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

The bar wasn't crowded, maybe a dozen or so people. A few young men in leather jackets were playing pool at a table, each shot accompanied by vulgar laughter and curses. A few middle-aged men sat alone at the bar, each absorbed in their own world, oblivious to their surroundings. In a corner, a man and woman were talking quietly; the woman was heavily made up, and the man kept touching her thigh.

Lynn walked to the bar and sat down in an empty seat.

"What would you like to drink?" the bartender asked. He was a bald man in his fifties with deep wrinkles on his face, looking like he had seen it all.

"Whiskey, straight."

The bartender took a bottle of cheap-looking whiskey from the shelf, poured a glass, and placed it in front of Lynn. "Eight dollars."

Lynn took out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar. "Keep the change."

The bartender nodded, put the money in the drawer, and continued wiping the glasses without saying anything more.

Lynn picked up his glass and took a sip. The whiskey was strong, with a cheap, pungent smell that burned his throat. But he didn't frown; he simply put down his glass nonchalantly and began to observe his surroundings.

He noticed a young man sitting at the other end of the bar, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, wearing a black hoodie with a skull pattern and several tattoos on his arms. He was playing on his phone, occasionally glancing up to take a sip of beer, looking rather bored.

Lynn ordered another drink and then casually moved closer to the young man.

“Hey,” he said, “anything fun to do around here? I’m new to San Francisco and don’t know the area very well.”

The young man looked up, scrutinizing him with a wary gaze. "Who are you?"

“Just passing through,” Lynn said, trying to sound casual. “I couldn’t make it in Los Angeles, and I heard there were more opportunities in the Bay Area, so I came to try my luck.”

"Los Angeles?" The young man's guard relaxed slightly. "How's it there?"

“Just as rotten,” Lynn said, taking a sip of his drink. “Everywhere you look, there are skyscrapers for the rich, but people like us are stuck in the gutter.”

The young man chuckled, seemingly agreeing with the sentiment. "It's pretty much the same here. Those guys in Silicon Valley live in multi-million dollar mansions, while we can't even afford rent."

“What a messed up world,” Lynn chimed in.

The young man glanced at him, then raised his beer glass in a silent toast. "My name is Marcos."

“Jack,” Lynn said, using the alias he had come up with on the spot.

“Jack,” Marcos nodded, “you said you were looking for an opportunity. What kind of opportunity?”

“An opportunity to make money,” Lynn said. “I used to do some less-than-honorable work in Los Angeles. But I got targeted there and had to move.”

Marcos's eyes flickered, seemingly showing interest in Lynn. "What kind of work?"

“Running errands, delivering things,” Lynn said, trying to sound vague, “and occasionally something else. I’ll do anything for money.”

Marcos was silent for a moment, seemingly considering something. Then he waved to the bartender. "Two more drinks, please."

The bartender poured them each a glass of whiskey. Marcos pushed one of the glasses toward Lynn.

“I’ll treat you,” he said.

"Thanks," Lynn said, raising her glass and clinking it against Marcos's.

They took a sip of their drink, and Marcos started to open up.

“You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “The Bay Area may seem like a high-tech paradise on the surface, but there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Rich people need people to do the dirty work for them, and people like us are perfect for filling that gap.”

"What kind of dirty work?"

“Various kinds,” Marcos said in a low voice, “Some help with things that are best left unsaid, some protect certain people from being disturbed, and some, you know.”

Lynn nodded, feigning understanding. "Sounds good. But how do we find these jobs? We can't exactly put up a sign on the street saying 'I'm willing to do dirty work,' can we?"

Marcos laughed. "Of course not. There are connections to these things. You have to know the right people and use the right channels."

"What kind of channels?"

Marcos took a sip of his drink, looking into Lynn's eyes as if assessing whether he was trustworthy.

"Have you heard of the Brotherhood?" he finally asked.

Lynn's heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained unchanged. "The Brotherhood? What's that?"

“An organization,” Marcos said, “quite well-known in the Bay Area. They do a lot of things—provide protection, handle trouble, recruit people. If you’re looking for opportunities, you could try contacting them.”

“Sounds like a gang,” Lynn said.

“Not entirely,” Marcos shook his head. “They’re more organized than gangsters. And they don’t just do petty theft; they have bigger ambitions.”

"Greater ambitions? What do you mean?"

Marcos glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned closer to Lynn and whispered, "I don't know the specifics, but I've heard they have some very wealthy backers. Those big shots in Silicon Valley, you know? They appear to be respectable businessmen, but behind the scenes they need people to do some shady things for them. The fraternity is their front man."

Lynn raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Really? Those tech giants?"

“Absolutely true,” Marcos said. “How do you think those people made their fortunes? By writing code? Don’t be naive. In this world, the truly wealthy are no pushovers.”

"So how do I join this brotherhood?"

“That’s the key point,” Marcos said. “They don’t just take anyone. You need an introduction, and then you go through a series of checks. If you’re qualified, they’ll contact you.”

"Censorship? What kind of censorship?"

“Background checks, aptitude tests, and the like,” Marcos said. “They need to make sure you’re not an undercover agent or a traitor. Once you’re in, there’s no way to get out.”

Lynn was silent for a moment, then feigned a thoughtful expression. "It sounds very strict."

“Of course it’s strict,” Marcos said. “They’re doing big things; we can’t let unreliable people in.”

"Are you one of their people?" Lynn asked directly.

Marcos hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I've only run errands for them a few times; I haven't officially joined yet. But I've been trying."

"Why do you want to join?" "Because it's promising," Marcos's eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical light. "Do you know how much they pay their regular members? Starting at five thousand dollars a month, plus all sorts of benefits. If you perform well and rise to the top, it's even more incredible. I've heard some high-ranking members live in mansions in Palo Alto and drive Porsches and Ferraris."

"Five thousand dollars a month?" Lynn feigned surprise. "What kind of work can earn that much?"

“Various,” Marcos said. “Some help transport goods, some handle security, and others deal with tricky problems. Basically, tasks are assigned based on your abilities; the more capable you are, the more important the task, and the more money you get.”

"Handling a tricky problem?" Lynn feigned ignorance. "What kind of problem?"

Marcos lowered his voice, his tone becoming mysterious. “You know, some people get in the way and need to be ‘persuaded.’ Sometimes persuasion doesn’t work, and then you have to resort to more radical methods.”

Lynn's heart skipped a beat, but he remained outwardly calm. "Understood."

“But don’t worry,” Marcos said, “that kind of work isn’t something just anyone can do; it requires special skills and experience. Newbies like us can only do simple tasks at first.”

“How can I get the Brotherhood to notice me?” Lynn asked. “You said I need an introduction, but I don’t know anyone here.”

Marcos pondered for a moment, then said, "How about this, I can introduce you. But I can't guarantee they'll accept you; it all depends on your own abilities."

“Really? Thank you so much,” Lynn raised her glass. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“You’re welcome,” Marcos clinked glasses with him, “We’re all in the same boat, helping each other out is only natural.”

They drank a few more glasses of wine, and Marcos became more and more talkative, clearly letting the alcohol lull him into a false sense of security.

“The fraternity isn’t as mysterious as people say,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “They’re constantly hiring because they’re expanding rapidly. Unless you’re a cop or the FBI, you basically have a chance.”

“How did they confirm you weren’t a police officer?” Lynn asked.

“Background checks,” Marcos said. “They have specialists for this, supposedly very capable, able to access all your records from childhood to adulthood. If there’s anything suspicious about you, they’ll find out immediately.”

Lynn felt a growing sense of unease. If the Brotherhood truly possessed such investigative capabilities, his attempt to use his real identity for the interview would undoubtedly be exposed. He needed a perfect false identity.

"So how exactly do I apply?" he continued, "What's the process?"

“Yes,” Marcos said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it for a moment. “Add this WeChat account and send them your basic information. Then wait for them to contact you and arrange an interview. Only after you pass the interview can you move on to the next step.”

He showed Lynn his phone screen. It displayed a WeChat QR code with a black triangle as the profile picture.

Lynn scanned the QR code with her phone. "Who is this person?"

“I don’t know,” Marcos said. “Maybe they’re in charge of recruitment. Anyway, once you add them, you can contact them yourself.”

"OK, thanks."

“You’re welcome,” Marcos hiccuped. “I wish you all the best. Maybe we can even be colleagues if we both join the fraternity.”

“That’s great,” Lynn raised her glass, “to our future.”

They clinked glasses and drank it all in one gulp.

Lynn chatted with Marcos for a while longer, asking him about life in the Bay Area, trying to appear natural. Around ten o'clock, he excused himself, saying he needed to find a place to stay.

"By the way," he asked before leaving, "where are the interviews usually held?"

“Not necessarily,” Marcos said. “Sometimes it’s in a coffee shop, sometimes it’s in a warehouse. They’ll tell you.”

"Okay, I understand. Thanks again."

"You're welcome, brother. Good luck."

Lynn stepped out of the bar and took a deep breath of fresh air. Although the air outside was still mixed with various unpleasant smells, it was much fresher than the smoky atmosphere inside the bar.

He walked briskly along the street, processing the information he had just received.

The Brotherhood was openly recruiting, and the process seemed straightforward—send in your personal information and wait for an interview. This was very different from the tightly-knit, conservative terrorist organization he had previously imagined.

But this also illustrates a point: the fraternity might be much larger than he imagined. An organization that needs to constantly recruit new members must have a huge personnel requirement and a complex structure.

He took out his phone and looked at the WeChat account he had just scanned. The profile picture was a black triangle, simple yet mysterious.

He considered it for a moment and decided not to rush into contacting them. He needed to prepare a perfect false identity first, one that could withstand the fraternity's background check.

This is not an easy task and requires professional support.

He dialed Sarah's number.

“Lynn?” Sarah’s voice came through the receiver, sounding a little sleepy. “It’s almost midnight. What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you,” Lynn said, “I’ve discovered something important. The Brotherhood is openly recruiting in the Bay Area, and the process isn’t complicated. I’m thinking of trying to infiltrate.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. "You mean an undercover agent?"

"right."

“Lynn, this is too dangerous,” Sarah’s voice turned serious. “Do you know how many approval procedures are involved in an undercover operation? And given your identity, once you’re exposed…”

“I know the risks,” Lynn interrupted her, “but this is the most effective method right now. A direct investigation won't work; those capitalists are too powerful, we simply can't get close. But if I can get evidence from within the fraternity…”

Are you sure?

"Sure."

Sarah was silent for a moment. “Alright, I’ll report this to Morrison for you. But you can’t take any action until you get approval.”

"I know. But I need you to help me prepare something."

"What?"

“A fake identity,” Lynn said, “a fake identity that can withstand a rigorous background check. Including a driver’s license, Social Security number, credit history, criminal record—everything that can be found.”

“This will take time,” Sarah said, “and it will require the cooperation of the technical department.” (End of Chapter)