The phone screen went completely dark, like a dead lump of coal.
Ye Mo didn't move.
He sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching the spare phone in his hand. His fingertips rubbed the cold metal frame. The "prepared" text message from earlier was like a hot potato—he couldn't throw it away, nor could he keep it. But he knew in his heart that this wasn't a question of who he was replying to; it was a challenge he was issuing to himself.
The stinging pain in my head hadn't subsided yet.
It wasn't like a headache, nor like tinnitus. It felt more like an extremely thin ice needle climbing up his spine, straight to the top of his head. The sensation was so vivid that he could feel which nerve ganglion the needle tip was piercing.
Ye Mo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowed his breathing down to a minimum.
He searched his memory for that switch.
The " Gene Spiral Tower " is still there. Layer upon layer of spiral structure resides deep within his consciousness, each layer sealing away fragments of abilities he has collected. Now, he doesn't touch those fancy illusions or muscle-enhancing techniques; he focuses his attention on the bottom layer, touching the roughest, most primitive mineral resonance frequencies.
New York mornings are noisy.
Outside the window, there were the sounds of sanitation trucks reversing, the vibrations of the early morning subway passing by, and the sound of water flushing the toilet next door. These sounds were usually inaudible, but with Ye Mo deliberately blocking out his five senses, they became a huge wall of noise.
Buzzing.
It's all static.
Ye Mo frowned, a fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead. He had to filter out this noise, like tuning a radio, finding that specific channel amidst a cacophony of static.
He summoned that vague intuition that blended metallic properties with mineral resonance. At first, it felt like reaching into a bucket of murky water, unable to grasp anything. But as he concentrated, trying to capture that specific vibrational frequency, the mud began to settle.
Thump.
one time.
It's very light, but very powerful.
It sounded like someone had struck a thick lead plate with a hammer.
Ye Mo suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils contracting.
Not New York.
The moment this thought popped into his head, goosebumps rose all over his body. The vibration frequency was wrong, the air here was too dry, and there were subtle differences in the Force Field.
He quickly constructed a three-dimensional sonar model in his mind. As the frequency locked, the surrounding noise receded like a tide, and a clear pulse point emerged.
Africa.
Southern region.
Ye Mo's finger traced lines in the air. Although there was no holographic projection in front of him, his mind worked even better than a computer. Based on the attenuation rate of the fluctuations, he ruled out the possibility of Wakanda itself. The energy field there was too stable, like a stagnant pool. This signal source, on the other hand, was full of restlessness and destructive intent.
border.
Illegal excavation area.
The signal characteristics are a mixture of heavy machinery operation and high-energy crystal friction. It oscillates at high frequencies and bursts intermittently. This is not a natural phenomenon; it is man-made, violent mining. Someone is forcibly tearing apart the barriers of this land, and someone is using brutal methods to dig out the secrets deep underground.
Ulysses Klaue.
The name came to mind so naturally, yet it was also disgusting.
Ye Mo remembered this man's information. Forty years old, an arms dealer, greedy, cruel, capable of selling his own mother for money. It was no secret that he had been eyeing Wakanda's meager resources. Before, it was just probing harassment, like tickling the door. Now it seemed he had really taken action, and on a significant scale.
Ye Mo stood up and walked to the window.
The curtains were half-drawn, and morning light streamed in through the gap, illuminating his face in a half-light, half-shadow. He looked at the gray-blue sky outside the window, his gaze turning cold.
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, and the Avengers would try to recruit him. Those forces hiding in the shadows would search for his whereabouts even more frantically.
But that's precisely the crux of the problem.
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 turned and walked back to his room, picking up the paper notebook on the table. He didn't open any complicated computer programs; digital signals were too easy to trace, and even with shielding, some would inevitably slip through the net. Handwritten records and memory storage were the most primitive and safest 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.
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.