The black encrypted card still lay on the coffee table, its geometric pattern gleaming coldly under the dim streetlights. Ye Mo didn't touch it; he simply pulled his hoodie down, covering most of his face, leaving only his eyes staring at a point in the void.
The room was eerily quiet; even the sound of the Fridge compressor seemed to come through a thick layer of cotton. He closed his eyes, not searching for system notifications as usual, but instead sinking his consciousness into the " Gene Spiral Tower " deep within his mind, a tower that was not yet fully unlocked.
The bottom layer of the tower was shrouded in a gray haze, like a wisp of fog that hadn't yet dissipated.
Ye Mo tried to extend the tentacles of his senses, not to read other people's thoughts—that would be too noisy and easily exposed—nor to forcibly interfere—his current abilities were not sufficient. What he did was the most basic thing: adjust the frequency. Like tuning a radio, he searched for specific bands in the noisy background of the city.
New York is too big, and the flow of people is as murky as a river. Protesters supporting the Superhuman Registration Act, rallies of the opposition, communities surrounding Mutants schools, and even the shady trading places of the underground black market—all these emotional fluctuations converged into a massive torrent. Anger, fear, fanaticism, indifference... these emotions, like colored smoke, permeated the sky above Manhattan.
Ye Mo took a deep breath, letting his consciousness drift downstream with the torrent. He didn't try to grasp anything, but simply transformed himself into a net, an invisible, silent net of Perception Network.
Initially, the data was chaotic. Various emotional fluctuations were intertwined, making it impossible to distinguish one from another. But he quickly discovered a pattern: the emotional peaks in certain areas showed an unusual synchronicity.
For example, among the protesters near the Stark Industries building, scattered complaints suddenly erupted into a unified roar within the same second; and in an apartment building in Brooklyn, several previously unrelated social media accounts posted highly similar radical statements almost simultaneously.
This synchronization is too deliberate, like someone pulling a puppet on strings behind the scenes; with a flick of the finger, the puppet moves.
Ye Mo frowned slightly, narrowing his perception range and locking onto those few abnormal data nodes. He cautiously approached, avoiding the surface storms of anger, diving into the deep sea, reaching the very edge of his subconscious.
It's very cold there.
It wasn't a coldness in terms of temperature, but a chill in the mind. Deep within the mind of that well-known social commentator, on the edge of the dreams of that radical student movement organizer, and even in the fragments of memories of that Mutants rights advocate, Ye Mo caught a cold, coded instruction.
That's not natural human thought process; it's more like an implanted psychological suggestion. It's like a fine needle, precisely piercing the nerve endings of these people's obsession, constantly amplifying their hatred and anxiety.
"Script..." Ye Mo murmured these two words to himself, a layer of cold sweat seeping down his back.
This is not a simple manipulation of public opinion; it is a meticulously planned psychological warfare. Several key figures are about to issue highly explosive statements at the same time, aiming to escalate the conflict and force all sides to take action prematurely. Once the war breaks out, the fuse for this Civil War will be completely ignited.
He snapped out of his daze, gasping for breath as if he had just surfaced from the water.
Just then, a very faint sound of fabric rubbing came from the shadows in the corner of the living room.
Ye Mo didn't turn around; instead, a playful smile curved his lips. "Miss Natasha, your way of entering is always so impolite; you almost scared my coffee away."
From the corner, a figure slowly emerged. Natasha Romanoff held a dagger in her hand, the blade reflecting a faint light. She had clearly been observing Ye Mo's every move, and might even have been tracking his mental fluctuations.
"Your coffee's long gone cold." Natasha sheathed her dagger, sat down with a serious expression, her gaze as sharp as a hawk's. "And your eyes changed just now. What were you looking at?"
Ye Mo picked up the now-cold Americano, took a sip, and the bitter taste kept him awake. "Something I shouldn't be seeing. Like, someone's orchestrating a good show for the superhumans in New York."
Instead of directly demonstrating his abilities, he pulled a small holographic projection device from his pocket and tossed it into the air. Several lines of processed data unfolded in the air, showing an analysis of the recent behavior of the three opinion leaders.
Natasha glanced at the image, her eyes narrowing slightly. " S.H.I.E.L.D. also currently in the dark; it seems someone at the top is deliberately concealing certain movements." She pointed to a red marker on the image, "This person has been frequently contacting several well-known media and public relations firms recently."
"This is just the tip of the iceberg," Ye Mo said calmly. "They're creating 'reverse noise' in an attempt to dilute our influence or divert public attention. But their deeper purpose is to incite conflict."
Natasha paused for a moment, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. "If this is true, we need evidence, not just speculation."
"I have the senses, you have the channels," Ye Mo said, looking at her. "I'll provide the technical analysis support, you provide the official verification channels. We've reached a temporary agreement."
Natasha stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly assessing the risks of the proposal. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. But be careful not to get yourself into trouble."
"Don't worry, I'll just be an observer." Ye Mo smiled, a hint of cunning in his smile. "At least for now."
Natasha stood up and straightened her collar. "That student movement organizer has a relatively weak mental defense. You could try influencing him as a first test."
Ye Mo nodded in agreement and began to mobilize the energy within his consciousness. He didn't intend to directly control the other person, but rather to plant a seed in their subconscious—a seed of doubt. Once this seed sprouted, the chain of manipulation would crack.
The wind outside seemed to have picked up, causing the curtains to sway slightly. Ye Mo closed his eyes and extended his consciousness outward once more. This time, his target was clear and discreet.
Natasha stood in a corner of the living room, her expression solemn but resolute. She didn't leave, but waited quietly, as if to confirm whether Ye Mo truly grasped the key to the situation.
Ye Mo's fingers tapped lightly on the table, the rhythm slow and steady. His eyes were deep, and through the dim light, it seemed as if he could see the impending storm in the distance.
The seeds of crisis have been sown, and the rumble of thunder is faint. And he is preparing to cut the fuse before the thunder strikes.