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

“I know. But it’s necessary.”

“Okay,” Sarah sighed, “I’ll handle it as soon as possible. Where are you now?”

"On the way back to the hotel."

Be careful.

"I will."

He hung up the phone and continued walking towards the hotel.

The night was deep, and the streets were almost deserted. Occasionally, a car would drive by, its headlights streaking across the darkness before quickly disappearing into the distance. A wind blew from the bay, carrying a salty, damp scent and a chill.

Lynn tightened his jacket and quickened his pace.

He found a taxi at the intersection of Tiandelong and the city center and gave them the hotel's address. The taxi driver was a middle-aged Asian man, taciturn, who only occasionally glanced at Lynn in the rearview mirror.

The scenery outside the car window gradually transformed from dilapidated streets into a neat commercial district, with neon lights and streetlights growing brighter. The silhouettes of skyscrapers appeared and disappeared in the night sky, like a group of sleeping giants.

Lynn leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pondered his next plan.

If he truly intends to infiltrate the Brotherhood, he needs to be fully prepared. A false identity is only the first step; he also needs to fabricate a convincing backstory, learn to speak and act in a different way, and completely transform himself into another person.

This is not an easy task, but it is not impossible either.

He had done something similar before—in his youth, he had a short undercover mission, infiltrating a drug smuggling ring. That experience taught him how to disguise himself, how to survive in dangerous environments, and how to gather evidence right under the noses of his enemies.

But that target was just a small criminal gang, nothing compared to the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood was much larger, more organized, and backed by far more powerful forces. Failure would have had unimaginable consequences.

The taxi stopped in front of the hotel. Lynn paid the fare, got out, and walked into the hotel lobby.

Kevin was still waiting for him, sitting on the sofa in the lobby with a cup of coffee that had gone cold. When he saw Lynn come in, he immediately stood up.

“You’re finally back,” he said with a sigh of relief. “How did it go? Did you find out anything?”

"Let's talk in the room."

They took the elevator upstairs together and went into Lynn's room. Lynn told Kevin everything that had happened at the bar that night, including the young man named Marcos he had met, and the fraternity's recruitment process.

Kevin's expression turned complicated after hearing this. "You really want to go undercover?"

“This is the most effective method,” Lynn said.

“But the risk is too great,” Kevin said, “if they find out your true identity.”

“I know,” Lynn interrupted him, “but some things have to be done. The direct investigation has reached a dead end; those capitalists are too powerful, we simply can't get close. If I can get evidence from inside, I can break this deadlock.”

Kevin was silent for a moment, then said, "Then I'll go with you."

"no."

"Why?"

“Because you’re too young,” Lynn said, “and you have no undercover experience. This kind of operation requires years of training and real-world experience; it’s not something just anyone can do.”

“I can learn,” Kevin insisted. “You can teach me.”

“There’s no time,” Lynn shook his head. “The Brotherhood could be planning another operation at any moment; we must infiltrate them as soon as possible.”

Kevin wanted to say something more, but Lynn raised her hand to stop him.

“Listen to me, Kevin,” his tone softened, “I understand your desire to help. But this mission is too dangerous, and I can’t let you take that risk. You stay outside as my contact, providing support if necessary. That’s equally important.”

Kevin looked at him, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. But you have to promise me that if things go wrong, you'll retreat immediately."

"I promise you."

That night, Lynn barely slept. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with plans and possibilities.

He needed a new identity—a name, a history, a personality. He needed to transform himself into a completely different person, someone the Brotherhood would accept.

He thought of many names, and finally chose one—"Jack Bryan." It was an ordinary name, not very eye-catching, and easily forgotten.

In terms of backstory, he decided to portray himself as a veteran who had served in the military but was discharged for various reasons. Such a person has combat skills, a habit of obeying orders, and usually harbors some dissatisfaction with society—exactly the type the Brotherhood likes to recruit.

He also needs to prepare some "criminal records"—some minor offenses that are enough to prove he's an "insider." Perhaps one or two minor thefts, a drunk driving offense, or a fight. These records need to be authentic enough to withstand any form of investigation.

All of this requires the cooperation of the technical department. Fortunately, the FBI has a dedicated department responsible for creating fake identities. They have the ability to create and modify records in various databases to make a fake identity appear completely real.

The next morning, Lynn received a call from Sarah.

“I’ve spoken with Morrison,” she said, her voice tinged with weariness. “He agreed to your plan, but on a few conditions.”

"What are the conditions?"

"First, you must carry a concealed tracking device with you at all times so we can know your location at any time. Second, you must contact us every 24 hours to confirm your safety. Third, once sufficient evidence is obtained or the situation becomes dangerous, you must evacuate immediately without hesitation."

I accept.

“Also,” Sarah added, “the tech department is preparing your fake identity. They say it will take three to four days to complete all the preparations.”

“It’s taking too long,” Lynn frowned. “Can you speed things up a bit?”

“They’re already working overtime,” Sarah said. “Creating a perfect fake identity isn’t easy; it requires creating and modifying records in multiple databases, and every step must be done with extreme care. If any loophole is discovered, not only will your mission fail, but your life will be in danger.”

Lynn was silent for a moment, then said, "Okay, I'll wait. But let me know as soon as it's ready."

"certainly."

Over the next few days, Lynn and Kevin continued their investigation in the Bay Area. They observed the residences and offices of several suspects, documented their daily activities, and gathered as much intelligence as possible. Meanwhile, Lynn was also preparing for his undercover mission. He studied the known information about the Brotherhood, analyzed the questions they might ask, and practiced how he should speak and act under his new identity.

Four days later, Sarah called to tell him that the fake identity was ready.

“Jack Bryan,” she read the name, “thirty-eight years old, born in Reno, Nevada. Served eight years in the Marine Corps, discharged in 2018 after a conflict with a superior officer. Afterwards, he held various jobs in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, with several minor criminal records, including one for drunk driving and one for a minor brawl. Currently unemployed and seeking opportunities.”

“That sounds perfect,” Lynn said.

“All records have been written into the relevant databases,” Sarah said, “including military files, DMV records, court records, credit reports. Anyone who queries will get consistent results.”

“Alright,” Lynn took a deep breath, “then I’ll get started.”

“Watch out, Lynn.”

"I will."

He hung up the phone and looked out the window at the sky. The sun was setting, painting the horizon a vibrant orange-red. In a few hours, night would fall, and he would step into the unknown with a completely new identity.

He took out his phone, opened WeChat, and found the account with the black triangle profile picture.

He typed in a message:
"Hello, my name is Jack Bryan. Someone told me you're hiring, and I'd like to give it a try."

After sending the message, he stared at the screen for several seconds. Then, he put his phone on the table, walked to the window, and looked at the darkening sky.

The dice have been rolled; now it's up to fate to decide.

About two hours later, his phone vibrated.

He picked up his phone and saw a message from the black triangle account:
"Mr. Jack, thank you for your interest. Please send us your basic information, including your name, age, place of origin, education, work experience, and special skills. We will contact you after reviewing your information."

Lynn answered the questions one by one using the prepared fake identity information.

After sending the message, he awaited further instructions.

About half an hour later, the other party sent another message:
"Message received. We will complete the review within three days and notify you of the next steps. Please keep your phone accessible."

The three-day wait was much longer than Lynn had imagined.

Every day, he spent in anxiety and preparation. He rehearsed his false identity repeatedly—Jack Bryan's life, personality, way of speaking, and habits. He studied the geography and culture of Reno, Nevada, in case anyone asked about his hometown. He reviewed Marine Corps training and military terminology to ensure he could answer any questions about his military career.

Kevin helped him conduct several mock interviews, playing the role of a fraternity interviewer and asking all sorts of tricky questions. Lynn answered some questions fluently, while others made him hesitate for a moment, but overall, he was quite satisfied with his preparation.

On the evening of the third day, his phone finally vibrated.

Lynn picked up her phone and saw a message from the black triangle avatar:
"Mr. Jack, your background check has been approved. Please arrive at the following address tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM for your skills test. Do not be late, do not bring any electronic devices, and do not tell anyone where you are going."

The message was accompanied by an address—a location about forty miles southeast of San Francisco, which, according to the map, appeared to be in a remote suburb.

Lynn stared at the address for several seconds, her heart racing uncontrollably.

"It's approved?" Kevin walked over and looked at his phone screen.

“Passed,” Lynn said. “Skills test tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

"What location?"

Lynn showed him the address. Kevin searched for it on his phone and frowned.

“This place is very remote,” he said. “It’s surrounded by wasteland and abandoned factories, and there’s hardly anyone around.”

“It’s precisely because it’s remote that they chose that place,” Lynn said. “Far from the city, far from surveillance, making it convenient to do things they don’t want to be seen.”

"Are you sure you want to go?" Kevin's voice was filled with worry. "This could be a trap."

“If it were a trap, they would have acted already,” Lynn said. “They spent three days vetting my background, which shows they’re serious. Retreating now would only make everything go to waste.”

Kevin was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But I'll be on standby nearby. In case anything happens—"

“No,” Lynn interrupted him. “They said we can’t tell anyone, and we can’t bring electronic devices. If they find out someone is watching us nearby, the whole plan will be ruined.”

"Then how do you stay in touch with us?"

“I’ll figure something out,” Lynn said, “but the most important thing right now is not to arouse their suspicion.”

He walked to the window and looked at the night view outside. The lights of San Francisco twinkled in the darkness, and the distant bay shimmered silver in the moonlight. A cargo ship was slowly passing under the Golden Gate Bridge, its horn piercing the night sky with a lonely and distant melody.

“Lynn,” Kevin’s voice came from behind, “Are you scared?”

Lynn didn't answer immediately. He looked out the window at the night sky, thought for a moment, and then said, "Fear is normal. But fear can't stop me from doing what I have to do."

He turned to look at Kevin. “Whatever happens tomorrow, remember, if I don’t contact you for more than forty-eight hours, immediately notify Morrison and activate the contingency plan.”

"I know."

“And,” Lynn added, “if anything happens to me, I’d appreciate Sarah’s support over the years.”

Kevin's eyes welled up slightly, but he tried to remain calm. "You'll be alright."

“I know,” Lynn smiled slightly, “it’s just in case.”

That night, Lynn slept restlessly. He had a strange dream in which he stood in a boundless wilderness, surrounded by withered grass and a gray sky. In the distance stood a dilapidated building, its windows emitting a dim light. He walked towards the building, but no matter which way he went, it seemed to remain forever at the same distance.

He woke up at four in the morning and couldn't fall back asleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional sounds of cars and the howling sea breeze outside the window.

At six o'clock, the sky began to lighten. Lynn got up, took a cold shower to fully wake himself up, and then put on the clothes he had prepared—a dark gray jacket, black jeans, and a pair of sturdy work boots. These were clothes that "Jack Brian" would wear: simple, practical, and inconspicuous. (End of Chapter)