36: Chapter 36 Internal Division

The dampness deep in the sewer carried the scent of rust and rot, like a sticky net that tightly wrapped around every inch of air.

Lin Fan leaned against the moss-covered concrete wall, the scent of gunpowder from the street battle with the Prophet's followers still lingering on his fingertips. In his ears, the faint sound of distant sirens—the eternal background noise of Los Santos—felt like a death knell, tightening his heart.

He looked down at his mud-stained combat suit, blood still seeping from the bullet hole in his chest. The [Vital Signs] on his system panel were flashing a glaring yellow warning, but compared to the physical pain, what made him feel more suffocated were the gazes currently surrounding him.

"Let's talk," Michael said, breaking the silence first.

This once-legendary bank robber was currently clamping an unlit cigarette in his mouth, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. In those weathered blue eyes, the usual banter and camaraderie were gone, replaced by bone-chilling coldness and suspicion.

His hand rested instinctively on the pistol at his waist, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His voice was as raspy as sandpaper rubbing against sheet metal. "Where exactly have you been for the past three days?"

Three days ago, to track the Prophet's followers, Lin Fan had snuck alone into an abandoned signal tower deep in the San Andreas mountains. He had assumed it was just a routine reconnaissance mission, but he hadn't expected to fall into a code trap set by the Prophet.

It was a virtual maze made of countless garbled code. Relying on his upgraded [Code Editing] ability, he had forced his way out by tearing a hole through it, but the cost was losing contact with The Resistance for three days. When he dragged his half-dead body back to the sewer hideout, he was not greeted with concerned inquiries, but with a dead silence.

Lin Fan tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to squeeze out a relaxed smile, but his throat was too dry and painful. "I fell into the Prophet's trap and almost didn't make it out."

"A trap?" Michael sneered, taking a step forward. A sense of oppression instantly enveloped the cramped space.

The few members of The Resistance behind him also tensed up, hands resting on their weapons, their eyes overflowing with wariness. "What kind of trap makes you lose contact for three days? What kind of trap leaves you with not a single trace of a struggle when you return—except for this light injury that clearly looks intentional?"

Lin Fan looked down at the bullet hole in his chest, his heart sinking abruptly.

He had treated this wound himself to make himself look more disheveled, more like someone who had crawled back from the gates of hell, but in Michael's eyes, it had actually become evidence of "deliberate disguise."

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain the strangeness of that virtual maze, wanting to describe the horror of the code trap, but when the words reached his lips, he found there was simply no way to explain it.

The rules of Los Santos, the existence of the system, the clash of code... even if he talked until he was blue in the face, how many people could truly understand?

"Michael, what do you mean by this?" Franklin's voice rang out from behind the crowd, carrying a trace of imperceptible anger.

This former auto repair shop hand, now a key member of The Resistance, quickly squeezed to Lin Fan's side and shielded him. In those eyes that were usually a bit timid, a blazing fury now burned.

He pointed at Michael, his tone firm and resonant. "Don't we know what kind of person Brother Fan is? If he wanted to betray us, he would have brought Victor's people to wipe out our hideout long ago. Why would he go through all this trouble?"

"Know?" Michael acted as if he had heard the biggest joke, raising his volume sharply. He crushed the cigarette to pieces, tobacco mixed with spit splattering on the ground. "Franklin, you kid are just too young! Too easy to trust others! Have you forgotten how Brad betrayed us three years ago? Forgotten how we almost died in the snow of North Yankton?"

Mentioning North Yankton and Brad caused Franklin's momentum to instantly weaken by half.

That was the eternal thorn in Michael's heart, and the shadow he could never let go of in this lifetime.

The betrayal of brotherhood and broken faith from back then had long since planted the seeds of suspicion in his heart, and Lin Fan's three-day disappearance was undoubtedly the key that pried open the door of suspicion, letting all the anxiety and distrust scurry out like rats in the sewer.

"I am not Brad." Lin Fan's voice was very soft, but carried an unquestionable firmness.

He pushed away Franklin's hand and straightened his body. Even though the pain in his chest made him wince, his gaze remained sharp as a knife, staring directly into Michael's eyes. "I know your concerns. If it were me, I would be suspicious too. But I can guarantee you that I, Lin Fan, have never betrayed The Resistance, nor have I colluded with Victor or the Prophet."

"Guarantee?" Michael scoffed. "In Los Santos, what is a guarantee worth? Less than waste paper!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a burst of rapid footsteps came from the entrance of the hideout. A member of The Resistance stumbled in, his face as pale as paper, shouting incoherently: "Bad! Bad! The secret door on the east side of the hideout... the secret door has been pried open! There's a traitor!"

This sentence was like a thunderclap, exploding in the cramped space.

Everyone's expression changed.

This sewer hideout was the core base of The Resistance, its location extremely hidden, and the secret door was a passageway known only to core members. Now that the secret door had been pried open, it undoubtedly meant that there really was a mole inside The Resistance.

"Search him!" Michael spat the word out, almost through gritted teeth. He drew his pistol and pointed it directly at Lin Fan, the suspicion in his eyes turning into certain murderous intent. "Search him for me! I want to see if he's hiding the Prophet's communicator on him!"

"Michael, you're crazy!" Franklin roared, trying to stop him, but was held down tightly by two members of The Resistance. He struggled and screamed, "Brother Fan is not a traitor! You can't do this!"

"We'll know if he's a traitor after we search him!" Michael's voice was as cold as ice. The few trusted aides behind him immediately swarmed up, staring at Lin Fan with fierce eyes, as if he were a heinous traitor.

Lin Fan did not resist, just looked coldly at Michael, looking at the companions who had once fought side by side with him, shedding blood and killing enemies, but were now looking at him like an enemy.

His heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pain making him almost unable to breathe.

He knew that any resistance at this moment would confirm the charge of being a "traitor," so he could only stand in place, allowing those rough hands to search him.

The dagger in his pocket was searched out, the pistol at his waist was removed, and even the system bracelet on his wrist was ripped off by a member of The Resistance and thrown on the ground, making a crisp sound.

"There's nothing." The person searching him shook his head, his tone carrying a trace of disappointment, yet also a hint of relief.

Michael's brow furrowed even tighter. He stared at the system bracelet on the ground, a flash of doubt crossing his eyes.

He had long felt that this bracelet was not right. Lin Fan was always talking to himself while looking at it, and every time he encountered danger, this guy could always turn peril into safety. This bracelet was definitely not an ordinary accessory.

Just then, a muffled groan suddenly came from the corner of the hideout.

Everyone looked towards the sound and saw a thin member of The Resistance slowly collapsing while clutching his chest, black blood overflowing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes filled with terror and unwillingness.

And at his feet lay a small black device—it was a miniature signal transmitter, with a faint red light flashing on it, clearly still in operation.

"It's him!" someone shouted in a panic.

Everyone's gaze focused on the fallen member. Franklin's pupils shrank sharply: "He only joined The Resistance three days ago! He said he escaped from the Snake Fang Gang!"

The Snake Fang Gang!

As soon as this name was mentioned, everyone's expression changed.

The Snake Fang Gang were Victor's lackeys, and the Prophet was Victor's running dog. In that case, this guy was simply a mole sent by the Prophet!

Michael's expression instantly became extremely ugly. He looked at the signal transmitter on the ground, then at Lin Fan, who was being held against the wall. His throat moved, wanting to say something, but he couldn't get the words out.

Just then, Lin Fan suddenly crouched down and picked up the miniature signal transmitter.

His fingertips touched the cold metal casing, and the system panel instantly popped up a line of prompts: [Detected unknown code signal, parsing... Parsing successful! Signal source from the Prophet's Core Code, with hidden data: Code signature—V]

V!

Lin Fan's pupils shrank sharply.

V is the first letter of Victor!

This discovery was like a bolt of lightning, splitting the fog in his heart.

He had always felt the Prophet's style of operation was familiar. That method of using code to manipulate people's hearts and play with rules was exactly the same as Victor's. Now it seemed it was no coincidence at all—the Prophet and Victor were simply split entities of the same program!

Victor was the administrator of the game world, controlling the Core Code of Los Santos, and the Prophet was likely a sub-program he had split off, specifically used to collect data, deceive people, and pave the way for his ultimate plan!

As soon as this thought emerged, Lin Fan's heart began to beat wildly.

He looked up abruptly, wanting to tell everyone about this discovery, but just then, the fallen mole suddenly used his last bit of strength and roared: "Lord Prophet will not let you off! Lin Fan... you cannot escape! Lord Victor's plan cannot be stopped by anyone!"

As his voice fell, he completely stopped breathing.

And his words were like a poisonous thorn, piercing into everyone's hearts once again.

Michael's expression became even more complex. He looked at Lin Fan, the murderous intent in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a trace of guilt and hesitation.

He opened his mouth and finally squeezed out a sentence: "I..."

"No need to apologize." Lin Fan interrupted him, stood up, and clutched the signal transmitter in his hand, his eyes deep as if hiding a starry sky. "At a time like this, suspicion is normal. If it were me, I would do the same."

He did not blame Michael.

The world of Los Santos was inherently a jungle of deceit and survival of the fittest.

Trust was a luxury; suspicion was the instinct for survival.

Michael's suspicion was merely to protect The Resistance, to protect this hard-won home.

But Lin Fan's generosity only made Michael's guilt even greater.

He hung his head, like a child who had done something wrong, unable to say a word for a long time.

Seeing this, Franklin immediately broke free from his restraints, rushed to Lin Fan's side, and hugged him: "Brother Fan, are you okay? I knew you weren't a traitor!"

Lin Fan patted his shoulder and shook his head, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, his voice steady and powerful: "Brothers, I don't blame anyone for what just happened. But I want to tell you one thing—the Prophet and Victor are absolutely in cahoots! They are split entities of the same program. Their goal is to control the entire Los Santos, and even... to overturn the balance of two worlds!"

He raised the signal transmitter in his hand, and the code signature on the system panel was clearly projected on the wall. That striking "V" made everyone gasp.

"This is Victor's code signature," Lin Fan's voice was resonant. "The Prophet's Core Code system hides his mark! All our previous actions were actually within Victor's calculations! He deliberately let the Prophet attract our attention just to cover up his true conspiracy!"

Everyone was stunned.

This discovery was too shocking, too unbelievable, making it difficult for them to accept for a moment.

Just then, a harsh siren suddenly came from the entrance of the sewer, and immediately after, an emergency prompt popped up on the system panel: [Warning! Abnormal signal detected in the real world! Signal source: FBI Agent Kate Anderson! Status: Wanted, currently on the run!]

Lin Fan's heart sank abruptly.

Kate!

Kate in the real world was actually wanted!

A strong sense of unease instantly gripped his heart.

He knew very well that Kate had been investigating the connection between the real world and the game world, and had been trying to find a way to bring him back to reality.

Now that she was wanted, there was no doubt that Victor's forces had infiltrated the real world!

The barrier between the two worlds was being broken!

A bigger storm was quietly brewing.

Lin Fan looked up at the concrete slab with water droplets seeping from the ceiling of the cave, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

He knew that although the internal division had temporarily subsided, the real crisis had only just begun.

Victor's lackeys had already reached out into the real world.

And he, this wanted criminal who had transmigrated into GTA5, had to not only protect the peace of Los Santos, but also protect that home of his in the real world.

He gripped the signal transmitter in his hand tightly, his fingertips turning white from the force.

"Michael, Franklin," Lin Fan's voice was low and firm, echoing in the damp sewer. "Get ready to fight. This time, our enemies are not just in Los Santos."

Water droplets from the ceiling dripped onto the ground, splashing up tiny water sprays.

The sound of distant sirens was getting closer and closer, like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, slowly descending.

And in the hideout of The Resistance, there was a dead silence.

Everyone knew what Lin Fan's words meant.

A war spanning virtual and reality was about to begin.