However, they were surprised to find that the food tasted pretty good. They never used to have breakfast. Having sothing to eat in a day was enough, and they had no right to be picky.
Hmm...
Clint finished his breakfast in two or three bites, still wanting more, licking the residue off his fingers.
Having a bite of hot al was a luxury for them, sothing they didn't expect to enjoy in a prison camp.
After breakfast, the prisoners of war were assembled again and made to stand on a construction site that had been bombed two nights before.
The Red Murderer said loudly,
"Starting today, you must start working, repairing the things you've broken, and your own living quarters. We will divide you into groups, define your work area, and work hours."
"Those who work hard and perform well could receive reduced sentences, early release, or even a salary, but if anyone tries to pull any tricks or incite others to escape, they'll end up like those people last night."
Clint began to realize what was going on.
This feeling was preparing to build a private prison, starting with good intentions to get them to willingly work...
Even today, private prison companies have been established everywhere, imprisoning criminals to work on sewing machines or engage in high-risk jobs to earn profits for the company.
Of course, it's with zero wages and no guarantees; if you die, you die. So private prisons are no different from hell, living in pigsties, eating pig feed...
As for the kind words earlier, just listen to them. Do you really believe them?
Whatever bit of goodwill and luck Clint felt before, instantly vanished, leaving only despair for the future.
Seeing those reform-through-labor prisoners lazily dragging on under the watch of a few players and robots, Lucy sighed.
"Why did you agree to such an unreliable suggestion? Those people can hardly accelerate the work progress, they don't look like workers at all; it would be better to find a few more normal people to work. If it really doesn't work, just recruit them directly. Thought reform... what's that?"
"Believing that can turn the Chaotic Blade Association into good people, I might as well believe that tomorrow Huang Ban Sanlang will commit seppuku."
Standing beside her was Lin Miao. After dealing with so matters in the city, he rushed to Lucy's side just in ti to see the Red Murderer approaching Lucy for tasks.
Initially, Lucy wanted to refuse him because it sounded unreliable; it would have been better to give them hoes and have them till the soil.
But Lin Miao directly agreed and even let the Red Murderer go ahead and do it, saying he'd provide resources, and rewards would not be lacking upon task completion.
"Let's consider it an experint. After all, it's just a few more mouths to feed. If it doesn't work out, it's not too late to clean it up."
Lin Miao looked at the Red Murderer with an inexplicable gaze.
"Maybe he'll create a miracle."
"After all, it's easy to kill an enemy with a gun, but if you want to change the world, it's not enough just with guns; it takes this."
Lin Miao pointed to his own head.
"Wisdom?"
Lucy first rolled her eyes, then revealed a sly smile, poking Lin Miao's waist with her finger.
"You didn't think of as a child who still needs bedti stories to sleep, did you? You... what's on your mind?"
"No, wisdom is important, but what I'm talking about is thought; thought is what's important."
Lin Miao flicked her forehead, which bounced her back.
"Soone like you, with a head full of dirty ideas, wouldn't understand."
"Damn it!"
Expertise lies in specialization; leave the professional work to the professionals.
Lin Miao considers himself incapable of doing such work, lacking both the ti and patience to evaluate. If it ca to negotiations with these gangsters, the final dialogue would likely end by shooting them in the head during an argunt.
Rather than reasoning and persuading them to be good.
As for whether the other party would succeed in the end, only heaven knows.
————
Clint was a bit surprised.
They had loafed around until noon, and their progress was almost zero, basically doing nothing.
Yet even so, the patrolling robots didn't tase them, and the ard rcenaries couldn't be bothered with them, appearing to allow the war prisoners to slack off here.
This strange situation made him worry that there might be so deeper secret behind it.
So much so that even the heated fast-food al delivered for lunch tasted dull to him.
"I rember you, you're Ross Clint, one of the few left from the original Night Wanderers, captured alive by us for drug use."
The speaker's tone was amiable, but it sent chills down the listener's spine.
It was him again, what did he want!
Planning to interrogate at noon, huh?
Clint was so frightened he jumped up, but was imdiately pressed back to the ground by the Red Murderer.
"Let's have a chat, Clint, just about you."
Failing to escape, seeing the Red Murderer sit beside him, the surrounding temperature seemingly dropping, Clint's teeth chattered,
"What... what is there to talk about? Isn't everything you need to know already learned? I'm not hiding anything."
"No."
The Red Murderer skillfully shook a cigarette out of the pack.
"Let's just chat casually. I'm interested in how you joined the Chaotic Blade Association, can you tell ?"
Carefully lighting the offered cigarette, seeing as the other party didn't plan on stabbing him, Clint eased a bit.
"What's there to say, just the usual story of being cornered in Night City, joining the Night Wanderers just to get a al."
The Red Murderer fiddled with the cigarette but didn't smoke.
"It's not your fault for being cornered in Night City; every day, people are pushed to the edge by gangs and corporations. You're already lucky to have survived."
"Yeah, indeed, otherwise, I'd be in hell with them right now."
Speaking of this, Clint began to open up.
His grandfather was a farm owner in Maine, their family lived off farming, but during the economic crisis, they couldn't repay the agricultural loan from the bank and had to mortgage the land to pay off the debt.
Later, a biocompany took an interest in their remaining land and wanted to buy it. When his grandfather refused, they tead up with a water company to buy up the water source, leaving his family without water to farm and unable to repay the loans.
His grandfather still refused under pressure; conflicts occurred several tis, leading to deaths, and his family was completely driven off their farm.
They wandered all the way to Night City, California, but found it no different there.
His father was abducted by scavengers, dismantled, and sold for parts. His mother got involved with drugs and gambling at the Tiger Claw gang's nightclub, incurring huge debts, selling everything, including herself.
The son was chased out of town by debt collectors, and by chance, joined the Night Wanderers.
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