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

Lynn's mind raced. His identity was exposed—someone had sent his photo to Mr. Chen, perhaps Thomas Harrison, or maybe another Brotherhood informant within the FBI. But none of that mattered anymore; what mattered was finding a way to escape.

“Mr. Chen, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice steady. “I am Jack Bryan, this must be some misunderstanding—”

"Misunderstanding?" Mr. Chen sneered. "Detective Ashford, I admire your composure, but don't take me for a fool."

He turned around and winked at Li Xue.

Li Xue pulled a pistol from her waist and pointed it at Lin En.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” her voice was icy. “Hands up, and slowly turn around.”

Lynn didn't move. His gaze swept across the room, quickly assessing the situation—there were eight people in the office area, including Mr. Chen and Li Xue, and six other young men. At least three of them had bulging waistbands, suggesting they were also carrying weapons. The door was behind him, about three steps away. The window was to his left, but this was the third floor; jumping might break his leg.

The chances of escape are slim, but not nonexistent.

“Agent Ashford,” Mr. Chen’s voice rang out again, “I’ll say it one last time, put your hands up.”

Lynn took a deep breath and slowly raised her hands.

Then, in the instant everyone lowered their guard, he moved.

He lunged to the right, his arm sweeping out to knock a stack of documents from the nearby table toward Li Xue's face. Li Xue instinctively dodged, the muzzle of her gun veering off course. A gunshot rang out, the bullet striking the wall and kicking up a cloud of dust.

Lynn didn't give her a second chance to fire. He rolled behind another table and rushed towards the door.

"Grab him!" Mr. Chen shouted.

Several young men rushed to block him, but Lynn was faster. He flung open the door and dashed into the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the narrow space.

I heard hurried footsteps and shouts behind me.

Lynn didn't look back; he ran desperately towards the stairs. The stairwell was dimly lit, with only one light every few steps, emitting a faint yellow glow. He rushed down the stairs, taking three steps at a time, feeling his heart pounding in his chest with each leap.

Second floor. First floor.

When he rushed to the first floor, the middle-aged woman at the front desk had already stood up, her expression changing from indifference to terror. She opened her mouth to shout something, but Lynn didn't give her the chance—he simply smashed open the front door and rushed into the street of Chinatown.

The sunlight was blinding, and the air was filled with a cacophony of sounds—hawkers' cries, car horns, and people talking. Lynn had no time to appreciate any of it; he had only one thought: escape.

He ran wildly down the street, knocking over a fruit stand, oranges and apples scattering all over the ground. The vendor cursed behind him, but he paid no heed. He turned one street corner, then another, trying to shake off his pursuers.

But the pursuers didn't give up. He could hear footsteps getting closer and closer behind him, and someone shouting something on a walkie-talkie.

Damn it. There are too many of them.

Lynn knew that if he continued running through the streets, he would be caught sooner or later. He needed to find a place to hide.

His gaze swept across the surroundings—rows of old shops, several narrow alleys, and a building under renovation. He noticed that there were no workers at the entrance of the building under renovation, and a few pieces of protective cloth hung on the scaffolding, fluttering in the wind.

He rushed toward the building, crawled under the scaffolding, found an unlocked side door, and plunged inside.

The building's interior was dark, filled with building materials and dust. Lynn didn't stop; he walked through empty rooms until he found a staircase leading to the basement. He went down the stairs and entered a basement space filled with clutter.

It was very quiet here, with only his own heavy breathing as the only sound.

Lynn leaned against the wall, forcing himself to calm down. His heart was still pounding, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat.

He heard a commotion outside—someone was searching the building. Footsteps echoed overhead, and dust rustled down from the ceiling.

Lynn held her breath and stood motionless in the darkness.

The footsteps faded away, then drew closer, then faded away again.

After about ten minutes, the sound finally disappeared.

Lynn let out a long breath, but he knew he couldn't relax yet. His brothers wouldn't give up so easily; they would definitely continue searching the entire block. He needed to find a safer place.

He began to search the basement, hoping to find a way out.

The basement was large and filled with various building materials—cement bags, steel bars, planks, and some rusty pipes. In one corner was a hole that looked like an entrance to the sewer system.

Lynn walked over and crouched down to examine the hole. It was about half a meter wide, just big enough for an adult to squeeze through. A damp, rotten smell wafted from the hole, making one want to vomit.

He did not hesitate.

He squeezed into the narrow opening, feeling the rough cement edges scrape against his clothes. His body sank into the darkness, and then his feet landed on a damp surface.

sewer.

Lynn turned on his phone's flashlight and looked around. It was an old sewer pipe, about two meters high, with murky sewage flowing on the ground and moss and mold growing on the walls. The smell in the air was almost unbearable—a mixture of rotting, feces, and dead rats.

But it's safe here. At least for now.

Lynn began to walk along the pipe, trying to keep his feet on the dry edges and avoid stepping into the sewage in the middle. The pipe meandered, sometimes branching out and sometimes merging, like an endless maze.

He didn't know how long he had been walking. Maybe an hour, maybe two. All he knew was that he needed to get as far away from Chinatown as possible, away from the Brotherhood's sphere of influence.

Finally, he stopped at a relatively wide fork in the road.

It looks like an abandoned maintenance station, with a dry platform and some old things left behind by workers in the corner—a few empty bottles, a pile of tattered newspapers, and a moldy work uniform.

Lynn sat on the platform, leaning against the wall, finally managing to catch her breath.

He took out his phone and checked the battery level—42% remaining. No signal was not surprising; at such a depth underground, no wireless signal could penetrate.

He thought of Kevin. Kevin was still waiting for him at the hotel. They had arranged to meet at noon today to exchange the latest developments in the investigation. But now, Lynn didn't know if Kevin was safe. If the Brotherhood already knew his true identity, then they likely knew of Kevin's existence as well.

He had to find a way to warn Kevin.

But what to do? He's trapped in the sewers with no means of communication. Even if he manages to climb out, he wouldn't dare reveal his location easily.

Lynn closed his eyes, forced himself to calm down, and began to analyze the current situation.

First, his identity has been completely exposed. The Brotherhood now knows he's an FBI agent, and they won't let him go. All his cover in San Francisco is useless; he can no longer contact anyone or anything connected to the Brotherhood.

Secondly, he couldn't trust any institution in the Bay Area. The fraternity's reach extended to every sector—casinos, banks, corporations, and even government departments. The "special clients" list he saw at Sands Casino included bankers and legislators; who knew how many others were under their control?

Even the FBI and police departments cannot be trusted. Thomas Harrison's case has proven that the Brotherhood has high-level informants within the FBI. If he were to seek help from the FBI office in the Bay Area now, he would likely be handed over directly to the Brotherhood.

The same applies to the police station. He has no idea how many people in the San Francisco Police Department have been bribed or coerced by the fraternity. Perhaps the moment he walks through the police station doors, someone will relay the information to Mr. Chen.

He now only has two people he can trust: Kevin and Deputy Director Morrison. But Kevin may already be in danger, and Morrison is in New York, too far away to offer immediate help.

He had to find a way to get back to New York.

Only by returning to New York, under Morrison's protection, could he safely pass on the intelligence he had gathered. The evidence concerning the Pacific Innovation Fund, the Manhattan East Coast Revitalization Plan, and Thomas Harrison might be key to dismantling the fraternity.

But how do I get back?

It's impossible for him to be on a plane. Airports have security checks and cameras; his face has likely already been spread across various networks by the Brotherhood. He would be immediately recognized the moment he appears at the airport.

Train stations and long-distance bus stations pose the same risk. These places are monitored, and the Brotherhood clearly has the capability to infiltrate these systems.

Renting a car and driving himself? Maybe, but he'd need a fake identity to rent one, and all he has right now is "Jack Brian's" identification, which has already been exposed. If he uses his real identity, he'll be tracked just as easily.

Lynn rubbed his temples, feeling a splitting headache.

He was exhausted, not just physically, but also mentally. Scenes from the past few days flashed through his mind—Zhou Jianguo, whom he had personally murdered; Zheng Haoran, forced into becoming a puppet; those ruined by gambling; those multi-billion dollar business conspiracies.
He had initially thought he was hunting the Brotherhood, but now he realized that he had been the prey from the very beginning.

Erin Shaw is right. In this game, he is always the prey, not the hunter.

No. Lynn suddenly opened her eyes.

He can't think like that. He can't give up.

He's still alive, which means he still has a chance. If he can safely return to New York, he can expose everything. The sacrifices of those who died—Zhou Jianguo, Li Minghui, and all those harmed by the Brotherhood—cannot be in vain.

Lynn stood up and began to check his belongings.

The wallet contained over two hundred dollars in cash and several "Jack Bryan" identification cards. The cell phone had 42% battery, but no signal. The miniature tracker on the belt was still there—a specially made device by the FBI's technical department that automatically sends location signals every hour.

and many more.

Tracker.

Lynn looked down at his belt buckle, and a terrible thought came to his mind.

If the Brotherhood knew he was an FBI undercover agent, they likely also knew he was carrying a tracking device. In fact, they might have found him through the device's signal—not by tracking his location, but by somehow interfering with or eavesdropping on the FBI's tracking system.

This means that as long as he still has this tracker, he can never truly escape.

Without hesitation, Lynn unbuckled his belt and pried the miniature tracker out of the buckle. It was a small metal piece, about the size of a fingernail, gleaming silver in the light of his phone's flashlight.

He threw it into the nearby sewage and watched it being washed away by the murky water.

Now, he has completely lost contact with the FBI.

But this is also a good thing. Without the tracker, the Brotherhood can't find him through technological means. He has become a true invisible man.

Lynn leaned back against the wall and began to plan his next move.

He needed to find a safe place to hide, at least until nightfall. Being on the streets during the day was too dangerous; the fraternity would surely have people searching every nook and cranny. He would figure out how to leave San Francisco once night fell.

Then, he needed to find a way to get back to New York without being tracked.

Perhaps a ride? Find a long-haul truck driver and ask him for a ride. This method is slow, but difficult to track. Of course, this assumes he can find a reliable driver, not someone from the Brotherhood.

Alternatively, he could walk and hitchhike eastward to Nevada first, and then figure things out from there. Once outside of California, the fraternity's influence would be greatly diminished.

But whichever way he chooses, he first needs to get through the night.

Time slowly passed.

There was no sunlight in the sewers, so Lynn couldn't tell if it was day or night outside. He could only estimate by the time on his phone—it was 3:15 PM, and there were still about four hours until dark.

He tried to close his eyes and rest, but every time he was about to fall asleep, he would be awakened by some kind of sound—the squeaking of mice, the gurgling of water, and an unknown knocking sound coming from afar.

His thoughts began to wander, and he thought of all sorts of things.

He thought of Zhou Jianguo—the man he had killed with his own hands. The fear and despair in Zhou Jianguo's eyes at the moment he pulled the trigger were deeply etched into his memory. That man was innocent, at least in some way. He was just an ordinary person trying to do the right thing, but he was caught in a vortex that he could neither understand nor escape.

As Lynn pulled the trigger, he told himself it was for a greater purpose, to save more people. But could this reason truly bring him peace of mind?

he does not know.

He thought of Kevin. The young technical analyst who had come with him to San Francisco, helping him process all sorts of data and information. Kevin trusted him, risking his career, even his life, on this mission. Now, Kevin might be facing danger, and he was powerless to help. (End of Chapter)