Splash—

  It was the sound of hope shattering.

  The massive industrial reactor was tipped over by two enforcers in exoskeletons. The pot of soup, simmered all night, black and glistening, carrying the hopes of dozens of patients in District 13. spilled onto the mud and trash-strewn ground like black blood.

  The scalding liquid hit the freezing ground, kicking up a massive cloud of white steam scented with bitter herbs. But the steam was quickly sucked away by the massive air purifier behind Agent K, leaving not even a trace of the smell.

  "Contraband disposal complete."

  Agent K ticked a box on his digital form, his movement as casual as deleting a junk file.

  "No... that was my leg... that was my leg..."

  Old Harry collapsed in the mud, staring at the medicine seeping into the sewer. The tough old soldier, who had held himself up for half a lifetime, cried like a child who had lost his favorite toy. He tried to scoop up the liquid with his hands, but only grabbed handfuls of mud.

  "Don't touch it! Toxic!" An enforcer kicked his hand away and sprayed a layer of disinfectant over him.

  "Stop it!"

  A weak but firm reprimand came from the clinic doorway.

  Margaret pushed her wheelchair out. The crystallization on her left arm had spread to her shoulder, and every movement brought drilling pain. But her hands tightly guarded a small porcelain bowl—a bowl of "Heart-Clearing Soup" Hua Tuo had specifically left for her before he vanished.

  "You are killing people!" Margaret’s voice wasn't loud, but the distinct authority of a mother made the young enforcer reaching for the bowl pause.

  "Ma'am, please cooperate." Agent K walked over, his tone remaining completely flat. "According to data, the fatality rate of this untested liquid is as high as 15%."

  "What about the other 85%?" Margaret stared at his glasses. "If I don't drink it, I will 100% die of pain. Will you take responsibility for that?"

  Agent K didn't answer. He wasn't responsible for life; he was responsible for procedure.

  He nodded slightly.

  The young enforcer hesitated, but still reached out.

  "Sorry, ma'am."

  He didn't use force; he just gently pushed the porcelain bowl.

  But for a frail patient, that gentle push was an irresistible force.

  Crash!

  The bowl hit the ground and shattered. The clear soup splashed everywhere, spattering onto the hem of Margaret’s dress.

  Margaret didn't cry, nor did she scream. She just looked at the fragments, the light in her eyes dimming, as if the last flame supporting her had been extinguished.

  She didn't try to pick them up, knowing it was futile. Instead, she struggled to bend down, trying to sweep the sharp shards together so they wouldn't cut anyone’s feet.

  But the moment she bent over, her center of gravity shifted. She slid out of the wheelchair and slammed heavily onto the ground.

  "Mom!"

  John, who had been pinned down by two armed robots nearby, saw this, and the string of rationality in his brain finally snapped.

  "Let me go! Let me the fuck go!"

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  John struggled wildly, his eyes bloodshot, veins bulging on his neck. The weakness from his hemophobia was temporarily overridden by extreme rage.

  He wanted to rush over to help his mother. He wanted to punch Agent K in the face.

  But he couldn't move.

  The robots' mechanical arms locked his shoulders like iron vices, the immense pressure forcing him to kneel on one knee.

  "Warning: Violent resistance intent detected. Taser prep."

  The robots' electronic eyes flashed red.

  "John! Don't move!" Margaret lay in the mud, struggling to lift her head. Although her face was stained with dirt, her eyes remained clear. "Mom is fine... Mom can get up... Don't cause trouble... please..."

  She didn't want her son arrested for assaulting an officer. She knew that in this city, once a poor person entered the station, they never came out.

  John looked at his mother. He saw her crystallized arm trembling in the mud, saw the comforting smile she forced through the pain just to stop him from being impulsive.

  In that instant, John felt his heart being crushed by a cold, giant hand.

  Was this powerlessness?

  He had the talent of a Necromancer, he had the magical iPad, he could even joke around with Beethoven and the Monkey King.

  But in this moment, in front of this cold, precise, unreasonable violent machine...

  He was nothing.

  He couldn't even help his mother stand up with dignity.

  "Boss..."

  Inside the Yin-Yang iPad screen, Grace was curled up in a corner, crying. Her data stream was in chaos; all those cocky meme faces she usually used for camouflage had failed.

  "Am I useless... I can hack their power grid, but I can't hack their conscience... I can only watch..."

  She was a hacker. She could paralyze a network, but she couldn't paralyze reality's tyranny.

  On the other side, Bone was pinned to the ground by three heavy robots. His bones emitted tooth-aching creaks, but he didn't dare resist. Because John had given a death order: absolutely no fighting back. Fighting meant being defined as an "Out-of-Control Undead," leading to immediate destruction.

  "Boss... just say the word..." Bone’s voice echoed in John’s mind, filled with suppressed fury. "Even if I shatter every bone in my body, I can twist that four-eyed bastard's head off."

  John lowered his head, looking at his reflection in the muddy water.

  Say it. Say "Kill."

  Bone would go berserk, Grace would cripple communications, and he could vent everything regardless of the consequences.

  But he couldn't.

  Because the consequence would be the leveling of District 13. It would be his mother losing her last shelter.

  This was the adult world. Anger was a luxury; endurance was a necessity for survival.

  "Bone... stand down." John’s voice was hoarse, every word feeling like swallowing glass shards. "Grace... stop crying."

  He looked up at Agent K.

  "You win," John said. "What else do you want?"

  Agent K adjusted his hazmat suit, which wasn't even messy. He glanced at Margaret on the ground, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes, quickly masked by professional indifference.

  "Seals applied. Equipment destroyed."

  Agent K turned around. "Mission complete. Move out."

  The White Reapers retreated. Just as swift, efficient, and cold as when they arrived. Leaving behind only a mess and a glaring red seal.

  John finally broke free. He scrambled to Margaret, lifting her back into the wheelchair.

  "Mom... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." John buried his head in his mother's blanket, tears finally breaking the dam.

  He wasn't crying for the medicine. He was crying for his own impotence.

  "Silly child." Margaret gently stroked his hair. Her hand was cold, but gentle. "Medicine is gone, so be it. Mom is still alive, isn't she? As long as we're alive, there's a way."

  She looked up at the desperate neighbors, at the skeleton wiping its eye sockets, and the little girl in the screen.

  "Don't just stand there." Margaret clapped her hands, acting like nothing had happened. "Bone, sweep the floor. Grace, check the vegetable prices for Auntie. Let's have a good meal tonight to wash away the bad luck."

  She was trying hard to maintain the dignity of this teetering home.

  John wiped his tears and stood up.

  He walked over to Bone and patted the trembling skeletal frame.

  "Brother, thanks for not hitting him." John whispered. "If that punch had landed, we would have truly lost."

  "Boss, my heart feels blocked," Bone mumbled.

  "Mine too." John looked at Grace, who was still sobbing. "Grace, don't blame yourself. You did great. It's not your fault; the world is sick."

  John walked to the seal.

  The red paper strip read [Sealed by Law], stamped with the Guild's seal of absolute authority.

  It sealed the door, sealed the medicine, and sealed the lifeline of the poor.

  But it couldn't seal the hate.

  John reached out, wanting to tear it off, but stopped the moment he touched it.

  Tearing it now would be resisting the law.

  "Leave it."

  John’s finger traced the seal lightly, his eyes turning colder than ever before.

  "Leave it here. Look at it every day."

  "I want to remember this paper. Remember the spilled medicine. Remember the feeling of being pressed into the dirt like a dog."

  He turned around, looking at Bone, at Grace, at his mother.

  "Money can be earned. Medicine can be bought."

  "But lost dignity... has to be bought back with blood."

  John touched his empty pocket, then looked at the glaring [Balance: 0] on the iPad.

  "Bone, pack up. We're going out tonight."

  "Where to?" Bone asked.

  John looked toward the distant, brightly lit Upper Sector, where a grand banquet was being held.

  "To get money. We're going to the people who treat us like trash... and taking back what belongs to us, with interest."

  [System Status]:

  Physical Realm (Royal Road): Connection Unstable / Paused.

  Spirit Realm (Patreon): 20+ Chapters Online / Stable.

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