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

Jason's breathing became rapid. He wanted to deny it, to change the subject, but Victor's abilities had penetrated deep into his subconscious, touching upon the memories and feelings he had been trying to suppress.

Over the next hour, Victor slowly and systematically reconstructed Jason's self-perception:
He was not a failed veteran; he was a strong man suppressed by the system.
His power is not a curse or an illusion, but a gift.
He should embrace this power and use it, rather than suppress it.
Someone will come to him and give him a chance to prove himself and use his power to do something meaningful.
As the night ended, Jason left the bar drunk, but there was something new in his eyes—no longer just anger and despair, but a hint of expectation and determination.

Three days later, Victor gathered the three mutants together.

The location was on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, which Victor had arranged in advance—some simple furniture, a large table, and enough privacy.

Marcus was the first to arrive. The young man looked much healthier than he had a few days ago, and his eyes were more determined. He found the address following the clues implanted by Victor, although outwardly he believed it was his own decision, driven by his desire to find other mutants.

“Hello, Marcus,” Victor greeted him with a smile, “I’m glad you’re here.”

"Who are you?" Marcus asked warily, but there was no real hostility in his voice—Victor had already planted a seed of trust in his subconscious.

“I’m just like you,” Victor said, “someone who understands your struggles, understands your uniqueness.”

Then Elena arrived. She was wearing a simple sweater and jeans, looking confused but curious: "I...I received a message saying someone here could help me."

“Welcome, Elena,” Victor said. “Yes, we can help you. Please have a seat.”

Finally, Jason entered, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he assessed the threat: "This had better not be a trap."

“It wasn’t a trap, just a gathering,” Victor said. “Three special people, and someone who wanted to help them.”

After the three of them sat down, Victor stood in front of the table, like a professor facing his students.

“The three of you,” he began, “are all mutants. You possess superhuman abilities, but you have always been taught to hide them, to suppress them, to pretend to be ordinary people.”

“I didn’t know you were—” Elena began.

“Elena, you can heal,” Victor interrupted her, his voice gentle but firm. “Your touch can accelerate wound healing and bring diseases away. That’s why your patients recover so quickly, and why you’re always assigned to the most severe cases.”

Elena's face turned pale, but she did not deny it.

“Marcus, you can create illusions, allowing people to see their deepest fears,” Victor turned to the young man. “This ability erupts involuntarily when you are emotionally agitated, but with training, it can become a powerful weapon.”

Marcus nodded silently.

“Jason, you have superhuman strength and endurance,” Victor said, looking at the soldier. “You can lift objects that ordinary people can’t move, and your body can withstand injuries that would be fatal to most. This isn’t the result of training; it’s your very nature.”

Jason clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white, but there was a certain approval in his eyes.

“This world fears you,” Victor continued, his voice growing more penetrating, “fears anything different. So they try to suppress you, to shame you, to make you believe your abilities are a curse rather than a gift.”

He walked to the window, looking at the city lights outside: "But the truth is, you are the next step in evolution. You represent the future of humanity, not the abnormal."

“Then what do you want?” Jason asked directly. “You didn’t call us here to tell us these obvious things.”

“Brilliant,” Victor turned and smiled. “I want to build a team. Not a team of heroes like the X-Men—that’s too naive. And not a criminal organization either. A research group, a mutual support network.”

"What are you researching?" Marcus asked.

“We need to study how to survive in this world, how to use your abilities without being detected, how to protect each other,” Victor said. “And also, how to change the world’s perception of mutants.”

"In what way?" Elena asked, her voice tinged with both doubt and interest.

“By demonstrating your value,” Victor said, “by solving problems that ordinary people can’t solve, by proving that mutants are not a threat, but a resource.”

It was a carefully crafted lie, mixed with enough truth to make it sound believable. Victor's true motives were far more complex and dark, but those details didn't need to be revealed to them now.

“We need to think about it,” Jason said.

“Of course,” Victor said, “but as you think about it, consider this—how long has it been since you spoke with someone who truly understands you? How long has it been since you used your abilities in front of others without fear of being discovered? In this team, you can be your true selves.”

This statement hits the nail on the head. All three are lonely, struggling to suppress their true identities, and yearning for understanding and acceptance.

Victor gave them twenty-four hours to consider, but he knew they would return. Because deep within their subconscious, he had implanted a choice—not true free will, but the result of careful manipulation.

Two days later, all three of them agreed.

Victor began the "training." On the surface, he was teaching them how to better control their abilities, how to work as a team, and how to use their power without revealing their identities.

But in reality, he is shaping their thinking on a deeper level.

Each training session was accompanied by subtle mental suggestions, reinforcing certain beliefs and weakening certain resistance. He made them believe that he was their mentor, their protector, and the only one who truly understood them.

He established connections among them, making them dependent on each other, forming a close-knit group—a group centered around him.

Most importantly, he implanted a deep instruction in their minds, hidden in their subconscious, which would only be activated when a specific trigger word appeared.

When that moment comes, when he utters that word, they will carry out his command without hesitation and will believe that it is their own choice.

Three mutants, three pawns, are now under his control.

Victor stood by the warehouse window, watching the three people practicing their teamwork below, a satisfied smile on his face.

Agent Lynn might be able to resist his direct control, but how long could he hold out when facing three manipulated mutants?
The game has only just begun, and this time, Victor will not fail again.

He took out his phone and dialed the encrypted number.

“The three mutants are in position,” he reported succinctly. “Begin Phase Two.”

“Very good,” the female voice on the other end of the phone said, “but remember, Agent Lynn is a secondary target. The primary mission is to establish a network and expand influence. The organization needs a controlled team of mutants for special missions.”

“I understand,” Victor said, “but Lynn is a variable that must be dealt with.”

“Suit yourself, as long as it doesn’t affect the main plan,” the female voice said. “Also, keep an eye on Professor X’s men. If they find out what you’re doing—” “They won’t,” Victor interrupted, his voice full of confidence. “I’ve been very careful. And even if they did, these three are innocent citizens with no criminal record. Professor X won’t interfere easily.”

“I hope you’re right,” the woman said, then hung up the phone.

It was 2 a.m. when Lynn walked out of the FBI building. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional passing car and the distant sound of police sirens. He pulled his coat tighter and walked quickly toward the entrance to the underground parking lot.

Just as he was about to swipe his card to enter, he sensed something was wrong.

The air suddenly grew heavy, as if an invisible pressure was pressing in from all directions. Lynn's vision began to distort; he saw cracks appearing in the wall in front of him, and countless black shadows crawling out of the cracks, stretching out twisted arms towards him—

“This is an illusion,” Lynn gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain rational, “It’s not real.”

But the hallucination was too real. The shadows emitted sharp screechs, and he could even smell the stench of decay. His heart raced, and instinctive fear began to erode his reason.

Then, the real attack came.

A massive figure burst from the shadows of the parking lot—Jason, though Lynn didn't yet know his name. The former soldier moved with astonishing speed, his fist slamming into Lynn's abdomen with superhuman strength.

Lynn tried to dodge, but the hallucination interfered with his spatial perception. The fist struck him squarely, the force of which sent him flying, crashing heavily against a wall ten meters away.

The sound of ribs breaking was clearly audible. The excruciating pain nearly made Lynn lose consciousness, and the taste of blood filled his mouth—his internal organs were injured.

“Target confirmed,” Jason said in a cold voice, as if carrying out a military mission. “Initiate Phase Two.”

Lynn struggled to his feet, his right hand reaching for the pistol at his waist. But before his fingers could touch the handle, he saw a young man—Marcus—emerge from another direction.

The young man's eyes emitted a purple light, and the intensity of the hallucination suddenly increased tenfold.

This time, Lynn saw not abstract horror, but concrete, targeted images:
He saw Sarah being controlled by Victor, with a gun pointed at her head.
He saw Sanders' victims come back to life and accuse him of not saving them in time.
He saw himself become Victor's puppet, killing innocent people with his own hands.
“No, this isn’t true,” Lynn murmured, but his voice was weak and feeble.

The hallucinations were attacking his mental defenses, the barrier that even Victor couldn't completely break through. But this time it wasn't direct mind control, but rather a sensory deception that made him unable to distinguish between reality and illusion.

Jason charged again, this time aiming for Lynn's left leg. A powerful kick followed, the sound of bones shattering echoing once more. Lynn screamed and collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring.

“Don’t kill him,” a third voice rang out—Elena emerged from the shadows—“The professor said he must be alive.”

“Then let him live, but incapacitated,” Jason said, grabbing Lynn’s right arm—the one in a cast—and twisting it hard.

The fracture reopened, this time more severely. The cast shattered, and Lynn could feel the bone piercing through his muscle. He let out a suppressed roar, his body convulsing from the extreme pain.

“That’s enough,” Elena said, but there was no real sympathy in her voice; it sounded more like she was following an order. “The professor said not to cause permanent damage.”

“He’s already had enough,” Marcus said, withdrawing his illusionary powers.

Lynn's vision returned to normal, but reality was far more brutal than his hallucination. He lay on the cold ground, his right arm twisted at an unnatural angle, his left leg clearly fractured, and at least three ribs broken, possibly with internal bleeding. Each breath felt like a knife cutting into his lungs.

“Leave him a message,” Jason said, pulling an envelope from his pocket and tossing it beside Lynn. “A gift from the professor.”

The three men turned to leave, but just then, footsteps came from another entrance to the parking lot—an FBI clerk on the night shift was passing by.

"What's going on over there?" the clerk shouted, pulling out his phone to call the police.

“Damn it,” Marcus said.

“Get rid of him,” Jason decided immediately.

But Elena grabbed his arm: "No, we don't kill innocent people. The professor said—"

“The professor said to complete the mission,” Jason interrupted her, “if there are witnesses, the mission has failed.”

They started arguing, which gave Lynn an opportunity.

Despite the excruciating pain throughout his body and his consciousness teetering on the edge, Lynn used his left hand—the only hand he could still move—to draw his sidearm and fire three shots into the sky.

Gunshots echoed through the parking lot, immediately drawing attention. Alarms began to sound in the building, and more footsteps approached from all directions.

"Retreat!" Marcus shouted.

The three mutants quickly disappeared into the darkness, their movements coordinated and professional, clearly indicating they had been trained.

Lynn lay on the ground, the gun slipping from his limp hand. He could hear people shouting and feel people running towards him, but the sounds were distant and indistinct.

In his last moments of consciousness, he saw Sarah's face appear in his field of vision. Her expression was terrified, and she was saying something, but he couldn't hear her.

Then, everything went dark.

When Lynn woke up, she found herself in the hospital's intensive care unit.

His entire body was connected to various monitoring devices, an oxygen mask covered his face, and an intravenous catheter was inserted into his arm. He tried to move, and a nurse immediately rushed over.

"Don't move, Agent Lynn, you're badly injured."

The doctor arrived quickly and began examining his condition. The diagnosis was serious:
The patient suffered a complex fracture of the right arm and required surgery to implant a plate for fixation.

Double fracture of the tibia and fibula in the left leg.

Three ribs were broken, one of which pierced the lung, causing pneumothorax.

The patient experienced mild internal bleeding, which has been stopped by surgery.

Mild concussion.

There were also countless soft tissue injuries and bruises. (End of Chapter)