As a night shift worker, Alex is all too familiar with East End nights.
His parents are workers in the East District, and he is considered a child born and raised in the East District. Perhaps because he is used to the storms, he is not the target of blackmail by gangs, nor is he the target of criminals.
Adhering to the principle of not caring about himself, he managed to maintain a stable income by working in a factory. However, his parents... became seriously ill due to the intense work of twelve hours a day, and both of them passed away.
After that, Alex had to start to familiarize himself with the rules and order of the East District. From then on, he would not and could not meddle in others' own business. In the East District, survival was more important than other things.
It's dark night now.
Gangsters began to operate, night markets began to open, everything seemed to be chaotic, but there was a certain conventional order hidden.
The streets were filled with sporadic flames produced by burning candles and lanterns. Obviously, the technology of God-given light was not allowed to be used by night markets.
But Alex is different. He has to deal with the "God-given light" almost every day.
The ceiling of the factory has a circular glass cover, and the light coming from inside is the "God-given light."
It was a gift from the gods. Even at night, it was still as bright as day.
Alex thought as he unknowingly walked into the bakery he frequented.
He knew that cheap but rough-tasting bread was sold there. It only cost two copper coins to provide enough food and clothing for a meal. If he ate it quickly with cold water, his mouth would become very soft and he wouldn't feel anything.
Strange place.
The most important thing is...
A hint of blush swept over the cheeks of this twenty-two-year-old young man, and then quickly disappeared without a trace.
"Is it Mr. Alex?" Phryne Bianca stood behind the rectangular counter with a smile. Her face was filled with energy that did not belong to the East End. This may be what fascinated Alex.
.
"How about another piece of rye bread and a glass of cold water?" Phryne took out a dinner plate from the cupboard and poured a glass of cold water from the pot on the side.
"Uh, yes, yes..." Alex pretended to smooth his hair casually, slightly covering his expression, then waited at the counter for a few seconds, picked up his plate and walked over as if nothing had happened.
The dining area of the bakery.
There were only sporadic candlelight and cold benches and dining tables, and there were rats infested, but fortunately Miss Phryne kept the place clean and would not cause any uncomfortable physiological reaction when he swallowed the bread.
"Little Jimmy is dead."
At the end of the dining area, the only customer was sitting there with his head bowed, with a half-empty glass of cold water in front of him.
In the shadows, his voice seemed darker and darker.
"Little Jimmy? What are you talking about-" Alex sat opposite him, swallowing the bread in big gulps. When he heard this, he suddenly froze, with the bread wrapped in his mouth, and he didn't know how to react.
"The man at the Manchester City Steel Plant, two hundred feet away from Wisconsin, fell from the elevated building and died two days ago." The middle-aged man coughed twice, "Last time you and he were in this bakery together.
Have eaten."
"But..." Alex struggled to swallow the bread and took another sip of cold water, "But Uncle Boggs, this has nothing to do with us..."
Boggs took a sip of water, shook his head and said, "It does matter, it does matter a lot. Do you know how much his workers' compensation compensation is?"
"Two gold coins?" Alex said a conservative number, "Vatican law stipulates..."
"A silver coin," Boggs shook his head again, "a silver coin."
"A silver coin?!" Alex's voice suddenly rose, but he looked around cautiously, "Doesn't he have a sister?! A silver coin, do the factory executives want to starve her to death?"
"This is what I want to say, because of this incident, workers in several large factories such as Connecticut and Manchester have started strikes and demonstrations," Boggs said, "I have lived for forty years, and God be damned, I have never
I have seen such a scene. What I want to say is... Fanas, things may change."
Biting the bread, Alex looked up at his co-workers and said with a wry smile: "If the sky changes, what does it have to do with us... Little people like us can't affect the current situation, let alone turn things around.
Uncle, you should also know that the Holy See has always been very strict in its management of this aspect... Let's not get involved..."
Roughly speaking, Boggs is already in his forties this year. He has experienced the rise of the Holy See and witnessed the steel forest in the industrial capital step by step to its current achievements.
As time goes by, the world becomes darker and more depressing, like an invisible cage that seals the mouths of citizens and clamps their limbs.
Newspapers are full of praise for the Holy See and criticism and insults for neighboring countries. There is no room for any criticism or questioning. Workers and citizens only dare to get angry but dare not speak out. Some people are even really criticized by those newspapers.
They were brainwashed by reports and praised the greatness of the Holy See all day long. When asked carefully, they could not tell what contribution they had made to Fanas.
The Holy See seems to have lost itself in the praise. Of course, maybe they have not changed at all, but have just been exposed. Their essence has been exposed - rulers, cruel rulers.
Alex looked at the familiar uncle in front of him, the uncle who had been taking care of him since his mother's death.
He didn't want Boggs to get involved in these tortuous power struggles.
But Alex had never seen Boggs look so gloomy.
Angry, sad.
"Although the workers in Wisconsin haven't resisted yet, you can probably see their grievances," Boggs sighed. "Since the monthly commissions were lowered the year before last and workers were bought out at very low prices, the East District's
The lives of the workers are getting worse and worse. We still have at least a dozen silver coins per month, which can still meet the basic needs of food and clothing... They have even been deprived of the qualification to survive."
"But God..."
"God would not want to see such a scene," Boggs said with a serious expression, "The Holy See...the Holy See cannot represent God's will."
"Shh, uncle, don't get excited..." Alex looked around nervously and sighed: "But even if you deny the Holy See, what can you do... We live under the rule of the Holy See and what we eat
Everything used is a gift from God. If we leave the Holy See and lose our connection with God, Fanas will not become better... Moreover, we are simply unable to fight against the Holy See."
While they were talking, the two of them didn't notice at all that an ice-blue drone was hidden in the corner, floating quietly.
