Chapter 207: The Origin of Blackout Day

“You seem to disapprove of my methods.”

On the way back, Lynch shared a vehicle with the sergeant. In truth, there was a deeper motive behind what had just happened.

Ferrell’s wife’s father—Lynch’s father-in-law—had no hesitation in transferring these professionally trained soldiers to Lynch’s command. That trust came from the kind of indoctrination these men had received during their service. They had been conditioned to the point where harming the state was nearly unthinkable.

The same message was repeated every day—by commanders, comrades, television, radio, priests, even therapists. Eventually, the soldiers began repeating it themselves.

It became impossible to tell whether the belief was their own or something implanted.

So when Lynch gave the order, the sergeant hesitated. His hand had trembled at the end—not only from misjudging the force needed to hold the leg steady during the strike, but from a psychological resistance to hurting civilians.

Sitting next to Lynch, the sergeant said nothing. Following orders had become instinct. He no longer had a superior, yet he still obeyed without question.

Lynch, however, didn’t stop speaking. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s natural. But society isn’t the military. You’ve forgotten where we are.”

“These people are criminals. They’ve already started to harm this country and society. If we don’t stop them now, they’ll only grow more reckless.”

There was a strange power in Lynch’s tone—calm yet firm. The sergeant began to listen more carefully.

“Think about it—if we handed them to the police, they’d walk free, just because their crimes weren’t serious enough.”

“But that kind of leniency teaches them the law won’t touch them. It emboldens them.”

“This time it was theft, barely different from open robbery, and they got away with it. What next—armed robbery?”

The sergeant started thinking. Lynch was right: if wrongdoing goes unpunished, it only escalates.

“First robbery—they’re amateurs. The victim resists. They panic and run. Nothing is taken.”

“The victim, too shaken but unhurt, stays silent. The criminals think they’ve beaten the system again.”

“Next, they plan to ensure the victim won’t fight back. The simplest, most effective method—kill them.”

“A quick burn can destroy evidence, making the police’s job exponentially harder.”

“If they aren’t caught quickly, they’ll strike again—smarter, faster, more experienced. Eventually, they become a serial killing gang.”

“But today, we put an end to that before it started. In a way, we saved them. Maybe now they’ll reconsider, find work, live better lives.”

“And many innocent people were saved by our actions.”

“So… do you still feel guilty?”

The sergeant visibly relaxed. Lynch didn’t need to explain any of this—military training would’ve made him accept it eventually—but the explanation made the change in mindset quicker.

And Lynch’s reasoning wasn’t hollow. The police had released these people the first time. That leniency had encouraged them to continue. The sergeant could see clearly now the moral and behavioral decline.

Lynch patted his arm. “If one day I do something that harms the nation or its people, promise me—you’ll stop me.”

“But if what we’re doing doesn’t hurt this country or its citizens, then I hope you’ll support me.”

The sergeant’s lips moved. He looked at Lynch. Lynch understood. He smiled. “We may be employer and employee, but we’re also friends. If you’re not used to it, you can still call me sir. I don’t mind.”

Maybe encouraged by Lynch’s sincerity, the sergeant straightened up and nodded. “Yes, sir!”

Lynch smiled. That smile made the sergeant feel at ease. People with clean, genuine smiles are often more accepted by society—no one believes someone who smiles like that could be truly cruel.

“Let’s talk about something else. Ever been overseas?”

The shift in mood helped the sergeant relax a little, though he hesitated.

“If it’s confidential, don’t answer,” Lynch added. “We’re just chatting. About future work.”

The sergeant chose to admit it, without elaborating. It was a small step toward trust.

Lynch began talking about the kind of work they might face—overseas operations.

The domestic crisis in the federation was going to end eventually, and society would return to a normal state. When that happened, international engagement would resume.

The isolationist stance of the Conservative Cabinet reflected a broader fear in the Beiler Federation—fear of foreign entanglements, fear of sending loved ones to war.

But in the end, poverty was more terrifying than war.

International trade would bring conflict, and that’s where the sergeant and his men came in.

“Protecting citizens abroad is the duty of every patriot. In global affairs, there’s no right or wrong—only strength and weakness.”

“The strong can invent any excuse, and people will accept it.”

“The weak? No matter how reasonable their argument, people will call it an excuse.”

“My safety—and my future—will depend on all of you.”

That sense of purpose drew the sergeant deeper into Lynch’s mission. He liked it—it reminded him of active duty.

Lynch agreed to his proposal to build a base following military standards and supported him in recruiting more retired soldiers. He also announced the formation of a private firm—Blackstone Security—to manage them. The car fell quiet again.

The next morning, the injured young men had just fallen asleep in the hospital when they were awakened by a well-dressed man with a lawyer’s badge.

In front of them, the lawyer informed them that philanthropist Mr. Lynch had heard of their situation and would cover their medical expenses entirely. On top of that, he’d provide each of them with 500 bucks in nutritional support.

Honestly, this unexpected gift made all thoughts of revenge—dreamed up during their treatment—suddenly feel meaningless. Medical costs were a heavy burden, and not only did they owe nothing, they were even getting paid a bit.

Apart from the hot-headed youth who told the lawyer to get lost, the others all signed a “donation agreement” and agreed not to pursue any legal action.

As for the hot-headed young man, society would teach him that without real power, rage doesn’t make one look dominant—only more vulnerable.

The matter was resolved perfectly. News of the group of men with broken legs—and the story behind it—quickly spread through the warehouse district and nearby streets. People immediately understood that the Interstellar Trading Company was not one to be trifled with.

Unlike other businesses, which often ignored minor thefts and didn’t even bother calling the police, the Interstellar Trading Company—and the man behind it—was not an ordinary businessman.

Soon after, rumors circulated that Mark had invested in the company. That only confirmed people’s suspicions and made them even more wary of the Interstellar Trading Company. No one wanted to talk about it anymore.

In mid-November, a massive strike broke out across the Federation. This time, it was serious—not a weekend protest, but a full-scale weekday work stoppage.

The reason the workers and unions were so resolute was that the President’s cabinet had no effective solution for the chaos. Instead, they unleashed the Security Committee—a domestic agency—to arrest anyone who expressed dissatisfaction with the administration.

Whether worker or merchant, anyone reported would be taken away by the Security Committee. This climate of fear made people feel alienated from their own country. On top of that, recent rumors of a presidential impeachment had suddenly vanished. Insiders claimed the advocates had disappeared. The first wave of strikes and protests began.

People demanded a more open society, fewer working hours, and higher wages.

Sabin City also saw protests. A large number of workers and unemployed gathered in the streets with banners, chanting slogans. The entire city came to a standstill.

Even the power company employees joined the strike. To ensure equipment safety, they shut down all systems.

In other words, Sabin City entered an unprecedented blackout—the first in the Federation’s history. And it wasn’t alone. Over 70% of cities across the country experienced massive blackouts due to the movement.

It was a day bound to go down in history—perhaps to be remembered as Blackout Day.