Darkstone Code

Chapter 657 - 0655 Faction formation

"You’ve earned my friendship, Director," Lynch reminded him before getting out of the car.

The Federal Tax Bureau is indeed a very useful blade, but unfortunately, the blade doesn’t possess its own thoughts. As long as the blade is taken away from someone else, not to use for oneself, at least it won’t pose a threat anymore.

As for sayings like "the blade grows from the hand," the people who propose such ideas surely haven’t considered the problem for those whose hands become blades when they go to the restroom.

Standing outside the car, the moonlight and neon glow made Lynch’s face visible. He smiled and bid farewell to the Assistant Director sitting in the driver’s seat.

"I appreciate your understanding of me and the things I’ve said. Additionally, I suggest that some matters can be postponed..."

"I’m sorry to have disturbed your dinner. Goodbye, Director!"

Just then, a car brazenly without a license plate quickly arrived and stopped by the roadside. Lynch turned and got into the car, and it swiftly disappeared into the night.

The Assistant Director looked at the sticky beverages on himself and the chicken drenched by them. He forcefully slapped the steering wheel, the harsh noise of the horn covering up his profanities, along with throwing the contents of the dinner tray out the car window.

Whether he was swearing at the food, or Lynch...

Everything was under control.

Meanwhile, a middle-aged man named Dyson, not yet sixty years old, was vigorously exercising over a woman in her late thirties or around forty, with sweat covering him.

The woman lying on the bed showed no expression, her eyes vacant, devoid of spirit, as if... she had lost her soul.

Dyson got lucky two years ago when he met an interesting person who pulled him into registering a company, giving him one percent of the shares every month, but he couldn’t manage the company.

He had heard of such things; at that time, he was a homeless man, and among the homeless, there were many talents. He knew what it meant.

To him, even going to jail didn’t matter; his life had always been hard, and being able to enjoy one more day was a blessing.

Since then, he started receiving dividends every month, ranging from thousands to tens of thousands. Sometimes he wondered if he could get more from the company by striving for it, considering it’s named after him.

But these thoughts were fleeting; he wasn’t a match for those people, and he knew himself well.

Having money improved his life a lot; for instance, he rented a big house near a park where the homeless gathered, and in the current real estate slump, it didn’t cost much to get a nice big house.

Additionally, he established a small family. At the beginning of last year, two female homeless, a mother and daughter, came to the park. The older one seemed around thirty-seven to forty, while the younger one was under twenty.

The older woman’s situation was relatively normal. The younger girl’s brain seemed problematic, reportedly due to a fever, rendering her unable to work, receiving less than forty dollars in disability benefits from Sabin City government each month.

The woman’s husband abandoned them long ago, and she lost her job, with all her property seized by the bank, forcing her into homelessness.

She had attempted to sell her dignity to provide for her daughter lavishly, but those people aimed not just at her but also her daughter.

After learning all this, Dyson "adopted" the two women, providing them housing, hot water, stable food supplies, and sometimes pocket money.

What they had to do was clean the house, and the older woman had to provide as much warmth to Dyson as she could.

Feeling somewhat tired from the exercise, Dyson sat beside the woman, casually picked up a bottle of liquor, and drank gulps of it.

Coincidentally, the foolish daughter walked in, grinning foolishly at the couple on the bed, standing at the door watching.

The woman hurriedly picked up a thin blanket to cover her body, scolding a few times before the girl left.

Watching the girl leave with trembling hips, Dyson swallowed his saliva, glancing at the woman, "About what I mentioned last time, have you thought about it?"

The woman’s vacant eyes were suddenly filled with a vigilant glow, "I haven’t decided yet, and such a thing... is hard for me to accept!"

"Better me than anyone else!" he said bluntly, "Listen, it’s hard for her to marry a normal person like this; she’ll only marry the homeless in the square or park, or even become everyone’s ’toy’."

"Receiving crude treatment from others is far worse than with me; at least I’d be gentle, and moreover..."

He took another gulp of liquor, "I have no wife or children. After my death, everything will be yours, ensuring you have a stable living environment."

"You can take your time considering it, but my patience has limits."

With these words, he dressed, carried a bottle of liquor, and left the room, leaving behind the woman with a face full of sorrow sitting there.

The purpose of adopting this mother-daughter duo was to enjoy both, and after waiting for so long, he was growing impatient.

Once Dyson arrived at the park, the homeless began greeting him. He was considered a notable figure here.

Though people didn’t know how he became rich, he hadn’t forgotten his old brothers here, often bringing some liquor to share, making him beloved by many.

The reason for homelessness often includes financial issues, but another significant reason is alcohol.

He wandered around outside, watching the sky get darker. After bidding farewell to those old friends, he headed towards his house, his mind filled only with alcohol and the image of that young, fervent body.

At the thought of some kind of taboo feeling that didn’t really exist yet faintly persisted, his body heated up, his mouth dry and parched.

No more waiting, tonight was the night. Even if he had to use some extreme measures, he had spent a lot of money on that mother and daughter, enough to maintain a stripper in a strip club!

He clenched the liquor bottle in his hand and took another swig.

His face turned a deep red, almost black, whether due to the twilight or because he rarely washed his face, it was unclear.

At the last intersection, less than twenty meters from where he lived, suddenly a sharp pain hit his waist. He took two steps before realizing the pain.

He reached down to touch it and looked down, seeing a moist, hot, and vivid red. Glancing back at his clothes, he couldn’t see anything in the night, but the skin on his lower back felt a terrifying pain, like it had been scalded with boiling water.

He turned around in horror, seeing a teenager, a boy only twelve or thirteen years old.

He wore a camel-colored cap with beige checkered stripes, and a brown-grey vest, holding a sharp knife in his hand.

He stabbed Dyson a few more times, blood spreading even faster, a severe sense of imbalance making it hard for him to walk straight. Holding his wound, he stumbled forward a few steps and then fell heavily to the ground.

The boy walked over to him, rummaged through his pockets, found some money, and put it in his own pocket. Then, holding the dagger, he slowly walked away.

About five minutes later, the police found him by the roadside.

He did not resist, did not struggle, and even when he saw the police arriving, he voluntarily dropped the knife in his hand and knelt on the ground with his hands raised high.

He remained silent throughout, the police pinned him to the ground and handcuffed him, and then stuffed him into the car.

Without a doubt, this was another case of robbery and murder.

In today’s society, with severe economic decline and increasing unemployment, the crime rate is far higher than normal because many people have lost the means to survive and are forced to take desperate measures.

Compared to others getting hurt, at least they can survive. It’s selfish, it’s a crime, but it’s also the instinct of a species to want to live.

Of course, none of this had anything to do with Mr. Lin, absolutely nothing.

The morning mist dissipated completely shortly after appearing. Some scientists believe it is not the usual fog formed by water molecules but rather mist formed by dust.

In recent years, environmental issues in the Federation have indeed been serious, especially in the past half year.

Cement factories across the country are working overtime. Although the economy isn’t great, the trend of construction hasn’t completely stopped.

This gives the Environmental Protection Agency and some civil environmental organizations a place to demonstrate their value. They’re not on surprise inspections here; they’re causing trouble there.

Early in the morning, some personnel from the sanitation organization wearing green-brown marked outfits appeared on the streets, marching with signs. It seems they’ve found new targets.

Joining various organizations during such difficult times is also a way to make a living, especially joining organizations in Sabin here, where the benefits are sometimes better than working.

At this moment, they suddenly began to shout loudly at the luxurious motorcade by the roadside, vigorously waving their signboards, with some becoming so emotionally charged that they ran toward the convoy, trying to stop it.

But unfortunately, the motorcade did not slow down, and some people had to curse and dodge to the side when they were about to be hit.

"These people are becoming more and more annoying..."

In the car, Mr. Truman commented.

After dealing with York State’s matters, Lynch came to Sabin. Over there, only some cleanup tasks were left, of little value, which didn’t require him to handle; his real battlefield was in Sabin.

If he doesn’t settle the people manipulating things behind the scenes, even if the York State Tax Bureau’s matters are handled, it may not be long before the York State Investigation Bureau jumps out.

If the troublemakers aren’t dealt with, trouble will continuously arise.

Mr. Truman personally picked up Lynch; he was still "on vacation," so he had more time to handle personal affairs.

"It’s all because of money," Lynch commented fairly.

The birth of environmental protection organizations did not stem from humanity’s guilt towards nature and awakening towards itself—humanity isn’t so sacred. Its birth essentially came from the struggle between capital and capital.

Except some fools really believed it, they never thought about where the money for all the activities held by these non-profit organizations comes from; they’ve been brainwashed by "justice."

The motorcade didn’t stop in the city but went straight to the villa area of Half Mountain, and finally, the two entered Lynch’s large villa together.

Sitting in the spacious study, Lynch handed two glasses of wine to Mr. Truman, asking a question, "Do you want to show those people a thing or two?"