giant hand, emitted a muffled wail, sweeping all matter into nothingness.
Lynn, however, turned a deaf ear to all of this.
He stood still, like a stationary axis in the eye of a storm, all his attention focused on the light, fluttering piece of paper in his hand.
[Time Variant L-N89, confession and surrender statement].
Every word is piercing to the heart.
The insidious nature of this forged document lies not in the list of charges, but in its precise imitation of Lynn's own writing style. It includes the unique abbreviations he created to improve efficiency, the unconscious variations in letter spacing when handling documents of different security levels, and even subtle punctuation habits he himself was unaware of.
All of this was imitated flawlessly.
This is in itself a silent boast, and also a deadly warning.
The other person is telling him, "I know everything about you."
Lynn's gaze finally settled on the last page, on the signature that imitated his handwriting.
His fingers gently traced the signature.
Very similar.
But it's only similar.
He caught a flaw in the subtle twists and turns of each stroke.
It's not the brushwork, but the spirit.
His signature changes subtly depending on the context. When issuing commendation orders, his pen strokes unconsciously become more flowing; when signing execution orders, they become more restrained and solemn.
This signature imitates his style when signing routine administrative documents—plain, restrained, and unemotional.
But at the very end of the last stroke of the signature, in that slight upward flick to the right—the finishing touch that signifies completion—the imitator added something superfluous.
The upward curve was too deliberate, carrying a hint of craftsmanship born of eagerness to achieve something quick.
Lynn remembered that he had only ever shown his complete handwriting habits when signing various official documents to one person without reservation.
It was during a closed-door meeting about optimizing records management, to explain the psychological effects of different document approvals.
His gaze then swept back to the main text.
The article uses informal abbreviations used within the Management Committee in many places. For example, the "Seventh Generation Chaos Magic Firewall of the Department of Technology" is abbreviated as "Science-Seventh Wall," and the "Black Crow Guard under the Stability Maintenance Office" is referred to as "Stability-Black Crow."
These slang terms are conventions that have been formed over the long term by the Management Committee in order to improve internal communication efficiency.
Even if a high-ranking TVA executive could obtain a sample of his handwriting, it would be impossible for him to have such a deep understanding of the internal document culture of the Management Committee.
A name instantly became clear in Lynn's mind.
He is neither Clockmaker in TVA nor an enemy of any TVA.
They are our own people.
A core member deeply ingrained in the Management Committee's paperwork system, yet yearning for greater power, willing to make deals with TVA.
This scene, it turns out, wasn't a one-man show by TVA.
It was, in fact, a calculated scheme involving collusion between insiders and outsiders, a plot to kill someone with a borrowed knife.
Just as Lynn figured it all out.
"Buzz--"
The four walls of the interrogation room, the mottled metal walls, suddenly transformed into transparent energy barriers.
The outside world was laid bare before Lynn.
The collapsed Spatial Rift stood still eerily.
Above the desolate wasteland, hundreds of golden portals, their edges crackling with electricity, suddenly opened like ghostly eyes.
Fully armed TVA Time Cleanup Force, dressed in heavy white War Armor and carrying standard "pruning" scepters, surged out of the door like a tide.
Their movements were synchronized and silent, quickly forming an impenetrable encirclement in the ruins.
Countless energy weapons were charging, and a ghostly blue light converged at the muzzles of every soldier's gun, illuminating this forgotten ruin as if it were daytime.
A net stretching to the heavens and the earth.
It was designed for him alone.
A TVA officer wearing gold commander's shoulder armor stepped out from the ranks.
He was expressionless, holding no weapon, only a silver arresting device that constantly flashed data.
"Time Variant L-N89."
The officer's voice, amplified through his helmet's loudspeaker, was cold and devoid of any emotion.
"You are hereby formally arrested for allegedly repeatedly traversing Sacred Timeline in violation of regulations, interfering with established reality, and colluding with multiple high-risk entities."
"You have the right to remain silent, but you..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
Because Lynn didn't even look at him.
Lynn's gaze remained fixed on the "confession" in his hand.
He seemed oblivious to the thousands of menacing soldiers around him, and to the arrest warrant that would terrify any Variant.
He simply raised his other hand and gently flicked the paper.
The paper made a crisp sound.
"Who ordered you to prepare this?"
Lynn spoke, his voice not loud, but it carried clearly throughout the entire encirclement.
The TVA commander was stunned.
He had never seen such a reckless Variant.
"Put down your weapons and surrender immediately!" he shouted sternly, raising the arresting gear in his hand.
Lynn smiled.
He finally raised his head, his gaze sweeping past the commander before him and across the rows of silent, statue-like soldiers.
"It seems your level is not high enough."
He shook his head, as if talking to himself.
"That's right, the real mastermind wouldn't reveal themselves so easily."
He carefully and slowly folded the "confession" in half, then in half again, until it became a neat little square.
Then, to everyone's astonishment, he carefully put the paper square into the inside pocket of his shirt, his movements as composed as if he were collecting a precious work of art.
After doing all this, he finally looked back at the TVA commander whose face had turned a deep purplish-red.
"I do have many questions I'd like to discuss with your ' Clockmaker '."
A playful smile played on his lips.
"However, not now, and not in this way."
"You..." The commander was about to explode.
Lynn suddenly raised a hand, not in surrender, but to make a "pause" gesture.
He took out another item from his pocket.
That's not a weapon, nor is it an energy device.
It was a black token of unknown material.
The front of the token has no emblem, only a private seal carved in ancient, long-lost cosmic script, representing the pronunciation of "Lynn".
The moment Lynn raised the token.
Simultaneously, a piercing alarm, indicating the highest level of threat, sounded from the War Armor systems of all TVA soldiers present, including the commander's helmet.
A Scarlet warning, encrypted with the Highest Access Privileges, was forcibly displayed on their tactical goggles.
[WARNING: "Black Privilege Token" detected!]
[Holder's identity:??? (Insufficient permissions)]
[Threat Level: Beyond Cognition Hazard]
[Action Agreement: Abandon all resistance, immediately terminate the current mission, remain in place and await the judgment of the ' Time-Keepers '.]
[Those who violate this rule will be considered to have committed the highest level of betrayal against the Sacred Timeline, and will be immediately removed without a trace.]
The entire encirclement was deathly silent.
The anger and arrogance on the TVA commander's face froze instantly, replaced by a deep-seated fear and disbelief.
Black Privilege Token.
That's something that only exists in the oldest and most core legends of TVA.
It is said to be a token personally issued by an unnamed being, a being that transcends even the Time-Keepers.
Seeing this order is like seeing the person himself.
And now, this legendary token is being casually held in the hand of a "Variant" they are about to arrest.
Lynn's smile deepened as he looked at the group of TVA soldiers who had instantly transformed from hunters into stone statues.
He slowly lowered his hand.
"Now, can we talk about this in a different way?"
His gaze pierced through the crowd and looked towards the depths of the ruins, in a direction where no one was.
"Or are you planning to hide in the back and watch your piece get captured by me?"