Chapter 215: Unexpected Luck and Who’s More Foolish

Tom—a very ordinary name, so ordinary that people rarely choose it for their children.

But it is indeed a person’s name, and right now, Tom was hiding anxiously in a narrow alley.

A military vehicle slowly passed by on the street. The soldiers inside couldn’t see Tom, who was concealed deep in the shadows. The soldier with his hands on the machine gun only scanned the lighted areas.

The strike was over, and martial law had relaxed into a curfew.

From 6 p.m. to 7 a.m., no one was allowed on the streets without a valid reason.

The military originally planned to issue permits for those who needed to go out at night, but the idea was scrapped because some thought it resembled oppressive rule, clashing with the Federal Baylor’s image as a free nation.

Instead, anyone out during curfew had to show their social security number and explain why they were outside their bedrooms.

This was freedom—no one interfering with personal will, as long as reasons could be given.

Long Live the Federation!

Once the military vehicle left, Tom breathed a sigh of relief. After hearing no more patrol footsteps, he slipped again between light and shadow.

His destination was Nail’s house.

Nail was his best friend since first grade. Until recently, they had worked together at the same factory and were now unemployed.

Unemployed wasn’t quite right—the factory was indefinitely shut down.

Their foreman had the idea to move raw materials from the warehouse directly to the workshop to produce goods, then share the finished products among workers to sell and recoup losses.

Tom and Nail, always on the same page, had a disagreement on this.

Eventually, Tom and some workers broke into the warehouse, took raw materials to the workshop, and produced goods. They divided the products among themselves, mostly selling to the Interstellar Trading Company.

Though the exchange was disrupted during the strike, purchasing never was a problem because the recycling centers were guarded by armed security, which seemed legitimate.

Everyone thought this wouldn’t have consequences. During the strike, the factory owner did nothing. But just after the strike ended, the owner sued them all for over three million in damages.

Police and soldiers began arresting them. A new batch of officers, more efficient than the previous ones, took their places.

The old police had assumed they could return after the strike, but they underestimated the veterans’ office, which filled the vacancies with veterans.

Those old officers now had no positions.

Escape from legal punishment was nearly impossible. After narrowly avoiding capture, Tom planned to ask Nail for help, having heard Nail was doing well, even holding a managerial title.

The compensation per person was only ten to twenty thousand… only!

After dodging several patrols, Tom arrived at Nail’s door and knocked. Soon, sounds came from inside.

In the eerie silence of the city, Tom even heard the click of a mechanical spring—gunfire.

Nail’s cautious voice came, “There’s no money here, and we don’t want trouble…”

Countless crimes occurred during the strike. Because people focused on labor disputes, they ignored that hundreds of families were raided—some women assaulted, some victims killed by robbers.

People didn’t notice because it didn’t affect them directly; they only saw what concerned them.

The midnight knock made Nail tense. His response was typical of their class: “If you’re here to rob, there’s nothing to steal.” He even meekly admitted he didn’t want trouble.

“It’s me, Tom.”

The door opened, light flooding out. Tom breathed easier. Looking at Nail, words tumbled inside him, but he didn’t know where to begin.

“Just you?” Nail glanced at the dark hallway behind Tom, still gripping his pistol tightly.

Tom nodded. Nail stepped aside, pocketed his gun, and let Tom in.

Nail glanced again down the pitch-black hallway, then locked the door.

This was a necessary trick for living here—most wouldn’t lock their doors when visitors came, giving outsiders chances. Nail wouldn’t let that happen.

They sat down, Nail poured some wine. The weather was colder, and the room had no heating.

Without a drink, they’d freeze from the inside out.

They drank quietly for a while.

Maybe the alcohol loosened Tom’s expression as he said grimly, “I need your help. You’re the only one who can help me now.”

Looking at his old friend of decades, Nail felt no softness like before. He agreed immediately, perhaps due to recent experiences.

Since Lynch appointed him manager of a construction company, working with Asel for over a month, Nail realized things weren’t as simple as he once thought.

At first, he saw capitalists as evil. But after becoming their lapdog, he found it wasn’t so absolute.

Outside the employment center, people begged humbly for work, praying like worshippers, desperate to feed their families.

He wanted to save many, but realized he couldn’t.

Lynch’s budget was limited. Nail had to finish his tasks within it. He couldn’t save everyone.

He picked the most pitiful but soon realized he’d been deceived.

Some worked hard, but others slacked off. One man in his thirties even injured his finger on purpose, refusing work while demanding full pay equal to others’ hours.

Gradually, Nail grew less angry, more cold and detached. He didn’t know if this was good or bad—just that his understanding of the world had deepened.

Nail said nothing. Tom, confused, thought he’d been unclear.

“About that last matter, what Heck said—our boss reported us to the police and sued. I can’t pay that money!”

“He actually demanded we compensate him based on the retail price of the goods. Even if I still have those items, I can’t afford to pay that much. He only wants money!”

Their former boss was demanding over three million in damages for the factory’s losses, about 80% of which was calculated based on the market retail price of the products.

In other words, regardless of how much the raw materials were worth, they had to compensate the factory according to the retail prices.

The factory owner hadn’t even expected this—he suddenly made a huge profit and was saved from bankruptcy.

To appease the capitalists, the city hall and judiciary agreed to prosecute those responsible for damages during the strike. The Sabin City Court sided with the factory owner.

If they couldn’t pay the three million, they would face severe prison sentences.

Tom’s face was full of regret. “I should have listened to you, Nail. You have to help me!”

Nail was silent for a moment. “How much is left?”

Tom said hesitantly, “Twenty-two thousand…”

Nail frowned. “How much did you get from selling your share?”

“Fifteen hundred…”

The room fell silent. After over ten seconds, Nail confirmed he hadn’t misheard. “You sold tens of thousands worth of goods for… fifteen hundred?”

Nail never thought Tom was a fool—sometimes he was even clever. But after not seeing him for over a month, Nail suddenly felt Tom was more than just foolish.