In the downtown New York apartment, the air felt stagnant, as if all the moisture had been sucked out.
Ye Mo no longer looked at the sea of neon lights outside the window, nor did he pay attention to the distant tremors from the Wakanda border. His attention was entirely focused on the encrypted terminal screen in front of him. The screen's dim blue light reflected on his face, cutting his originally cynical features into a cold and hard expression.
Previous monitoring was merely "listening," while the current backtracking is "seeing."
He took a deep breath, his consciousness sinking once again into the silent " Gene Spiral Tower " deep within his mind. This time, he didn't search for new ability fragments, but instead activated the initial gene fragment related to "time perception" that he had just unlocked. The feeling was strange, like touching a piece of hardened cement with your finger—rough, sticky, and with a tooth-grinding resistance.
There was no system notification sound, only a slight tingling sensation in my brain, a signal of excessive mental focus.
Ye Mo closed his eyes and projected his consciousness onto the surveillance video data stored in the terminal. These were collected from various internal meeting minutes, street conflict footage, and official government statements released before and after the enactment of the Superhero Registration Act. To ordinary people, these were just a jumble of video files, but in Ye Mo's perception, they were layers upon layers of time slices.
He began operating it.
It wasn't about altering reality, which was beyond his current capabilities, nor was it for the sake of combat. He was simply rewinding, forcibly pushing the digital signal flow in his consciousness backward.
The screen begins to reverse.
The smoke of the airport battle dissipated, leaving a gray sky; Tony Stark's armor landed, returning to its pre-takeoff standby state; Steve Rogers ' speech shifted from impassioned to calm. Ye Mo's consciousness followed these images, tracing back to the early stages of the draft Superhuman Registration Act bill.
This process was extremely exhausting. Every second he went back, his temples throbbed as if countless needles were pricking them. But he dared not stop, because conventional methods simply could not penetrate those layers of encrypted and modified data. The official version was clean, but the real truth was often hidden in the deleted caches and overwritten lines of code.
As the rewind progressed, the noise in the image increased, and the colors began to distort. Ye Mo gritted his teeth, fine beads of sweat appearing on his forehead and sliding down his temples. He was like a craftsman searching for a thread in a tangled mess, patiently peeling away the surface disguise.
Finally, at a crucial juncture, he stopped.
That was a transcript of the last confidential meeting before the agreement was signed. In the public version, the transcript showed that the representatives of all parties reached a consensus, emphasizing "protection of civilians" and "attribution of responsibility." But after Ye Mo used his time-rewinding ability to forcibly peel away the last layer of official embellishment, a tiny note bar surfaced.
This line of text is hidden at the very bottom of the code and would be impossible to discover without reverse engineering.
The content is simple, yet enough to overturn the entire situation: [In a state of emergency, temporary oversight authority may be transferred to an independent third-party medical regulatory body under Annex 74, provided that biological samples from no fewer than three high-ranking Mutants are provided as collateral.]
Ye Mo opened his eyes, his pupils dilating slightly.
He stared at the line of text for a full ten seconds. Then, a very faint smile appeared on his lips. This was the loophole. A huge, fatal legal loophole. S.H.I.E.L.D.. and the government thought they had absolute power to detain any superhuman who refused to register, but they overlooked this gray area hidden in the appendix. As long as a suitable "third-party agency" was found and the necessary "biological samples" were gathered, those detained could be legally transferred out.
This isn't a direct assault; it's a clever strategy.
Ye Mo leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. The tension that had been gripping his nerves eased slightly. But he knew this was only the first step. Finding the loophole was easy; exploiting it was difficult. On his own, he couldn't produce a suitable biological sample, nor could he find a third-party institution with sufficient credibility.
He needs help.
Moreover, this helper must be ruthless, professional, and have a deep-seated hatred for the current system.
Ye Mo's fingers tapped lightly on the table, the rhythm slow and steady. He quickly sifted through the list in his mind. The Avengers? No, too divided, and most of them bound by the system. Iron Man? Tony is smart, but he prefers to establish order rather than destroy it. Captain America? Steve sticks to his principles and won't easily engage in such behavior that exploits legal loopholes.
My gaze finally settled on a name.
Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.
She was once a top agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.., and knows the system's operating logic and dark side better than anyone else. Now she is one of the core figures of the resistance, possessing extremely strong infiltration capabilities and tactical skills. More importantly, her understanding of "freedom" is more thorough than anyone else's. If this key needs to be inserted into the lock, she is the only suitable candidate.
Risks certainly exist. Contacting Black Widow means exposing part of his power, and could even lead him into another trap. But Ye Mo has assessed the situation and knows that the current circumstances no longer allow him to remain a bystander. The turbulent events in Wakanda are just the tip of the iceberg; the political maneuvering behind the Superhuman Registration Act is devouring more people. He cannot stand by and watch those innocent superhumans rot in prison.
Since you've chosen to enter the game, you should play it well.
Ye Mo picked up the encrypted communicator on the table. This device had been specially modified so that the information sent would go through multiple hops before finally reaching the other party's secure channel, making it extremely difficult to track.
He didn't press send immediately, but first checked his disguise. As " Mr. X," he couldn't just say "I'm here to save you"—that would be too stupid and too easy to be intercepted. He needed to send the invitation in a way that only the other party could understand, demonstrating his value while maintaining mystery.
My fingertip hovered over the send button, pausing for a second.
Then, he quickly typed out a message.
There was no unnecessary emotional outburst or direct request in this passage. Every word was carefully calculated, pointing to the core of the newly discovered vulnerability.
[I know why you're trapped, and I know how to legally open the door. If you want to know how to open the cage instead of smashing it, reply to this frequency.]
send.
The screen flickered, indicating that the message had been sent.
Ye Mo put down the communicator, leaned back, and sank into the sofa. Silence returned to the room, broken only by the faint hum of the computer tower. He knew that now it was time to wait. To wait for Natasha's reaction, to wait for this game of rules against rules to officially begin.
The sky outside the window remained dark, and the faint sound of police sirens drifted in from afar before quickly fading away. This city forever slept amidst the clamor, and erupted from its slumber.
Ye Mo touched the coin in his pocket, feeling its cool touch on his fingertips. He didn't feel nervous; instead, he felt a calm sense of control over the entire situation. His previous observation and waiting were to understand the game, and now, he had finally obtained his first piece.
He stood up and walked to the window. His blurry reflection was shown in the glass: a black hoodie, a pale face, and eyes as sharp as knives.
He didn't look out the window again, but turned back to the table, folded the sheets of paper filled with calculation data, and stuffed them into his backpack. Then, he put his headphones back on, closed his eyes, and continued to listen to the sounds around him.
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Ye Mo's fingers rested lightly on the table, his fingertips stiff from maintaining the same position for so long. His breathing was steady and deep, each inhale like filtering impurities from the air, each exhale like suppressing the restlessness within.
Beneath this seemingly calm surface, a hunt for Wakanda has quietly begun.
Ye Mo was quietly waiting for his first prey to appear.