13: Chapter 13: The Ghost Appears, Assassination and Counterattack

The neon lights, like a spilled palette, dyed the tavern in the western suburbs of Los Santos in vibrant colors.

Cheap beer foam piled up on the rim of the glass, and with Franklin's loud laughter, it splashed onto the oil-stained wooden table.

Lin Fan leaned on the table with one hand, holding his wine glass high with the other. His face was flushed from the alcohol, his tongue slightly slurred, yet he was still boasting with spit flying: "See that? Fifty thousand dollars! Easily in hand! What Snake Fang Gang? What Victor? In my eyes... that's nothing! Los Santos, this dump of a place, wants to squeeze us? No way!"

As he spoke, he proudly patted the heavy envelope in his arms. The sharp corners of the bills pressed against his palm through the fabric, a sensation that made him feel incredibly secure.

Michael sat opposite him, his brow furrowed. He took a sip of beer, his eyes scanning everyone in the tavern vigilantly. This place was a mix of good and bad, full of all kinds of people. They had just robbed Victor's car, and now they were in the spotlight; it really wasn't suitable to be so high-profile.

"Alright, Lin Fan, stop drinking." Michael reached out to grab his glass. "Watch your mouth; there are many eyes here."

"What are you afraid of?" Lin Fan shook off his hand and hiccuped. "We have money now! With money, we can walk sideways in Los Santos! Besides, even if the Snake Fang Gang knows it was us, do they dare call the police? They're just a bunch of cowards..."

Before he could finish, a crisp "bang," like glass shattering, sounded particularly harsh in the noisy tavern.

Lin Fan felt his hand empty, followed by a spray of cold liquid across his face—the glass in his hand had been shattered in an instant!

Beer dripped down his cheeks, soaking his collar. The drunkenness from just a moment ago vanished instantly in the shock.

The noise in the tavern came to an abrupt halt. Everyone subconsciously looked over, their eyes filled with horror and curiosity.

"Who?!" Franklin reacted the fastest, pulling his gun from his waist, scanning the surroundings vigilantly. His voice trembled slightly from tension. "Who the hell fired that shot?!"

Lin Fan froze in place, his heart pounding as if it were about to jump out of his throat. He could clearly feel that the bullet had been aimed at his head! If he hadn't moved his hand just then, he would already be a corpse!

Just then, the back door of the tavern creaked open as the wind blew it. A black shadow flashed by like a ghost, so fast that one might think it was an illusion.

"Watch out!" Michael shouted and lunged at Lin Fan.

Almost simultaneously, a second gunshot rang out.

A "pfft" sound, like a sharp blade piercing flesh.

Michael groaned as his body fell heavily onto Lin Fan. Warm blood instantly soaked through Lin Fan's clothes.

"Michael!" Lin Fan's pupils shrank. He struggled to lift Michael and saw his right shoulder was a bloody mess, the bullet deeply embedded in the bone, blood gushing out.

"Damn it!" Franklin fired several shots in the direction where the shadow had disappeared. The bullets hit the wall, spraying debris, but didn't even touch the corner of the enemy's clothes. "Can this guy teleport?! How is he so fast?!"

The black shadow's speed was ridiculously fast, like a bolt of black lightning, moving freely through the tavern. The tables and chairs seemed like nothing to him. His movements were efficient, every move precise and terrifying—clearly, he was a top-tier assassin.

"Go! Go quickly!" Michael clutched his bleeding shoulder, his face pale from pain, yet he gritted his teeth and urged, "He's coming for us! If we don't go now, it'll be too late!"

Lin Fan didn't dare hesitate. He and Franklin supported Michael, one on each side, stumbling toward the front door of the tavern.

Gunshots continued to ring out behind them; bullets grazed their scalps, hitting the door frame, sending wood chips flying.

"Damn it! Who the hell is he?!" Franklin cursed as he ran. "Such accurate marksmanship, and so fast!"

Lin Fan's brain raced. Who else could it be besides the Snake Fang Gang, with such amazing skills and specifically targeting them?!

Victor! It must be someone sent by Victor!

The three of them used all their strength to rush out of the tavern and dove into the pickup truck parked on the side of the road. Franklin floored the gas, and the truck shot out like an arrow from a bow, the tires screeching against the ground.

Lin Fan looked back and saw a black shadow standing quietly at the tavern entrance, the moonlight outlining his tall and cold figure. He held a sniper rifle, the muzzle still emitting faint blue smoke. His eyes flashed with cold light in the darkness, like a predatory beast, staring intently at the direction they were leaving.

"He didn't chase us." Lin Fan breathed a sigh of relief, only to find his back already soaked with cold sweat.

Franklin's face was also very ugly. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his palms full of sweat. "That guy... is too terrifying. If he wanted to kill us just now, we wouldn't have been able to escape at all."

Michael leaned against the seat, his face becoming paler and paler, his lips starting to turn purple. His shoulder was still bleeding, staining the entire seat red. The smell of blood filled the cramped car, making one nauseous.

"We must find a place to treat the wound." Lin Fan said through gritted teeth. "If this continues, Michael will die!"

Franklin nodded. He slammed the steering wheel, and the pickup turned into a remote path, heading towards the abandoned factory where they had previously hidden.

That place was desolate and remote, rarely visited, and should be safe for the time being.

A dozen minutes later, the pickup stopped at the entrance of the abandoned factory.

The three of them walked into the factory, supporting each other. The factory was covered in dust and cobwebs, with abandoned parts and rusty steel pipes piled in the corners. Moonlight shone through the damaged roof, casting mottled light and shadows on the ground.

Franklin found a relatively clean rag and handed it to Lin Fan. "Help Michael stop the bleeding first."

Lin Fan took the rag and carefully pressed it onto Michael's wound. Michael twitched in pain, cold sweat dropping from his forehead like beads on a broken string, but he gritted his teeth, not making a sound.

Just then, Lin Fan's gaze inadvertently swept over a pillar in the factory.

Something seemed to be stuck on the pillar.

He walked over and, by the moonlight, saw clearly what it was—a note.

The note was written in black ink, the handwriting neat and cold. It only had one sentence: "Next time, I won't miss."

Lin Fan's heart sank. He reached out to tear off the note and flipped it to the back.

On the back, a name was clearly signed—Victor.

It really was the Snake Fang Gang! It really was Victor!

"It was someone sent by Victor." Lin Fan held the note, his voice cold.

Michael and Franklin leaned over to take a look, their faces becoming incredibly grim.

"Damn Victor!" Franklin punched the pillar in anger. "He wants to wipe us out!"

Michael took a deep breath, enduring the intense pain, and said: "That assassin... is not simple. His skills are definitely not those of an ordinary gang member."

Lin Fan nodded. Recalling the speed and marksmanship of the shadow earlier, he felt a lingering fear.

That assassin was like a ghost, coming without a trace, leaving without a shadow, ruthless in his actions, every move fatal.

If he hadn't been lucky earlier, all three of them would probably have died in that tavern today.

"Why didn't he chase us?" Franklin asked suspiciously. "With his skills, it shouldn't be hard for him to catch up to us."

Lin Fan was silent for a moment and said: "He is warning us. He wants us to live in fear, to let us know that he can take our lives at any time."

This psychological pressure was more unbearable than killing them directly.

Michael leaned against the pillar, his face as pale as paper. His breathing became more and more rapid, the pain of the wound making him almost faint.

"We must find a doctor as soon as possible." Lin Fan said through gritted teeth. "Michael's injury cannot be delayed."

Franklin was also anxious: "But we're wanted criminals now, we can't go to a regular hospital at all!"

Lin Fan's brow was tightly locked. He took out the fifty thousand dollars from his pocket, looking at the thick stack of bills, but felt no joy at all.

This money was simply not enough.

To treat Michael's wound, he needed to find a black-market doctor, and the asking price of black-market doctors was always astronomical.

To survive, to take revenge, to deal with Victor and his assassin, they needed more money.

More, much more money.

Lin Fan's gaze fell on the system panel.

The cooldown for the primary hacking skill was still 18 hours.

And in his mind, a thought suddenly flashed—that bug that could repeatedly farm money.

The system had previously hinted that using the bug would trigger a butterfly effect.

But now, they had no other choice.

Just as the three were falling into despair, no one noticed that on the roof of the factory, a black shadow was quietly lurking.

The black shadow wore a black night-suit, with a black mask on his face, revealing only a pair of cold eyes.

He held a miniature walkie-talkie in his hand, his voice low and hoarse: "Boss, mission accomplished. They have already hidden in the abandoned factory, and Michael is shot and injured."

From the other side of the walkie-talkie came Victor's cold voice: "Very good. Ghost, well done."

The assassin known as Ghost nodded slightly: "Boss, why not just kill them?"

Victor chuckled, his tone full of cruelty and playfulness: "Kill them? That would be too easy for them. I want them to taste what it means to be worse than dead. I want them to watch everything they worked so hard to earn turn into nothing, little by little. I want them to know that offending me, Victor, is the most stupid decision of their lives."

Ghost was silent for a moment, then asked: "Then what should I do next?"

"Wait." Victor's voice carried a hint of malice. "When they are at their wit's end, they will naturally reveal their flaws. At that time, we will round them all up."

Ghost nodded and hung up the walkie-talkie.

He looked down at the three figures in the factory, his eyes without any ripples, only a cold, dead silence.

He was Ghost, the sharpest blade under Victor.

His mission was to kill.

And Lin Fan, Michael, and Franklin had already been added to his death list.

The moonlight grew colder.

The atmosphere in the abandoned factory was oppressively stifling.

Lin Fan looked at the unconscious Michael, then at the note in his hand, his eyes becoming increasingly firm.

Ghost, is it?

Victor, is it?

You want to play, I'll play to the end!

The game in Los Santos has just begun.

And he, Lin Fan, would absolutely not be the loser!