American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

But what's most striking is the subtle distortion of the air around the young man. If you look closely, you can see the air around him undulating slightly, like a heat wave or some kind of invisible force field. Whenever he becomes emotional, this fluctuation intensifies, causing the surrounding objects—a chair, a few cardboard boxes—to tremble slightly.

“Calm down, Marcus,” Victor said in a gentle voice. “The more you struggle, the more painful the process will be.”

“Get out of here!” Marcus roared, his voice trembling with fear. “Let me out! You madman!”

Victor smiled slightly, a patient, almost benevolent smile. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket—a black leather notebook with a small gold-stamped mark on the cover that looked like some ancient alchemical symbol.

“Do you know how long it took me to find you?” Victor said, flipping through his notebook. “Three months. Three months of searching, observing, and assessing. Mutants aren’t easy to find, especially those who haven’t fully awakened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcus said, but his eyes flickered.

“Stop pretending,” Victor said, his tone still gentle. “I saw how you behaved in the park. That thug who bullied your sister—you only glanced at him, and he suddenly collapsed, screaming that he was seeing terrifying hallucinations. You thought no one noticed, but I saw the light in your eyes, that peculiar purple glow.”

Marcus gritted his teeth and stopped talking.

“Mental manipulation ability,” Victor continued, making notes in his notebook, “You can create illusions, making people see their deepest fears. A rudimentary psychic ability, but with great potential. With proper training, you could even completely control a person's perceived reality.”

“You’re a mutant too,” Marcus suddenly said, a hint of understanding flashing in his eyes, “That’s why you were able to find me.”

“Clever,” Victor nodded. “Yes, so am I. And my abilities happen to be very similar to yours.”

He took a few steps closer, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting a faint light in the dim light.

“My ability is called ‘cognitive restructuring,’” Victor said, his voice tinged with academic pride. “I can enter a person’s mind and reshape their beliefs, memories, and motivations. This isn’t simple hypnosis or brainwashing—those techniques only temporarily alter surface consciousness. I do deep, permanent changes. I can turn a pacifist into a killer, a coward into a hero, and a rational person into believing the most absurd theories.”

Marcus's eyes widened.

“Sanders,” he murmured, “that serial killer in the news—was that your work?”

“One of them,” Victor said calmly, “is one of the twelve cases I’ve completed over the past five years. Every single one has been perfect—the subjects were completely convinced that their actions were of their own volition and motivation. Even when arrested, even when facing trial, they remained convinced of their choices.”

“You’re a monster,” Marcus said, his voice filled with disgust.

“I’m a scientist,” Victor corrected. “I’m studying the plasticity of human consciousness, studying the boundary between belief and reality. And those subjects—they were already broken souls, people hurt by society. I simply gave them a purpose, a way to make their suffering meaningful.”

"By having them kill people?"

“By making them part of history,” Victor said, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism, “each case is a social experiment, a study of humanity, justice, and revenge. And the most beautiful part is—no one knows I exist. I am invisible; I am the ghost author of history.”

He stopped in front of Marcus and looked directly into the young man's eyes.

“But now,” Victor said, “I’ve encountered a limitation. My abilities are very effective against ordinary people—their minds are like clay, easily molded. But against mutants, especially those with psychic abilities—” He paused, “I haven’t tested it yet. Theoretically, mutant minds should be more resistant, more difficult to penetrate. But theory needs to be tested.”

Marcus began to struggle violently.

No! Stay away from me!

“This won’t hurt you,” Victor said, his tone as if comforting a frightened child. “At least, it won’t cause permanent physical damage. Mentally—well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Victor extended his right hand, the old scar on his index finger clearly visible in the dim light. His eyes began to glow—not metaphorically, but literally, a deep blue light emanating from his pupils, like the glimmer of light in the deep sea.

“Look into my eyes, Marcus,” Victor said in a deep, rhythmic voice. “Look at me and listen to me.”

“No—” Marcus tried to turn his head, but found that his neck muscles wouldn’t obey him, as if they were fixed in place by some invisible force.

Victor's voice began to echo in his mind, not through his ears, but directly in the depths of his consciousness:
"You feel tired. Your thinking starts to slow down, like sinking into thick quagmire. Resistance is pointless; relaxation is the only option."

But just as Victor's consciousness touched Marcus's mind, he felt an unprecedented resistance.

This is unlike the thinking of ordinary people—those thoughts are like transparent glass, easily seen through and manipulated. Marcus's thinking is more like a mirror, with a smooth surface, but at the same time reflecting and resisting external intrusion.

“Interesting,” Victor murmured, increasing his mental output.

The blue light intensified, and the air throughout the basement seemed to vibrate. At the same time, the air around Marcus distorted more violently, and a faint purple light began to flicker in his eyes, as if instinctively resisting the intrusion.

Victor's consciousness deepened, attempting to break through that mental barrier. Deep within Marcus's mind, he saw fragmented memories and emotions:
A little girl is crying; it's Marcus's sister.
A group of people were laughing and bullying them.
The fear and confusion upon awakening one's abilities.
The desire to protect, the desire to become stronger
“These emotions are intense,” Victor said, his voice tinged with admiration. “Your protectiveness, your anger, your fear—these are all excellent raw materials. I can use them to reshape your cognitive framework.”

He began to implant new ideas, like sowing seeds in soft soil:
"Your sister is not safe. This world is hostile to mutants. You need to become stronger, you need to take action."

But Marcus's mental power retaliated. The purple light intensified as his abilities were pushed to their limits, and he began to actively create illusions in an attempt to disrupt Victor's intrusion.

Suddenly, Victor saw a vision—he was lying on the ground, surrounded by countless shadows that were tearing at him and devouring him.
“Not a bad attempt,” Victor said, his voice tinged with approval but not with a hint of skepticism, “but your abilities are still too immature, too rudimentary. You’re fighting on instinct, while I have decades of experience.”

He adjusted his approach, no longer trying to directly break through the barrier, but instead permeating like water, searching for tiny gaps in the mind's defenses. The mutant's mind is indeed more difficult to control, but not impossible. The key is to find the right entry point, to find that person's deepest fears or desires, and then begin to reconstruct from there.

Victor found a pivotal moment in Marcus's memory—one night, Marcus watched as his sister was surrounded by a group of thugs. He wanted to help, but hesitated out of fear. Those few seconds of hesitation became his deepest guilt.

“This is it,” Victor said, beginning to weave new emotional connections around that memory. “Your hesitation isn’t out of fear, but because you’re not ready. You need strength, you need training, you need—”

"Get out of my head!" Marcus suddenly erupted, his mental power spreading outwards like an explosion.

Everything in the basement began to shake violently. Chairs overturned, cardboard boxes flew up, and even the concrete on the walls started to crumble.

Victor was forced to take a few steps back, and the blue light dimmed temporarily. He wiped his forehead and found his hands were sweaty—something that hadn't happened in a long time.

“Powerful,” he said, his breathing slightly rapid, “far more powerful than I expected. Under pressure, your abilities have exploded. That’s the nature of mutants—limitless potential.”

Marcus was panting heavily, the purple light in his eyes beginning to fade, but his body was trembling from overuse of his power.

“I won’t let you control me,” he said with difficulty.

“You’re exhausted,” Victor said, readjusting his posture. “You won this round, but how long can you keep this up? Your skills aren’t mature enough to sustain this level of defense. As for me, I can maintain this level of mental pressure all day.”

He reached out his hand again, and the blue light in his eyes shone brightly once more, this time even more intensely.

“Let’s move on to the second round. This time, I’ll be more cautious and more precise. I’ll find every weakness in your defense and exploit it one by one.”

Marcus tried to summon his power again, but his mind was utterly exhausted. The purple light flickered a few times before beginning to fade.

Victor's consciousness invaded again, this time more cautiously, like a surgeon's scalpel, precisely searching for the entry point.

He avoided the core of Marcus's strongest emotions—those memories of his sister, which were fiercely protected by instinct. Instead, he sought out the periphery, those less important but still usable memories and beliefs.

Impressions of society.
Understanding of justice.
Confusion about mutant identity
“You’re confused,” Victor’s voice echoed in Marcus’s mind, “You don’t know where you belong. Human society rejects you, but you don’t know if any other mutants will accept you. You feel lonely, you feel lost.”

Marcus's defenses weakened in these secondary areas. Exhaustion prevented him from protecting all aspects of his mind simultaneously.

Victor seized the opportunity and began to reshape these perceptions:
"But you are not alone. There is a group, a group that understands you. They are also mutants, and they are also searching for purpose and belonging."

“No, this isn’t true,” Marcus said weakly, but his voice was full of doubt.

“You need to find them,” Victor continued, emphasizing the idea deeply. “You need to find other mutants, make connections, and become stronger. Only then can you truly protect your sister.”

Gradually, this idea began to take root in Marcus's mind. Not complete control, not a complete reconstruction like that done to ordinary people, but a seed, a concept that would grow.

Victor continued working for another twenty minutes, implanting more subtle ideas, inclinations, and associations into Marcus's mind. He didn't try to completely control him—that was too difficult for a mutant—but he could influence, guide, and give him a nudge at key decision points.

Finally, as Marcus's consciousness began to fade and he was on the verge of losing consciousness, Victor withdrew from his mind.

The young man slumped in his chair, his clothes soaked with sweat, his chest heaving with rapid breathing. The purple light had completely vanished, leaving only a weary and confused look in his eyes.

Victor closed his notebook and looked at Marcus, who was still bound.

“You’ve done very well,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “You’ve proven an important theory—mutants aren’t completely immune; they just require different methods.”

“I will tell others,” Marcus said weakly.

“Tell who?” Victor laughed. “The FBI? Would they believe a mutant claiming to be mind-controlled by another mutant? Besides, you’ll find your memory of tonight is hazy. You’ll remember being kidnapped, remember the fear, but the specific details—my face, the location of this place—will be as elusive as a dream.”

He walked toward the door, then stopped and looked back at Marcus.

"By the way, I left an address in your apartment. A few days later, when you've recovered, you'll suddenly want to check that address. You'll tell yourself it's your decision, your curiosity. But when you get there, you'll meet some interesting people—all mutants, all looking for belonging."

“You want to build a team,” Marcus said, suddenly understanding, “a team of mutants under your control.”

“It’s not control, it’s guidance,” Victor corrected. “You will have free will and make your own choices. It just so happens that these choices will align with my long-term plan.”

"What plan?"

Victor was silent for a moment, then smiled.

“A plan to change the world,” he said, “but that’s another night’s story. Now, rest. Tomorrow morning, you’ll wake up to find yourself in a safe place, unharmed, just confused and tired. As for me, I’ll continue my research.”

He walked to a control panel and pressed a few buttons. Marcus's straps loosened automatically, but the young man was already nearly unconscious from mental exhaustion. (End of Chapter)