death of hope

Chapter 312 "Corporate Warrior" (228) Suspicions

"Really?" The fat man turned his head and asked.

"So what." Lynch didn't deny it, and continued to drink while sitting down.

The fat man said angrily, "Corporate soldiers... how unlucky it is, a piece of rotten meat fell into the alley and attracted the vultures!"

"Speak politely, Fatty." Sigurdlifa touched the scabbard at his waist, his fierce gaze was like a triangular army thorn, piercing through Fatty Donnie's fat body, making him tremble in fright. Dare to speak and bury your head in the wound.

"I...we don't want to cause trouble." Roy's disgust was written on his face. No one in the slums of York City likes company employees, but he is not stupid, and the other party is a ruthless person;
"This bar is full of ordinary people. They hide in the slums and anesthetize themselves with alcohol. It is impossible to get in touch with the interests of large companies, especially the giant companies that span the star area like McMillan."

Despite grinning his teeth in pain, Spencer still opened his mouth to defend his benefactor: "Hey, I said, Roy, you must have made a mistake. What are the corporate soldiers doing in our shitty place?"

"The eyes are fine, why don't you see for yourself."

Mr. Spencer's wound had just been stitched up, and he sat up enduring the pain, still wanting to defend his benefactor,
But when he saw the McMillan emblem on the collar of Marcus Lynch's shirt,

Seeing the skull dagger necklace caught in Sigurdriefa's plump career line again, he immediately felt cold, he swallowed, and his Adam's apple trembled:

"Do you want to...use me...to infiltrate the union?"

"Who cares about your union, who the hell are you, you got a truncheon on your head, dude, we both work for McMillan, begging for a living, that's all."

"He admitted it himself..." Roy murmured.

(It’s really uncomfortable to be wronged. I’ve been treated as a bad guy for doing good deeds. It’s no wonder that my peers have broken pots and behaved like bandits...)
Lynch drank the wine in the glass, and said to Spencer in a tone that was about to run out of patience:
"The two of us just came to this city yesterday, not for work, but to do some personal things. It has nothing to do with your union half a dime, understand."

"Cheating people...it's all a conspiracy! Right! What kind of strike parade...has already been betrayed by scabs! It's been played around from the beginning!" Spencer scratched his hair, nearly breaking down:
"Remember, the corporate fighters in black clothes and armor... fired at the parade, and some people returned fire, and the police started shooting... It caused a murder, but saved me, a demonstrator,
What is your purpose?murderer! "

(What and what? This guy is stunned.) Lynch sighed:

"Conspiracy theories...boring..."

"If you are kind enough to be a donkey, you shouldn't save him! Just let him pick up soap in the detention center!" Sigurdlifa put down his wine glass, his gray eyes were full of anger:

"Since you are not welcome, let's go."

"Ah."

Lynch got up silently. Even though he was used to this kind of treatment, he still felt very disappointed when he walked out.

(Rats crossing the street...everyone shouts and beats...)
The civilians at the bottom of the Terra Federation are always hostile to the employees of large companies, and he is very clear about the reasons.

When I was a child, Fat Dick, the father of the little friend from the next street, Slug, was a butcher who killed pigs.

This short, stout man was drunk and gambled in a nightclub, because he suspected that the other party had made a mark on a card, he beat up a company white-collar who was also drunk, and the other party left with a few harsh words. This kind of thing is nothing in a nightclub , nobody cares.

It was later learned that the man was actually the son-in-law of a company executive. The neighbors laughed at Fat Dick for being drunk and getting into trouble, and he was bound to be beaten up by the gang. They also joked that they asked him to buy the coffin and prepare it. Words become prophecies.

A week later, Fat Dick's body appeared in the drain, and the strong stench of the body made his eyes burn. Before that, a truck driver had witnessed Lancaster Union Petrochemical's corporate fighters changing clothes on the road outside the town.

The sheriff and the forensic doctor investigated for a few days, and announced that Fat Dick was drunk and fell into the drain and drowned. The body was cremated without the consent of the family members. Of course, the family members quit. Sue that corporate executive for murder.

In the court, the two-knife lawyer sitting on the plaintiff's attorney's seat was shocked to find that he was facing Baron Akhtar Morgan, nicknamed "The King of Litigation Sticks". one of the lawyers,

As can be imagined, the plaintiff not only lost the case, but was also accused of defamation. The defendant was "generous" and refused to sue. Fat Dick's old father was furious, and said that he would carry the urn to the entrance of the parliament hall and pull a banner, but he didn't A week later, he had a heart attack and died of depression.

Since then, the fear has been engraved in my heart, and the residents of the small town never dare to offend the people of the big company.

Just about to open the door to leave the bar, the old man who had been watching the show said:

"Why don't you sit down for a while?"

"Why do you want to keep the company dog..." the fat man muttered in a low voice.

"Look, we are not welcome here, so why bother yourself." Lynch reached out to push the door and found that the glass was covered with water.

"Donnie, pay attention to your manners." The old man tapped his cane: "It's raining, stop before you leave."

"Do you have an umbrella? I'll pay for it."

When I looked back for the shelf, I found the bar owner walked to the light on crutches,
"Don't look for it. There are no umbrellas on the shelf. You saved Spencer. He is the child I watched growing up. If I let my benefactor get wet in the rain, I, an old man, will have a bad conscience."

Only then did Lynch see clearly that the old man had a resolute face,

He has a neatly trimmed white beard, a cheap nylon wig on his bald head, a frayed uniform of the Terra Federal Army, a second-class combat medal on his chest, a walnut cane in his hand, and a pair of empty trouser legs. But it is straight.

(Literally exactly like the pattern on the neon sign.)
"Ferguson, bring me that bottle of Royal Salute whiskey that I treasure, why are you staring at me, hurry up!"

"Farewell, old man, your subordinates thought I was an eyesore, so I left in the rain without an umbrella."

The barkeeper unscrewed the bottle and poured two glasses;

"Don't worry, these kids have never seen the world, have little experience, stereotypes are at work, people are very complicated, bastards are born in monasteries, and corporate fighters are not all villains."

For the sake of the old man's words, Lynch had no reason to refute his face. It happened to be raining outside, so he sat down and took the glass.

"Good wine."

"Royal Salute Whiskey...I'll try it too..." Sigdrifa drank it in one gulp, frowning: "Is it really good, I didn't drink it..."

Lynch tapped the back of her head: "You should feed the animals, good wine should be sipped..."

The old man smiled and said: "The girl is tall and big, but she is really straightforward and cute."

"Frank and cute... Puff... Don't think too much, she is just stupid, don't worry... Oops..." Lynch pinched the flesh on his elbow hard.

In a few words, the previous unhappiness quickly passed, Lynch and the veteran stared at each other;

"Old man, which army do you serve in?"

"11th Marine Division, Special Weapons Tactics Battalion, what about you?"

"Airborne Division, Heavy Equipment Company of Airdrop Pod."

"Wait...look at my old fool! I saw you in the paper! Spartan Heavy Airborne Company Commander! Captain Marcus Lynch?"

(End of this chapter)