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

Lynn quickly changed into the clothes. The jeans were a little too big at the waist, but they fit reasonably well with the belt. The sleeves of the work shirt were a bit long, so he rolled up the cuffs, exposing his forearms. A baseball cap was pressed against his forehead, the brim obscuring most of his face.

He found a dusty mirror in the corner and looked at his reflection.

The person in the mirror looked like an ordinary construction worker—his clothes were wrinkled, his face was covered in dirt and sweat, his eyes were tired, and he exuded an air of someone who had been living a life of hardship. Compared to the "Jack Brian" who was dressed in a smart suit and speaking eloquently at the Sands Casino management meeting just a few days ago, he was a completely different person.

This is exactly the effect he needs.

Lynn searched the locker room again and found a canvas tool bag. He stuffed his old suit jacket into the tool bag—it was quite dirty, but he might need it later. He also put his wallet, phone, and other personal belongings into the bag.

After he had finished preparing, he quietly left the locker room.

It was fully light now, and the sounds of car engines and workers talking could be heard in the distance. Construction was about to begin, and he had to leave before he was discovered.

Lynn squeezed through the gap in the barbed wire fence he had come from and walked along a path toward the city.

He needs to find a long-distance bus station.

Based on his knowledge of San Francisco's geography, there should be several large bus hubs to the south, with long-distance buses to other cities. If he could buy a ticket to Nevada, he could leave the fraternity's territory and greatly increase his chances of survival.

The problem is that you need to prove your identity to buy a ticket.

Lynn pondered the question, observing his surroundings as he walked. Low-rise shops and residences lined both sides of the road, most still closed, with only a few breakfast stalls open, wafting the aroma of fried food. Several people in work clothes walked past him, dispersing in different directions; they were likely workers heading to their early shifts.

Nobody noticed him.

This made Lynn relax a little. His current disguise was indeed very effective—at this time and in this place, a man who looked like a construction worker was the least noticeable person.

He continued walking towards the city center, and after about forty minutes, he finally saw a bus stop. The sign indicated that several bus routes ran from there, one of which went directly to San Francisco's main long-distance bus station.

Lynn waited on the platform for about ten minutes before a dilapidated bus slowly pulled up.

The bus wasn't crowded; most were early-morning workers and a few nurses who looked like they'd just finished their night shifts. Lynn tossed in a coin, walked to the back of the bus, and found a corner seat.

The bus bumped along the streets of San Francisco, the scenery outside the window gradually changing from a desolate industrial area to a bustling commercial district. Skyscrapers swept past on both sides, the streets became increasingly crowded, and the sounds of car horns and the hustle and bustle of the crowds mingled, creating the city's unique morning symphony.

Lynn leaned back in his seat, pulled his hat down low, and tried to make himself look like he was taking a nap.

But in his mind, he was constantly planning the next steps.

There are definitely security checks and cameras at long-distance bus stations, so he needs to be careful to avoid them. When buying tickets, if the counter asks for ID, he'll say he lost it and see if he can buy the ticket with cash. Some smaller bus companies aren't so strict about ID checks, so maybe he can get away with it.

If he really couldn't buy a ticket, he would look for long-haul truck drivers to see if he could hitch a ride. Many long-haul drivers were willing to give one or two passengers a ride, both to earn some extra money and to have someone to talk to during the long journey.

He must leave San Francisco today, no matter what.

About half an hour later, the bus arrived at a stop near the long-distance bus station.

Lynn got out of the car and stood on the side of the street, observing his surroundings.

The long-distance bus station is a small building with gray-white exterior walls and several bus company signs hanging at the entrance. In front of the building is a small parking lot with several long-distance buses parked there; some are picking up passengers, while others are unloading luggage. On the sidewalk, some passengers are waiting for their buses: young people carrying suitcases, backpackers with shoulder bags, and middle-aged people who look like they are returning home to visit relatives.

Lynn noticed that two security guards were checking passengers' luggage at the station entrance. The security check wasn't very strict; they mainly did random checks on large items, but he still decided to be cautious.

Instead of heading straight to the station entrance, he first walked around the area to familiarize himself with the surroundings.

There was a ticket window on the side of the station that sold tickets for some small bus companies. These companies usually operated off-the-beaten-path routes, offering cheaper fares and less stringent passenger verification. Lynn decided to start there.

He walked to the ticket window and found a plump woman in her fifties sitting inside, eating sunflower seeds and looking at her phone. Several handwritten route charts were pasted on the window—Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Salt Lake City.
“Hello,” Lynn said, trying to make his voice sound casual, “Do you have a car going to Renault?”

Reno is a city in Nevada, about a four-hour drive from San Francisco. It's close to the California border, but not as popular a tourist destination as Las Vegas, so there shouldn't be too much security checks and surveillance.

The fat woman raised her head and looked Lynn up and down.

"Renault? Yes, there's a bus at 2 PM."

"How much?"

"Thirty-five yuan."

"Can I buy a ticket now?"

“Yes.” The plump woman put down her phone and pulled a worn registration book from the counter. “Name?”

Lynn hesitated for a second. "John Wilson."

The plump woman scribbled the name on the notebook and then asked, "ID card?"

“It’s gone,” Lynn said, a sheepish look on his face. “It was stolen at the construction site yesterday. My wallet and ID are gone. All I have left is this little cash.”

The fat woman looked up and glanced at him again.

Lynn let her examine him. His current appearance—dirty face, wrinkled work clothes, tired eyes—perfectly matched the image of an unfortunate construction worker whose wallet had been stolen.

The fat woman's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds, then she shrugged.

"Okay, thirty-five yuan in cash."

Lynn breathed a sigh of relief and took out a few crumpled banknotes from his pocket and handed them over.

The plump woman took the money and tore off a pink handwritten ticket from under the counter. "Board at 2 PM on platform three. Don't be late; the train won't wait."

"Thanks."

Lynn took the ticket and turned to leave the ticket window.

It's 9:15 a.m., almost five hours before departure. He needs to find a place to hide and wait for the bus to depart.

He couldn't stay in the station for too long. Although his current attire was inconspicuous, lingering in the same place for several hours might still attract the attention of security guards or staff. Lynn walked towards the street across from the station. There were some small restaurants and grocery stores, and a small park there. He could while away the time there without drawing too much attention.

He walked into a run-down-looking fast food restaurant. There were only a few customers inside, mostly nearby workers or homeless people. The air was filled with the smell of grease and the aroma of coffee, and the television on the wall was playing the morning news at a very low volume.

Lynn found a seat in the corner, ordered a coffee and a cheap breakfast set.

The waitress was a young Latina girl who looked exhausted, probably from working the entire night shift. She placed the tray in front of Lynn expressionlessly, then turned and left without even glancing at him.

Lynn started eating breakfast. He hadn't eaten anything proper for almost twenty-four hours and was starving. The cheap scrambled eggs and bacon tasted so-so, but in his current state, it was a feast.

He ate while observing the other people in the shop.

In the corner, an elderly man who looked like a homeless person was engrossed in drinking a cup of coffee, with only a few crumbs left on his plate. Two young men in work clothes sat by the window, loudly discussing last night's football match, occasionally bursting into laughter. A security guard in uniform was taking orders at the counter; he was probably an employee of a nearby shopping mall.

No one noticed Lynn.

He was the most inconspicuous one here—a construction worker who looked like he had just come from the site, tired, dirty, and silent. You could see people like him in every corner of the city, and no one would give him a second glance.

After finishing her breakfast, Lynn ordered a cup of coffee and then took out her phone to check the time.

It's 10:20 AM. There are still three and a half hours left.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to risk checking his phone to see if there were any messages from Kevin.

His phone still had 18% battery left, enough to last for several hours. But he hadn't turned it on, worried about being tracked. Now that he'd bought his ticket and was about to leave San Francisco, perhaps he could risk taking a quick look.

He turned on his phone and found several missed calls and text messages, all from Kevin.

The earliest text message was sent yesterday at noon: "Lynn, why aren't you back yet? Contact me."

Then in the afternoon: "I heard something happened at Huaxing Trading. Are you alright? Call me back."

That evening: "I'm very worried. If you're safe, give me any indication."

Early this morning: "I'm leaving the hotel; it might not be safe here. I'm going somewhere you know. Remember, don't contact the FBI San Francisco office; I've found something. There's something wrong there."

Lynn's heart started racing.

Kevin left the hotel? Where did he go? What do you mean by "a place you know"?
They hadn't agreed on any secret meeting place beforehand. What did Kevin mean by that?
Lynn frowned and thought for a while, then suddenly remembered something.

On their first day in San Francisco, they visited a Japanese tea plantation in Golden Gate Park. That afternoon, they chatted and drank tea there, and Kevin joked that it would be a good place if they ever needed to meet secretly, because there were so many tourists that no one would notice them.

Perhaps the "place you know" Kevin was referring to is that place?
Lynn considered whether or not to go find Kevin.

On one hand, he was very worried about Kevin's safety. If the Brotherhood already knew his identity, they would likely also be tracking Kevin down. Kevin was alone outside, without any protection, which was extremely dangerous.

On the other hand, going to find Kevin meant he would have to miss the 2 p.m. bus and remain in San Francisco. This would greatly increase his risk of being discovered.

Lynn weighed the options for a while before making a decision.

He can't abandon Kevin.

Kevin was the only person he could trust on this mission. If he left like this, leaving Kevin alone to be hunted by the Brotherhood, he would never forgive himself.

Moreover, Kevin said he "found something." Perhaps that thing is crucial to uncovering the Brotherhood's conspiracy.

Lynn finished her coffee, stood up, and left the fast food restaurant.

He needed to go to Golden Gate Park first to see if Kevin was there. If he found Kevin, they could leave San Francisco together. If not, he would come back to catch the 2 p.m. bus.

He walked to the side of the street and hailed a taxi.

“Golden Gate Park, Japanese tea plantation,” he told the driver.

The driver, a middle-aged Asian man, glanced at him in the rearview mirror and then started the car.

"Are you a construction worker?" the driver asked casually.

“Yes,” Lynn replied, “just finished work.”

"You've had a tough time," the driver said. "It's tough being a construction worker these days; the pay is low and the work is exhausting."

"yes."

The driver seemed to want to chat, but Lynn only gave brief responses, indicating she didn't want to talk. The driver quickly gave up and focused on driving.

The taxi weaved through the streets of San Francisco, heading west from the bustling business district towards the residential areas. The view outside the window gradually changed from skyscrapers to rows of old Victorian houses, and then to lush parks and green spaces.

About twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped at the entrance of Golden Gate Park.

"Eighteen yuan and fifty cents," the driver said.

Lynn paid the fare and got out of the car.

Golden Gate Park looked exceptionally beautiful in the morning sunlight. Several people were walking their dogs on the vast lawn, while joggers and cyclists strolled along the paths. The distant woods were lush and green, occasionally punctuated by birdsong. The air was filled with the scent of grass and flowers, creating a sense of tranquility and relaxation.

But Lynn wasn't in the mood to appreciate any of this.

He walked quickly toward the Japanese tea plantation.

The Japanese tea garden, located in the northeast corner of the park, is a meticulously designed traditional Japanese garden. At the entrance is a red arched bridge, beneath which lies a pond of emerald green koi. Inside, there are neatly trimmed pine trees, bamboo groves, stone lanterns, and a quaint tea room.

Lynn bought a ticket and went into the tea garden.

There weren't many tourists; most were taking photos and a few elderly couples strolling leisurely. Lynn walked along the path, her eyes constantly scanning her surroundings, searching for Kevin. (End of Chapter)