The faint light on the communicator screen was particularly glaring in the darkness, and the string of garbled ID characters seemed like an eye lurking in the shadows, staring intently at Ye Mo.
He didn't open the message immediately.
The air inside the base felt stifling and stagnant. With the mental shield activated, it truly became an absolute "blind spot." External radar couldn't detect it, Telepathy couldn't penetrate it, and even S.H.I.E.L.D..'s satellite positioning could only show a meaningless blank. This sense of security came too quickly, making Ye Mo feel somewhat uneasy.
It's like locking yourself in a safe. You've thrown away the key, so people outside can't get in, but you can't get out either.
Ye Mo leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. Tap, tap, tap. The rhythm was steady, but the gears in his mind were turning at lightning speed.
Who sent this message?
Tony Stark? Impossible. That narcissist's messaging style is all about showing off and sarcasm; he would never use such cold, garbled code. Steve Rogers? Even less likely. If Captain America wanted to find someone, he would simply knock on the door or slip them a card with a shield on it. This kind of hacking isn't his style.
That was a resistance organization.
Ye Mo's lips curled into a cold smile. He had anonymously sent out intelligence before, acting like a mastermind directing those rabble. Now, the prey had turned the tables, or rather, the prey was testing the hunter's strength.
Replying directly would expose that they are still there, and might even reveal the exact coordinates of the base. The current Mutant Registration Act is causing a huge uproar, and S.H.I.E.L.D.. and Hydra are conducting a thorough search for " Mr. X." Any extra byte could become the trigger.
But what if we ignore it?
Ye Mo shook his head. In this circle, silence is often interpreted as rejection or fear. If it's fear, the other party might intensify their search; if it's rejection, it means losing a potential ally. With just these few walls, he can hold out for a while, but not forever. Tony has his armor, Emma Frost has her Diamond Form, and he has his system, but these are all consumables. He needs an intelligence network, he needs informants, and he needs to know where the next bullet will come from.
Instead of passively defending, it's better to take the initiative.
Ye Mo sat up straight, his hands hovering above the keyboard. He didn't open the encrypted file, but instead brought up the system's low-level analysis interface.
"Analyze the coding features of the signal source," he muttered to himself.
Although there were no visual light effects, a slight stinging sensation came from the depths of my consciousness, which was the system operating at high speed. A few seconds later, a stream of data flooded into my mind.
It's not a military frequency band used by government agencies, nor is it S.H.I.E.L.D..'s standard encryption protocol. It's an old, Mutants- specific encryption method based on modified analog signals. This technology has long been obsolete because it's easy to intercept and crack, but it remains popular among underground resistance groups. Because it's simple, because it's primitive, and because it represents a tacit understanding of "we're all in this together."
This rules out the possibility of an official trap.
Ye Mo narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharpening. Since the other party was using the old tricks, he didn't need to bother with those fancy digital signatures.
He quickly wrote a piece of audio code.
This code is very short, only three seconds long. It contains no text, no images, only a piece of white noise processed by inverse frequency hopping, and a few specific low-frequency pulses. The frequency combination of these pulses corresponds to an ancient code word circulating within the Mutants community—"The fire of freedom has not been extinguished."
This is a test, and also a demonstration of strength.
If the other party is knowledgeable, they will recognize this as Echo from " Mr. X ". If the other party is not knowledgeable, or is deliberately pretending to be ignorant, then this audio is just a normal interference wave, and they will not suffer any loss.
send.
Ye Mo pressed the Enter key, watched the progress bar on the screen complete, and then quickly cut off all external physical connections. He unplugged the network cable and turned off the wireless module. He did all this smoothly and without the slightest hesitation.
After doing all that, he leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette.
Amidst the swirling smoke, he gazed out the window at the New York cityscape. The city shone brightly, its streets bustling with traffic. It appeared peaceful and serene, but beneath the surface, undercurrents were already churning. He was no longer the ordinary college student who simply wanted a peaceful life. From the moment he stepped through that door, he had chosen to stand at the eye of the storm.
The waiting time always feels long.
About five minutes later, the communicator on my wrist vibrated again.
This time it's not gibberish, but a voice file that has undergone multiple decryption steps.
Ye Mo put on his headphones and pressed play.
A voice came through the receiver. It had been altered to sound like sandpaper scraping against a metal plate—rough, hoarse, and its gender and age were indiscernible. Yet, the tone conveyed a weariness and determination born of years of experience, along with an undeniable authority.
"You possess the power we crave, so why hide it?"
The question hits the nail on the head.
Ye Mo was taken aback for a moment, then smiled. This guy was smart; he didn't ask any nonsense and went straight to the core issue.
He faced the microphone, adjusted his breathing, and began speaking in a calm yet slightly playful tone:
"Because if you hide well, you can live longer; and only by living long can you have the right to talk about the future."
This statement aligns with his established persona and subtly conveys the meaning of cooperation. He doesn't intend to be the kind of hero who charges in and takes the hits; he wants to be the one orchestrating things from behind the scenes. Only by surviving can one contribute.
After saying that, he threw out the bait.
"I can share some non-core tactical advice to assist in the relocation of several high-risk Mutants. The condition is that you must open up some of your intelligence networks to me, especially intelligence regarding the details of the Superhuman Registration Act's implementation. I need to know who is making arrests, how they are being made, and where they are being sent."
This is a fair, transparent, and mutually beneficial transaction.
A brief silence fell over the receiver.
Those few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Ye Mo's fingers gently caressed the cigarette butt, feeling the lingering warmth of the burning tobacco. He was assessing the other party's reaction and also evaluating the cost-effectiveness of this deal.
Finally, that hoarse voice rang out again.
"Transaction complete. Welcome, Mr. X."
Four words: concise and to the point.
As this conversation ended, an invisible bond connected two previously parallel worlds. Ye Mo knew that from this day forward, he was no longer a lone wanderer fighting alone, but a part of this storm.
He turned off the communicator, watched the data stream gradually disappear on the screen, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.
There were no cheers, no celebrations. He simply sat quietly, rapidly outlining his next course of action. Now that he had the intelligence support of the resistance organization, he needed more precise targets. Those illegal networks hidden in the shadows, those forgotten corners, would become his new hunting grounds.
Ye Mo stood up and walked to the window.
The New York nightscape remains dazzling, but in his eyes, the city has become a network of countless interwoven threads. Under each light, a story, a conspiracy, or a rescue might be hidden.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his breathing rhythm, and put his body into the best state of preparation.
He knew that after the brief calm, even more intense turmoil would follow.
Back at the console, Ye Mo began organizing recent data backups. He conducted a final check on the base's core energy module, ensuring every node was in optimal condition. Picking up the miniature energy core on the table, he recalibrated it, feeling the faint vibrations emanating from it through his fingertips.
This is our last resort.
At this moment, though he was in a basement in New York, his thoughts had already drifted to a wider world. He opened a map app, his gaze falling on the green area of Africa continent. There lay Vibranium, unknown dangers, and the answers he had to face.
The itinerary is already in my mind. Packing luggage, choosing routes, and backup plans. Everything is ready; I'm just waiting to go.
Ye Mo shut down his computer, stood up, and stretched. His bones cracked slightly, and his muscles tensed and relaxed. He walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, and paused for a second.
Then, he opened the door and went out.