Blackstone Code

Nail and his companions gathered in a relatively secluded small park, each holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a large fried chicken burger in the other.

These were the reasons they came here: free beer and free fried chicken burgers.

This seemingly unhealthy diet was exactly what the working class favored. They liked this high-calorie food and needed the energy to fill their bodies after a day's work.

At this moment, such food had even greater appeal to them. After everyone lost their jobs, everything changed. Their families rarely bought food anymore, choosing to save money for emergencies instead.

The food stamps issued by the city hall provided them with enough food for daily life. Though it wouldn't starve them, they certainly missed these flavors.

A man standing in the crowd was loudly preaching seemingly profound truths, saying they must take back what they lost with their own hands. The factory owners who exploited them every day should now return the money they squeezed from them.

They didn't want to do anything terrible, but society had reached a dangerous edge. Workers and factory owners should be united.

In the past, they always endured the exploitation and oppression of the factory owners, but now the factory owners should help them so that everyone could get through this difficult time together, not just kick them out.

The man also gave examples, such as in some northern industrial cities where even if the factories were not in operation, the owners would still pay the workers minimum wages to help them through the current difficulties.

But their boss simply kicked them out at the first sign of trouble, completely extinguishing their hopes.

"This is a war of revenge!" the organizer roared loudly. His growls were indeed very provocative, and many people began to shout along with him.

However, more people remained calmly watching. Workers were not criminals. Sometimes they might seem difficult to get along with, but in fact, they were a law-abiding group. Otherwise, they wouldn't silently endure various forms of exploitation without standing up to resist.

Someone suddenly interrupted, asking, "Schick, are you planning to kidnap the boss?"

Schick was the organizer's name. He didn't show any strong aggression after hearing this, just shook his head, "Hey, guys, listen. I'm not asking you to commit crimes with me. That's illegal, and we could go to jail for that."

"Though I've heard they serve chicken and beef every day in there, losing freedom isn't pleasant."

"What I want is to take back our share!" He turned his eyes to his fellow workers standing or sitting in the open space. "There's still a full warehouse of raw materials in the material warehouse. We can open it up, continue production, and then take what we produce to sell."

"I heard that the Interstellar Trading Company buys all kinds of goods. We can sell these things at a relatively low price and use this money to make up for what he usually exploits from us."

"This money will at least get us through the end of the year!"

His voice grew louder and more resolute, "This is what we deserve!"

These words avoided the most direct criminal acts, although it was still a crime. But compared to serious crimes like harm, kidnapping, and extortion, it was much milder and more acceptable.

For a moment, many people were tempted. As factory workers, they knew how much their products were worth. Schick made a lot of sense—they were just taking back what was rightfully theirs.

Thinking about how difficult life had been recently, with beer and fried chicken becoming luxuries, some onlookers also became eager to take action.

Nail's friend nudged him with his elbow. This was his good friend; they were classmates. They started working before finishing high school. According to federal law, child labor was allowed under strict standards.

They started working at fourteen or fifteen, which wasn't illegal. It significantly reduced the burden on their families, and most families were like this back then.

The two went to school together, dropped out together, found a job together, and worked as colleagues until two months ago.

"What do you think, should we join?"

Nail hesitated. He was a good person, sometimes with a bad temper, but he had never committed a crime, like most men in ordinary families.

They might seem wild and rude at times, looking like they could kill someone anytime, but this was their disguise. Underneath that fragile facade, they were ordinary people who could also break down and get hurt.

He took a swig of beer, the rich malt aroma and bursting bubbles making him sigh deeply in contentment. This was the most pleasant moment since he lost his job. "I'm not sure. Schick is with the union. If the boss gives him trouble, the union will back him up."

He had a sentence left unsaid, and his meaning wasn't very clear, but his old friend by his side understood what he meant. "We're also with the union."

Nail shook his head and continued, "It's different. He's their 'golden boy.'"

In simpler terms, Schick was "assigned" to the factory by the workers' union to organize the union within the factory. He was also considered the workers' representative in the factory.

He not only represented the factory's workers but also, to some extent, the face of the Sabine City Workers' Union, the state workers' union, and the federal workers' union.

To put it plainly, if Schick got into trouble, the powerful workers' union would support him.

But if others got into trouble, they could only seek help from Schick. But that wouldn't be Schick's problem. The workers' union would provide some assistance, but not as much as they would for Schick.

"If something really goes wrong, someone has to take responsibility. I don't want it to be you or me."

Nail finally expressed his attitude, but his friend had a different view.

"Nobody will pay attention to small fry like us. Even if they want to find someone responsible, they'll go after that guy..." Nail's friend gestured towards Schick, who was still inciting the crowd.

"Besides, this is a good opportunity. We don't know how long these hard times will last. We need to prepare for the future."

In the end, Nail couldn't change his old friend's mind, nor could his old friend change his. This was their first major disagreement since they met in the first grade.

Small disagreements were normal, but this was the first time they had a principled disagreement. In the end, Nail left under the disdainful and hostile gazes of the others, along with a few others.

They were labeled as freeloaders by the remaining people, who seemed to forget that Schick had organized this event with the promise of free food and drinks.

Nail didn't know if his choice was right or what would happen with his old friend in the future, which made him anxious.

In fact, he didn't realize that the reason he didn't make this decision was not because he feared committing a crime, but because he hadn't been pushed to the edge yet.

When Schick asked them to leave, what he said was very true: Nail and the others who left were not on the same path as those willing to take risks. This statement hit the core of their differences.

Those people had been pushed to the brink with no way out, but those who left, including Nail, were not at the edge yet. They still had more options, so they didn't have the courage to take desperate measures.

Feeling somewhat displeased, he returned home. As soon as he opened the door, a nauseating smell wafted from the living room. He frowned, missing the taste of fried chicken and beer even more.

As the pillar of the family for a long time, Nail's authority wasn't affected by his unemployment.

He glanced at the kitchen and immediately noticed the bottle of alcohol on the counter. "You bought wine?" His short sentence was filled with several noticeable increases in volume, showing his displeasure.

Sella quickly turned to explain, "Lynch came back and brought it as a gift."

Nail fell silent because Lynch was the last resort he didn't want to admit, his final choice.

He suddenly felt a bit flustered, unsure of how to face Lynch. If Lynch had followed his advice, they would now be no different from those in the park, with no way out.

But admitting this would make him unhappy, implying his decision was incredibly foolish. As the head of the family, this would make him lose face.

Nail didn't speak, and Sella remained silent, continuing to prepare dinner. Ten minutes later, the family sat at the very old but meticulously cleaned dining table.

"I don't know if you'll like this. I added some beans and potatoes," Sella introduced their dinner to Lynch. She seemed embarrassed, as if ashamed of not being able to serve exquisite food to her child.

In front of the three of them was a simple meal, each with a bowl containing some thick, mushy food that looked like it had beans and potato chunks mixed in.

Due to a lack of cooking knowledge, the beans had lost their bright green color, turning slightly yellow. The whole bowl of food looked like someone had defecated in it.

This was what the food stamps exchanged food looked like after being cooked.

Lynch raised an eyebrow, scooped a spoonful, tasted it, and nodded.

After swallowing the food, he put down the spoon. "I thought I wouldn't be able to eat it, but it tastes much better than I expected."

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