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

He looked at himself in the mirror. After these few days of preparation, he had completely transformed into a different person—his eyes were colder and harder, his expression more alert, and he exuded the aura of someone who had lived on the margins of society.

At eight o'clock, he left the hotel and rented an inconspicuous gray Honda sedan. He didn't take his cell phone—according to the fraternity's rules, no electronic devices were allowed. He only took his driver's license, some cash, and a miniature tracker hidden in his belt buckle. This was a specially made device by the FBI's technical department; it looked exactly like an ordinary belt buckle, but it had built-in GPS positioning capabilities and could automatically send location signals every hour.

This was his only insurance.

He drove south on Highway 101, then turned onto a side road leading east near San Jose. The scenery on either side gradually changed from bustling city to open farmland and sparse woods. The sky was a gloomy gray, the sun obscured by thick clouds, making the whole world seem somber and oppressive.

He drove for about an hour and arrived near the designated location. It was a desolate suburb, with abandoned factories and empty warehouses on both sides of the road. Occasionally, a few dilapidated trucks were parked on the side of the road, their bodies covered in rust and their tires long since flat. The air was filled with a suffocating smell of dust, diesel fuel, and rotting vegetation.

Following the navigation, Lynn turned onto a narrower dirt road. Tall weeds and withered bushes lined both sides of the road, and the wheels kicked up clouds of dust as they rolled over the dry earth. In the distance, there was a dilapidated barbed wire fence, behind which lay a wide open space with several low buildings.

He stopped his car at the entrance to the fence. Next to the entrance was a rusty metal sign, the words of which were blurred, but could still be vaguely discerned as "Private Property, No Entry".

A man in a black jacket emerged from the hut next to the entrance and walked toward Lynn's car. He was about thirty years old, burly, and had a prominent scar on his face that stretched from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth.

Lynn rolled down the car window.

"Who are you?" the scarred man asked, his tone unfriendly.

“Jack Bryan,” Lynn said, “I have a test scheduled for 10 a.m. today.”

The scarred man stared at him for a few seconds, then pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and said something. A muffled response came from the walkie-talkie, the scarred man nodded, and then turned to Lynn.

“Park the car over there,” he said, pointing to a parking area inside the fence, “and then come with me.”

Lynn drove the car in and parked it in the designated spot. After getting out of the car, he looked around at the surroundings.

This is a fairly large site, roughly a dozen acres. On one side of the site are several low-rise buildings that look like warehouses or workshops. On the other side is an open area with sandbags, stakes, and targets—it looks like a makeshift training ground or shooting range. In the distance, there are some parked vehicles, including several black SUVs and a very old-looking van.

The scarred man led Lynn toward one of the buildings. The building's exterior was gray concrete, with small windows covered in a layer of dust. The door was a heavy metal door with several keyholes.

The scarred man pushed open the door and gestured for Lynn to come in.

The interior of the building was much larger than it appeared from the outside. It was a spacious hall with high ceilings and several industrial lights hanging from it, emitting a glaring white glow. A long table stood on one side of the hall, with some documents and a computer on it. On the other side was a row of chairs, where several people were sitting and waiting.

“Sit over there and wait,” the scarred man said, pointing to the row of chairs. “Someone will call you.”

Lynn walked over and sat down in an empty chair. He quietly observed his surroundings and the people around him.

There were four people sitting in the waiting area, making five with Lynn. Besides him, there was a burly man with a bald head, a young man wearing a baseball cap, a middle-aged woman in a leather jacket, and a tall, thin man who looked nervous.

They didn't speak to each other; each was absorbed in their own world. The burly man was staring at the ground, his muscles tense, seemingly concentrating. The young man in the baseball cap tapped rhythmically on the armrest of his chair with his fingers. The woman in the leather jacket leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed, her expression calm. The tall, thin man kept wiping the sweat from his brow, his gaze shifty.

Lynn tried to appear relaxed, but his senses remained heightened. He noticed surveillance cameras in every corner of the hall, two armed guards standing at the door, and a faint smell of engine oil and gunpowder in the air.

About ten minutes later, a man in a dark suit came out from the inner door. He was about forty years old, with his hair neatly combed and a professional manager's smile on his face, but his eyes revealed a cold glint.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice clear and authoritative, “welcome to the Skills Assessment Center. I am the moderator for this assessment; you may call me Mr. Lin.”

He glanced around at everyone present, his gaze lingering on each person for a second or two.

“Today’s assessment is divided into several parts,” Mr. Lin continued. “First, there’s a physical fitness test, then a weapons skills test, and finally, a document processing ability test. Each part has specific scoring criteria, and only those who achieve a certain score will pass the assessment.”

He paused for a moment, his expression turning serious.

"I must tell you in advance that our requirements are very strict. Only about one-third of you will pass the assessment. If you fail at any stage, you will be eliminated immediately. Those who are eliminated, please leave on your own, do not ask any questions, and do not look back. Do you understand?"

"Understood," the group replied in unison.

“Very good,” Mr. Lin nodded, “Then let’s begin. First, the physical fitness test. Please follow me.”

He turned and walked towards the inner door, where five people stood up and filed in.

The inner door led to a long corridor with exposed concrete walls, dim lighting, and a damp, musty smell in the air. At the end of the corridor was another door, behind which was an indoor training area.

The training ground was large, with rubber mats on the ground and various training equipment hanging on the walls—dumbbells, barbells, punching bags, and climbing ropes. There was a simple running track in one corner and some obstacle courses in another.

“The physical fitness test consists of three events,” Mr. Lin said, standing in the center of the field. “Pull-ups, a one-mile run, and obstacle courses. Each event has time or number of repetitions required, and those who fail to meet the requirements will be eliminated.”

He glanced at the tablet in his hand. "First, pull-ups. The minimum requirement is fifteen for men and eight for women. Now, let's begin."

Five people walked to the horizontal bar and began doing pull-ups one after another.

Lynn was the third. He jumped up, grabbed the horizontal bar, steadied himself, and began to pull up and down rhythmically. His movements were fluid and powerful, each pull sending his chin steadily over the top of the bar.

Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five.
He stopped after doing thirty, deliberately trying not to stand out too much, but still wanting to demonstrate sufficient ability.

“Very good,” Mr. Lin wrote on the tablet, “Next.”

The physical fitness test lasted about forty minutes. The final result was that four out of five people passed—the tall, thin man was eliminated immediately because he severely exceeded the time limit in the one-mile run. He was led away by two guards, not uttering a single word, just standing there with his head down, pale-faced.

“Next is the weapons skills test,” Mr. Lin said. “Please follow me.” They walked out of the training ground, through another corridor, and came outside the building. Outside was the shooting range that Lynn had seen before, and now it was clearer—there were multiple shooting positions on the range, and in front of each position was a table with various types of pistols and rifles on it.

“The weapons skills test is divided into two parts,” Mr. Lin said, “precision pistol shooting and rapid rifle shooting. Each part has scoring criteria, and a total score of 70 or above is required to pass.”

He pointed to the nearest table. “First, there’s the handgun precision shooting. The target is a human-shaped target fifty meters away. Each person gets ten bullets, and points are awarded based on the location of the hit. Ten rings for the head, eight for the chest, six for the abdomen, four for each limb, and zero for a miss.”

Lynn walked to the designated spot and picked up the Glock 17 pistol from the table. It was a standard police pistol, and he was very familiar with this model. He checked the magazine, confirmed that there were ten rounds inside, then inserted it into the receiver and cocked the slide to chamber a round.

Fifty meters away, a human-shaped target stood silently, its outline somewhat blurred against the gray sky. The wind blew from the east, not too strong, but enough to affect the trajectory of the bullets.

Lynn raised his gun and aimed.

He took a deep breath, steadied his arm, and then pulled the trigger.

boom.

The first bullet hit the bullseye, striking the chest.

He continued firing, pausing for about three seconds between each shot to give himself enough time to adjust his aim.

After all ten bullets were fired, a staff member ran over to check the target and then reported the results via walkie-talkie.

"Eighty-four points," Mr. Lin wrote on the tablet. "Very good. Next."

The four people took turns completing the pistol shooting. Lynn scored the highest, the bald, muscular man came in second with 76 points, the young man in the baseball cap barely passed with 70 points, and the woman in the leather jacket was eliminated with only 58 points.

Her expression didn't change much; she simply shrugged and followed the guards out of the shooting range.

“Now there are only three people left,” Mr. Lin said. “Next is rapid-fire rifle shooting. The target is a moving target 100 meters away. Each person will receive 20 rounds, with a time limit of 30 seconds. The scoring method is the same as for pistol shooting.”

Lynn picked up the AR-15 rifle from the table and quickly inspected the gun and scope. It was a semi-automatic rifle equipped with a red dot sight, offering good range and accuracy.

He walked to his firing position, raised his gun, and aimed at the moving target in the distance. The target was moving left and right along an irregular trajectory, not too fast, but enough to increase the difficulty of shooting.

"Start the timer," Mr. Lin called out.

Lynn pulled the trigger and began to fire.

Bang bang bang bang bang——

His firing rhythm was rapid, but each shot was precisely aimed. Bullets flew one after another towards the moving target, most hitting the torso.

Thirty seconds passed quickly.

"Stop!" Mr. Lin shouted.

Lynn lowered his gun and awaited the outcome.

"One hundred and forty-two points," the staff reported. "Eighteen out of twenty shots hit the target, including three to the head, ten to the chest, four to the abdomen, and one to the limbs."

“Excellent,” a hint of interest flashed in Mr. Lin’s eyes. “Have you received professional training before?”

“Marine Corps,” Lynn said, “eight years.”

No wonder.

The other two also completed the rifle shooting. The bald, muscular man scored 116 points, while the young man in the baseball cap only scored 84 points, barely passing.

"The weapons skills test is now complete," Mr. Lin said. "All three of you have met our requirements for marksmanship. Now we will move on to the final stage—the document processing ability test. Please follow me back inside."

They walked back into the building and came to a room that looked like an office. There were three tables in the room, each with a laptop and a stack of documents on it.

“This test is to assess your information processing and documentation skills,” Mr. Lin explained. “In our organization, not everyone only needs to do manual labor. Some tasks require thinking and analysis, and involve handling large amounts of information and documents.”

He pointed to the computer and documents on the table. “You have a simulated business intelligence report in front of you, including a company's financial statements, personnel list, communication records, etc. Your task is to analyze this data within thirty minutes, identify any suspicious points, and write a brief report. The report should be logically clear, highlight key points, and present clear conclusions.”

He glanced at his watch. "Start the timer."

Lynn sat down at the table and began to look through the documents in front of him.

This is information about a company called "Oasis Technology," including financial statements for the past three years, an employee roster, meeting minutes, and printouts of internal emails. The amount of data is considerable, and reviewing and analyzing it all within thirty minutes is indeed a significant challenge.

But Lynn quickly got into the swing of things. Years of working for the FBI had honed his ability to quickly read and extract key information. He first skimmed through the financial statements, noticing unusual fluctuations in the company's revenue over the past two years—a sudden surge in "consulting fees" in certain months, without any corresponding contracts or invoices to support them.

He then checked the staff list and found that the names of several "consultants" had not appeared in any other documents, and that their salaries were unusually high.

Next came the communication logs. He found some coded language in the emails—"Goods have arrived," "Project is progressing smoothly," "Phase Three is ready"—words that seemed out of place in normal business context. (End of Chapter)