5: Chapter 5 The Snake Fang Gang's Trap

The night hung heavy over Los Santos like a rag soaked in ink. Outside a corrugated iron factory in the abandoned industrial zone, wind-blown sand and gravel battered the rusted doors with muffled thuds. Lin Fan crouched atop a tattered cardboard box inside the warehouse, his fingertips tracing the screen of his flip phone. A line of text on the SMS interface glowed with eye-piercing brightness: 'Heshun Abandoned Factory has a batch of high-tech gear for low-price resale. Pick it up tonight at 10 PM. Trusted contacts don't need to bring heat.'

The sender was noted as 'A friend introduced by Franklin.'

Lin Fan's eyes burned with excitement. It had been half a month since his transmigration. From earning his first pot of gold by robbing a convenience store to winning a race against Franklin in a beat-up pickup truck, he had finally gained a foothold in this godforsaken place. The rewards from the system—Driving Mastery and Constitution Enhancement—had given him a taste of success, and his 'gamer mindset' had become deeply ingrained. To him, Los Santos was just a massive open world, and this text message was clearly a side-quest reward delivered right to his door.

"High-tech gear, huh..." He smacked his lips, feeling the hundred thousand dollar prize money tucked in his jacket as he made his little calculations. "With that stuff, I'll have some real backing the next time I run into trouble. Someone introduced by Franklin must be reliable."

He didn't stop to think that Franklin had only mentioned 'knowing some black market friends' and had never actually given him any contact information. Even more critically, the Environment Scan skill on his system panel was glowing, capable of detecting ambushes within fifty meters; however, blinded by the 'low-priced gear,' he merely glanced at the icon and dismissed it.

"It's just picking up some goods, scanning is too much trouble." He pocketed his phone, stood up while munching on potato chips, completely unaware he was crawling straight into a viper's nest.

On a skyscraper rooftop three blocks away, Victor leaned against the railing, fiddling with a black-gemmed ring. His suit was perfectly pressed, and the scar at the corner of his eye looked hideous in the moonlight. Standing in the shadows was Ghost, the Snake Fang Gang's top assassin, clad in a trench coat and sunglasses, his aura as cold as ice.

"Boss, the kid took the bait." Ghost's voice carried no ripple of emotion. "The text was sent from the phone of that fair-weather friend of Franklin's. That guy owes us half a million; he didn't dare refuse to cooperate."

Victor chuckled softly, the black gem glinting coldly. "Lin Fan... an interesting brat. Robbing convenience stores, winning street races, even acting like brothers with Michael. Does he really think Los Santos is his playground?" He turned to Ghost, his eyes filled with the mockery of a cat playing with a mouse. "Is the factory set up?"

"Ready," Ghost nodded. "The room is stacked with empty boxes, projectors are hidden in the ceiling, and the boys are lying in wait in the ventilation ducts. As soon as he enters, we'll lock the doors, start the projection, and then..."

"And then we leak the news to the Enforcement Team," Victor finished the thought, his smile icy. "I want him to know what 'rules' mean in Los Santos, and what the consequences are for crossing the Snake Fang Gang."

The night wind swept dust across the rooftop as Victor sent a text: 'The prey has entered. Prepare the show.'

At 10 PM sharp, Lin Fan arrived at the Heshun Abandoned Factory. A large lock hung on the rusted iron gate. Following the instructions, he fished a key out from a crack in the bricks and pushed the door open with a metallic click.

The factory interior was pitch black, with moonlight leaking through holes in the roof to illuminate the dust and junk covering the floor. A pungent stench of rust mixed with engine oil hit him, and spiderwebs in the corners were as thick as curtains.

"Anyone here?" he shouted, his voice echoing hollowly.

He pulled out his phone to use the flashlight. The beam swept across the room, stopping on a stack of cardboard boxes in the center. The boxes were labeled 'High-Tech Equipment' and stacked waist-high, looking quite convincing.

"It really is here!" Lin Fan's eyes lit up. He stepped forward quickly and reached out to tear the seal.

Just as his fingertips touched the tape, the main door slammed shut with a deafening bang, locking automatically!

Immediately after, the projection equipment in the ceiling flared to life. Piercing white light hit the wall, projecting a massive snake-head emblem—the totem of the Snake Fang Gang. Below the emblem, a row of blood-red words slowly emerged:

Welcome to your Snake Fang Gang interview, rookie.

Lin Fan's hand froze in mid-air as an ominous premonition instantly gripped his heart.

"Stop playing games and come the hell out!" he roared, turning his head sharply, his throat dry.

He was answered by a rustling sound from the ventilation ducts. Over a dozen burly men with snake-head tattoos crawled out, clutching gleaming steel pipes, their smiles dripping with malice.

The factory intercom suddenly crackled to life, and Victor's sinister voice broadcasted to every corner: "Lin Fan, I trust you've been well."

Lin Fan's pupils constricted, and cold sweat drenched his back. He finally realized this wasn't some delivery mission at all—it was a trap!

"Victor! You Snake Fang Gang scum!" he growled through gritted teeth. "You fucking played me!"

Victor's soft chuckle came through the speakers, full of mockery. "Played you? I'm just inviting you to an interview. The question is—how does a rookie who treats Los Santos like a game survive?"

"You thought the high-tech gear was real? You thought a friend of Franklin's would just hand out benefits?" Victor's voice suddenly turned cold. "Lin Fan, you're too naive. In this world, there's no such thing as a free lunch, only free stabs."

Lin Fan trembled with rage. He clenched his fists and bolted toward the ventilation ducts. But as soon as he moved, the thugs around him raised their guns and pulled their triggers toward the ceiling!

The gunfire was deafening in the enclosed factory, bullets sparking against the corrugated iron. Terrified, Lin Fan ducked back behind the boxes, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would explode.

Just then, the piercing wail of sirens sounded from outside. Red and blue lights flashed through the door cracks, blinding anyone who looked.

"The Enforcement Team is here!" one thug sneered. "Kid, just wait to get busted!"

Lin Fan's head buzzed, and cold sweat poured down his cheeks. He looked at the surrounding thugs, then heard the approaching sirens, pacing frantically. The system's Environment Scan skill was flashing madly, but it was far too late to activate it now.

"Fuck!" he growled, his gaze sweeping to the ventilation vent overhead—the only way out.

He lunged upward, using the boxes as cover to scramble into the ventilation duct. The thugs cursed and fired; a bullet grazed his arm, the heat searing his skin.

"Get him! Don't let him escape!"

Lin Fan gritted his teeth and crawled into the narrow duct, pushing forward with all his might. The pipe was filled with dust and grease, scraping his arms and legs until they burned with pain.

Just as he crawled past a corner, a cold shot rang out!

The bullet pierced the thin iron of the duct and struck his shoulder with precision!

Agony exploded instantly. Lin Fan let out a scream, nearly falling out of the duct. He twisted his head toward the source of the shot, only to see a dark shadow flash by the vent opening—it was Ghost!

"You run fast, kid," Ghost's voice was as cold as ice. "Unfortunately, you can't escape."

Lin Fan didn't have time to respond. Clutching his bleeding shoulder, he crawled forward desperately. Gunshots chased him from behind, bullets punching through the iron and leaving a trail of holes around him.

The sirens grew closer; he could even hear the Enforcement Team shouting commands. Lin Fan knew he couldn't be caught. If he was, Victor would surely make sure he died in prison.

Enduring the intense pain, he finally reached the end of the duct, kicked open the exit grate, and tumbled out.

Outside was a foul-smelling sewer, sewage rushing through the dim, damp tunnel. Ignoring the disgust, Lin Fan held his bleeding shoulder and stumbled deeper into the darkness.

Behind him, toward the factory, sirens and gunfire intertwined. He knew his wanted level must have skyrocketed to five stars.

Waves of pain radiated from his shoulder, and the scent of blood filled his nose. Lin Fan staggered along, then suddenly remembered something and roared back toward the factory: "Victor! You damn game NPCs are playing dirty! Have the balls to face me one-on-one!"

His only answer was the echo in the sewer and the faint, distant sirens.

He leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid down, hissing in pain. His shoulder wound was still bleeding. He tore a piece of his shirt to haphazardly bandage it, his mind a mess.

"Damn it... this shitty game actually hurts..." He panted, his eyes reddening. Suddenly thinking of Michael, he couldn't help but shout, "Brother Michael! Help! I'll treat you to real-world hotpot! Yuanyang style! Extra spicy!"

In the vast sewer, only his shouts echoed back.

Unbeknownst to him, outside the factory, Victor stood in the shadows watching the building being surrounded by the Enforcement Team, a cold smile curling on his lips. Ghost walked up to him and whispered, "Boss, he got away."

"Let him run," Victor said, fiddling with his ring, his eyes dark. "With a five-star wanted level and a heavy wound, he won't get far. I want him to live like a rat, hiding in the sewers, never seeing the light of day again."

He paused, looking toward the sewer's direction, his voice bone-chillingly cold: "The game has only just begun."