The communicator screen went completely black, and as the last glimmer of light disappeared, Ye Mo did not immediately get up.
The room was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of the air conditioner vents. This deathly silence gave him a long-lost sense of relaxation, but it lasted for less than ten seconds.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the fabric of the sofa edge. The phone call had ended, but something deeper had been touched. It wasn't an emotional fluctuation, but a physiological, instinctive reaction. It was like walking down the street and suddenly feeling a chill on the back of your neck, or smelling an odor that shouldn't be there.
Ye Mo closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths of his mind.
There stood a tower composed of countless spiral structures, each floor sealing fragments of abilities he had acquired from different Mutants. At this moment, an extremely subtle yet incredibly sharp stinging sensation emanated from within this " Gene Spiral Tower."
It didn't feel like listening to a sound; it felt more like an extremely thin ice needle piercing his nerve endings.
It's not pain, it's resonance.
Ye Mo frowned slightly, not opening his eyes, but quickly sorting through the fragments of abilities he had recently activated or come into contact with in his mind. Muscle enhancement? No, that's physical feedback. Telepathy? No, that's a mental connection.
This fluctuation originated from an external source, and from a great distance.
He activated the sensory ability he had just begun to grasp in training, which was not yet fully stable—a vague intuition that blended metallic properties with the resonant frequencies of minerals. At first, it was just like the static on a radio, crackling and meaningless. But as he focused his attention and tried to capture that specific frequency, the static gradually diminished, replaced by a heavy, dense rhythm with a unique high-frequency vibration.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Each tremor was like a heavy hammer striking a drum, reverberating through the vastness of space and directly resonating deep within his soul.
Ye Mo suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils contracting slightly.
Direction: Africa.
Location: Wakanda border.
The nature of this energy fluctuation is very special. It does not belong to conventional electricity or magnetism, nor does it resemble the shock wave produced by a normal explosion. It has a viscous texture, like liquid metal flowing, or like the groaning sound emitted by some kind of high-density crystal when it is squeezed by external force.
Vibranium.
The word instantly popped into Ye Mo's mind.
On this earth, there is no other substance besides Vibranium, unique to Wakanda, that can produce such a unique resonant frequency.
Ye Mo stood up and walked to the holographic projection table. He quickly swiped his finger in the air to bring up a global map. Although the system did not display specific coordinates, he could roughly deduce the location of the source based on the intensity and attenuation rate of the fluctuation.
A red marker lit up in southern Africa, surrounded by ripple-like waves. The waves spread outwards, disrupting the previously calm energy field wherever they passed.
This is not normal mining.
Normal mineral vein mining follows a pattern, with buffer periods and safety thresholds. But the current fluctuations are explosive, chaotic, and full of destructive and aggressive behavior. Some are forcibly tearing apart the barriers of this land, while others are using brutal methods to dig out the secrets deep underground.
Ye Mo's finger hovered in mid-air, his eyes turning cold.
Ulysses Klaue.
The name surfaced so naturally, yet it was utterly repulsive. That greedy arms dealer, willing to do anything for wealth, willing to sell his soul for power. It was no secret that he had been eyeing Wakanda's meager resources. Before, it was just probing harassment; now it seemed he was truly going to make a move.
Moreover, the commotion was quite significant.
Ye Mo lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the pungent smoke filled his lungs, making him a little more sober. He didn't take immediate action, nor did he call anyone. Right now, he was like an observer standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the pebbles tumbling down below, stirring up layers of dust.
If he were to make a move now, it would be tantamount to announcing the existence of " Mr. X " to the entire world. S.H.I.E.L.D.. would question him, Hydra would attempt to assassinate him, the Avengers would try to recruit him, and those forces hiding in the shadows would search for his whereabouts even more frantically.
But that's precisely the crux of the problem.
Ye Mo exhaled a smoke ring, watching the smoke slowly dissipate in the air.
Klaue's actions won't stop at the border. Once Vibranium leaves the country, these high-tech materials will flow into the black market, into the hands of warlords, and into terrorist organizations. At that point, it won't just be a problem for Wakanda alone, but the security balance of the entire region will be broken. Refugee influx, local wars, the expansion of transnational criminal networks... these consequences will ultimately backfire on New York and on him.
He didn't want to be a savior, but he also didn't want his own doorstep to catch fire.
More importantly, this is an opportunity.
This is an excellent opportunity to demonstrate strength, consolidate position, and prove value to the resistance.
The previous deal was only a verbal agreement, lacking substantial evidence. If he could intercept their movements, sabotage their equipment, or even just provide accurate intelligence before Klaue succeeded, he could earn the respect of those in the resistance.
This will no longer be a simple "intelligence for advice" exchange, but a true "community of shared interests."
Ye Mo stubbed out his cigarette and turned to walk towards the workbench.
Instead of opening a complicated computer program, he took out a paper notebook and a pen. Digital signals are too easy to trace; even with shielding, some will inevitably slip through the net. Handwritten records and memory storage are the most primitive and secure methods.
He drew a simple diagram on the paper.
On the left is the outline of Wakanda, and on the right are the borders of several major powers. Arrows in the middle indicate possible smuggling routes. Next to each line, he marked several key points: peak energy consumption, sources of unusual electromagnetic interference, and possible transit points.
These conclusions were drawn from the subtle changes in the resonance fluctuations just now.
For example, in the northern mountainous region, the fluctuations showed a brief pause, suggesting the possible presence of heavy lead plates or special shielding materials; while along the southern coast, the fluctuations exhibited high-frequency oscillations, implying the use of high-powered acoustic cutting equipment.
When these fragments of information are pieced together, they form a clear battle map.
Ye Mo wrote slowly and carefully. Every word seemed to be sculpting time itself. His expression was focused and calm, as if he were not planning an action that could trigger an international crisis, but rather organizing his own wardrobe.
That's his style. No matter how tense the situation, he can always find his own rhythm.
After writing the last line, he closed the notebook, tucked it into the bottom drawer, and placed a few unimportant old books on top of it. Only then did he sit back down in his chair.
The sky outside the window was already beginning to lighten; New York mornings always have a damp feel to them. The sounds of sanitation trucks at work drifted from the distant streets, and occasionally a few taxis would drive by, splashing water.
The city has awakened, but the world remains asleep.
Ye Mo picked up the long-cold black coffee on the table and took a sip. The bitter taste spread on his tongue, giving him a real sense of clarity.
He knew that the days to come would not be peaceful.
Tony Stark may be overwhelmed by the Superhuman Registration Act, Steve Rogers will struggle with a moral dilemma, and Natasha Romanoff will waver between lies and truth. And he, Ye Mo, or rather " Mr. X," will play an insignificant role in this grand game.
An observer, a disruptor, a balancer.
He doesn't need to stand in the spotlight or give media interviews. He only needs to gently push the first Domino at the crucial moment and then watch how the storm sweeps in.
The alarm bells have rung in Wakanda, and the ripples of Vibranium are spreading.
Ye Mo stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The morning breeze rushed in, ruffling the stray hairs on his forehead. He gazed at the distant gray-blue sky, his eyes as deep as the sea.
This time, he no longer intended to wait passively.
Since Klaue wants to play big, then he'll play along. Not for justice, not for honor, but simply to hold onto his pitiful bottom line in this chaotic world, and to see just how far this show can go.
He turned and went back into the room, picked up the black hooded sweatshirt, and put it on. He pulled the hood up, covering most of his face, revealing only a pair of calm, almost cold eyes.
My phone vibrated.
It was a new encrypted message from the contact of the resistance organization. The message was simple, containing only one word:
"Prepare."
Ye Mo glanced at the screen, a faint smile curving his lips.
He didn't reply, but simply put his phone in his pocket and picked up the backpack from the table.
The movements were skillful and fluid.
It's as ordinary as going out to buy breakfast.