Awakening the Daily Intelligence System

[Breaking! FBI Release Physical Description of "Dark Night Judge"][Exclusive Reveal: Serial Killer is a Former Federal Agent?][$200 Million Bounty! Rockefeller Family Issues National Manhunt Order to All-American Gang]

The debate in the comment section was boiling like a pot of hot oil. A netizen with the ID "Truth Hunter 007" questioned, "Three days to lock down the characteristics? The rookie agent from the last live broadcast had to check the manual even for ballistic analysis!" Immediately someone retorted, "Don’t forget that just yesterday they only took 12 minutes to locate the crime scene in Brooklyn." Lin Mo’s gaze swept over these debates, his icy-blue pupils minutely contracting—these eyes, inherited from his German mother, were now reflecting the scrolling law enforcement announcements on the screen.

As a profiling expert who had served in the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit for seven years, he knew the investigation process better than anyone. The announcement not only detailed the unique tread pattern of the size 44 military boots but even mentioned Chelsea District’s red clay residue on the sole. It was like laying all your cards on the table in a gambling game—unless...

"A ruse to draw in the enemy deep?" Lin Mo pocketed his phone into his trench coat, with his breath condensing into frost in the minus ten-degree air. The revolving door of the "Crowne Plaza" hotel across the street refracted dazzling golden light; he raised his collar and crossed the street, his military boots leaving uneven marks in the snow.

The hotel lobby’s fragrance was a mixture of bitter orange and cedar. As Lin Mo sat down on the Italian leather sofa, the conversation between two Wall Street elites reached his ears.

"Did you hear that Michael Rockefeller increased the underground bounty to $300 million?" The man shaking his whiskey glass, wearing a Patek Philippe watch, asked, "All that for his drug-overdosed illegitimate child?"

"You’re behind with the news," his companion said in a lowered voice. "What’s really valuable is the encrypted hard drive Emily Carter had on her. Before she died, that woman was investigating the Rockefeller Group’s overseas accounts..."

Lin Mo’s knuckles unconsciously tapped on the gold-plated armrest. Three days ago, at Brooklyn Pier, that dissolute scion covered with injection marks did say "The hard drive is..." before death, but by that time the sound of police sirens was drawing close, and he had to give up the search. As the waiter served the black truffle steak, the crystal chandelier suddenly dimmed, and screams welled up from the direction of the main entrance.

A human wall of twelve black-clad bodyguards escorted a figure through the lobby. The moment the red-dressed woman removed her sunglasses, Lin Mo’s pupils twisted into a vortex shape—an aberration that had not occurred since the activation of his "Evil Eye." The scarlet number floating above the woman’s head made his temples throb: Sin Value 94.

"Vivian Rockefeller!" Excited fans in the crowd raised their phones. The black diamond butterfly necklace on the bosom of the newly acclaimed Oscar-winning actress swung with her steps, and her emerald earrings cast sinister shadows on her alabaster skin. As she passed by Lin Mo, a whiff of vetiver scent mixed with a familiar... formaldehyde smell brushed his nose.

In the instant the elevator doors closed, the woman suddenly turned to look back. That gaze reminded Lin Mo of the portraits of serial killers he had seen during his training at Quantico—an angelic face concealing a twisted pleasure. The phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated, the anonymous text displayed the latest intelligence: "Abandoned church in Chelsea District, 23:00, deal between the Triad and Mafia."

At this moment, the giant screens at Times Square were playing a special report: "An FBI spokesperson emphasized that key biological evidence has been obtained..." Snowflakes fell on Lin Mo’s shoulders as he watched Agent John Harrison, his former mentor, on the screen, his lips curving into a cold arc. Those tampered shoeprints, those deliberately leaked profiling reports, were nothing but a sweet trap prepared by the hunter for his grand prey.

As he started the modified Chevrolet in the hotel’s basement garage, the car radio broadcast the latest news: "Gunfight on Brooklyn Bridge, suspected gang members shooting at each other..." Under the dim blue light of the dashboard, the silver briefcase on the passenger seat automatically unlocked, displaying twenty-seven different passports, as well as the Colt M1911 engraved with "To my successor"—a gift from his mentor upon graduation, now turned into a tool for judging sins.

New York at night lay like a giant beast, and Lin Mo floored the gas pedal towards the Chelsea District. In the rearview mirror, three unlicensed black SUVs were closing in from different intersections. The Evil Eye suddenly stung, and he caught a glimpse of a cold gleam in the shadows of the back seat...

✧✦✧ Dark Night Rose ✧✦✧

The autumn sun of New York Manhattan penetrated the glass curtain walls, casting intricate patches of light in the lobby of the Ritz Carlton Hotel. Avril Stone pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, her ivory-colored lambskin gloves gently sweeping over the platinum bag chain, a move that instantly whipped the three hundred or so fans waiting outside the revolving doors into a frenzy. As a Hollywood superstar who had topped People magazine’s "Most Beautiful Faces in the World" list for three consecutive years, she knew all too well how to control every inch of her expression under the spotlight.

"It’s Avril! She’s wearing the crystal hair clip I sent her!" "Miss Stone, please look at my support banner!" "Oh my God, she’s ten times more beautiful than in the movies!"

Screaming fan voices mixed with the shutter sounds drowned out even the traffic police alarms on Fifth Avenue. Avril stopped at the best lighting spot three meters from the glass door, allowing her bodyguard team leader Marcus Bryant to use his towering figure to hold back the surging crowd. She suddenly lifted her left hand, a twenty-carat yellow diamond wedding ring refracting a cross of light in the sunlight; this unexpected gesture made the girl in the front row with the SLR camera stagger back.

"My dears—" Her voice, like a spring, carried just the right amount of choked emotion, Avril placed her right hand on her heart, the mother-of-pearl nail polish pressing crescent shaped wrinkles on her Chanel haute couture suit, "You know, this trip to New York is to find inspiration for recording my new album." She rose on the balls of her feet to look over the crowd, the Jimmy Choo heels embedded with Swarovski crystals tapping crisp sounds on the ground, "My executive agent Lucas has prepared three hundred autographed photos for you, and also..." The deliberately drawn-out tone sparked even more commotion; she suddenly brought her hands together in front of her chin, her sea-blue eyes brimmed with shimmering light, "Can you give me a little private space, please? Pleaaaase~"

This classic expression, dubbed "the century wink" by VOGUE magazine, made the traffic police twenty meters away forget to blow their whistles. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a boy holding a rose gift box was squeezed to one knee, yet still gazed infatuated at the swaying figure. Avril turned around just before slipping into the stretch Lincoln, her silky hair sweeping over the red carpet cameras held by her assistant, the spontaneous gesture immediately triggering another round of screams.

✧✦✧

"Twelve o’clock direction." Avril ripped off the wig and threw it onto the leather seat, revealing the platinum-dyed short hair beneath. She adjusted her colored contact lenses in front of the makeup mirror, her originally pitiful eyes instantly turning fierce, "That idiot in the plaid shirt has followed us for three blocks, tell Marcus to lose him at the next corner."

Agent Lucas Gray was busy sorting gifts from fans and hesitated, "But he’s the nephew of the president of Universal Pictures..."

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"So what?" Avril suddenly grabbed a champagne glass and hurled it at the window, the liquid cascading down the bulletproof glass like a snake, "I’ve said no gifts over twenty dollars, are you deaf or do you want to go manage new clients?" She tore off the strapless dress, revealing large patches of dark red scratches around her waist—bruises left by the light technician’s wrong angles during this morning’s music video shoot.

The Lincoln took a sharp turn on Broadway, the stench of burning rubber seeping into the car’s fragrance system. Avril suddenly covered her mouth to gag, her diamond-studded phone slid from her knee, the screen frozen on Twitter’s trending topic: #AvelineStoneNewRomance#. The photo was of her jogging with a Wall Street hotshot in Central Park last night, but in reality, that hedge fund manager hadn’t even touched her hand—of course, the paparazzi wouldn’t capture the scene ten minutes later where that financial pride was smashed in the nose with her Hermès crocodile skin bag.

"Stop the car." Avril kicked off her high heels, stepping barefoot onto the cashmere carpet, "Have Marcus stay, everyone else disappear now."