Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Give and Take

They hadn’t even had time to enjoy the freedoms of the Federation before losing their jobs.

Perhaps this job loss was a lesson for these young men, teaching them a harsh truth: even if they endured exploitation and oppression, fate would never favor them.

Simply because they stood at the bottom of society, powerless against the forces above them.

When someone cannot resist being plundered, others don’t sympathize with their plight—they just join in the plundering.

Ethan wanted to argue with the dock manager, but Elvin firmly grabbed his shirt, staring him down with a look more menacing than he’d ever shown before. Slowly, he shook his head, signaling Ethan to stay quiet.

Antagonizing workers was one thing—they were all in the same social class, and at most, the workers might cause minor trouble or call the Police. In a city where countless cases occurred every year, no officer would waste precious resources on petty disputes.

But antagonizing management, even the lower-tier cadres, was entirely different.

Elvin stepped forward. “Sir, when this turmoil settles…”

The manager looked at Elvin for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

“Elvin, you’re a smart man, so I’ll level with you,” he continued. “You’ve seen how much we need you all here. I don’t think this storm will last too long. You just need to lay low for now.”

Elvin forced an awkward smile. “And during this time… our wages?”

The manager acted as though he hadn’t heard, continuing with what he wanted to say. “The company will ensure the docks remain operational, and City Hall will cooperate as well. Just be ready to return to work anytime we call on you.”

It was a gentle but clear way of telling Elvin there’d be no pay.

Half a month’s wages for thousands of workers was no small amount. And withholding pay was both legal and reasonable—after all, these men were undocumented.

The manager raised a hand as if to pat Elvin on the shoulder but stopped short, noticing the dust covering him. He withdrew his hand. “Good luck, Elvin.”

As for the others, the manager didn’t even spare them a glance.

The group’s anger was palpable, but they were helpless. Over the past month, while they hadn’t fully grasped the Federation’s social hierarchy, they’d begun to get the picture.

“So, what now?” one of them asked.

Elvin plucked a strand of hair and twisted it in his fingers. “Let’s find Lance. Maybe he has an idea.”

The main entrance to the dock was surrounded by protestors. Some young demonstrators looked unstable, striking railings and gates with sticks.

Not far away, Police officers munched on donuts and sipped coffee, casually chatting while half-sitting on the hoods of their cars, as though oblivious to the brewing violence. ṛἈ₦Ô𐌱ÈⱾ

Spotting Elvin’s group—the largest in number—the protestors seemed to discover a new target. Several young leaders turned toward them, and soon, the crowd of thirty or forty people, armed with sticks, began advancing.

Unaccustomed to such confrontations, the group panicked. Seeing the Police’s indifference, Elvin gave Ethan and Mello a shove and shouted, “Run!” before bolting into the docks.

They knew the area well, familiar with every hiding spot.

Outside, the Police remained unfazed, continuing to savor their overly sweet donuts and coffee.

Their chief had instructed them: letting people vent their frustrations would yield positive results. As long as no one was killed—well, even if someone was killed during this “storm,” it wouldn’t be a big deal.

The societal tension, amplified by politicians and capitalists, had spilled over to affect more and more people. Some who weren’t even locals had joined this so-called crusade against illegal immigrants, turning it into a "celebration" of sorts.

By 2 p.m., the dock management decided enough was enough and called Jingang City Police.

Soon, a fleet of Police Cars arrived, and baton-wielding officers with shields began detaining those attacking undocumented workers.

They arrested the attackers but ignored the wounded or bloodied immigrants lying on the ground.

While their actions appeared lawful, the justice they served carried a distinct stench of rotting fish.

Elvin’s group fared relatively well. Having outnumbered their assailants, they tried to minimize harm by restraining attackers rather than injuring them.

Even so, many had bleeding wounds and injuries. Covered in blood, their faces showed traces of fear. Only days ago, they’d dreamed of a brighter future. Now, those dreams seemed shattered.

The mayor gave an emergency speech, ordering city-wide patrols to prevent further escalation. He authorized officers to shoot looters or arsonists who resisted arrest.

Gunfire echoed sporadically throughout the afternoon, finally quieting down after 7 p.m.

Lance was absentmindedly cleaning the bakery when the chubby owner returned with a truck, unloading supplies into the storeroom.

The day’s extraordinary events prompted the owner to close shop early. At 7 p.m., he instructed Lance to flip the “Open” sign to “Closed.”

Lance was finishing the last of the cleaning when the doorbell jingled. Without looking up, he called out, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

The visitor didn’t leave, instead asking, “Is Mr. Johnny here?”

Stopping his work, Lance straightened up to see a woman in her mid-thirties. She wore an outdated round-collar blouse paired with a burgundy skirt.

Though her attire was far from fashionable, her figure and features gave her an appealing charm that transcended trends.

“He’s in the back. Should I call him for you?”

She nodded, and Lance went to the window overlooking the storeroom. “Boss, someone’s here to see you.”

“Who is it?” Johnny emerged, ledger in hand.

Upon seeing the woman, he frowned slightly. She walked straight to him, pulled him into the break room, and shut the door.

The door clicked as it locked, prompting Lance to mutter, “Lucky dog.”

The woman wasn’t Johnny’s ex-wife or current spouse—Johnny had been single since his divorce. Lance didn’t recognize her.

As Lance resumed work, he noticed the apprentice standing by the door, his face a mix of hurt and anger, fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.

Lance elbowed him. “You know her?”

The apprentice glared at him. “Stay the hell out of it!”

“Is she your mom?” Lance shot back, unfazed.

The apprentice’s eyes reddened as he glared harder, then turned and stormed off to the back.

It clicked for Lance: she really was his mom.

From the locked room came loud noises. Johnny didn’t seem to care that others could hear, and the woman’s pleas were audible through the thin door.

The bakery was eerily quiet, amplifying every sound. It didn’t take much imagination to know what was happening inside.

About 15 minutes later, Johnny emerged, looking satisfied. “This is the last time!” he said, his tone threatening. “For your sake.”

The woman, pale-faced, quickly adjusted her clothes and left the bakery without looking back.

Lance cleaned up the mess she left behind as the owner shot him a warning glance. “Do it right. If I find a single missed spot, you’ll go hungry tonight.”

He returned to the storeroom to inventory his new stock.

Finishing his chores, Lance went to the back, where the apprentice stood at the workbench, wringing his hands.

Leaning against the bench, Lance asked, “Wanna talk?”

The apprentice stayed silent.

Before Lance could press further, the door swung open. Abandoning the conversation, he went to the front to find Elvin, his head bloodied.

Blood matted his hair, and although his face had been wiped clean, faint stains remained.

Lance’s expression turned serious as he approached to inspect the injuries. “Who did this to you?”

Elvin, his voice shaky, said, “It doesn’t matter. Lance, there was a clash at the docks this afternoon. That’s when we got beaten.”

“We hid until dark to escape. A few others are in the same shape as me.”

“We’ve been temporarily fired…”

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