Chapter 537.1: The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back

Spielberg had originally thought he was done for.

He was certain his boss, Vega, would bribe someone in the prison to make sure he never walked out.

What he didn’t expect, however, was that his fellow workers hadn’t abandoned him. They gathered outside the prison gates, forming a circle that even alerted the guards.

Inside, the inmates watched the commotion with interest, whispering among themselves.

"By the Great Stag God... I’ve never seen anything like this."

"What are they trying to do?"

"Hopefully a fight breaks out!" A desperate convict with blood on his hands yelled, clutching his fists in excitement, ready to use the chaos to make an escape.

Sitting in a corner, Spielberg coughed lightly. "They won’t fight... probably not."

Everyone turned to look at him.

Feeling nervous, Spielberg shrank back and muttered softly, "I... read them a story. In the story, Awakener Bore knew that killing Stephen wouldn’t solve anything..."

The inmates exchanged puzzled glances.

They didn’t understand the details, but their gut told them that the people outside had something to do with the scrawny guy in front of them.

One outlaw walked up to Spielberg, crouched down, and stared at him for a while.

Just as Spielberg’s nerves nearly snapped, the man spoke. "Bore? Stephen? Who are they?"

Spielberg paused in surprise. "Well... That’s a long story."

The outlaw sat down cross-legged and waved his hand.

"No rush, take your time. You won’t be going anywhere for a while, and neither will I... We have plenty of time."

Seeing all the inmates watching him with curiosity, Spielberg swallowed and nodded quickly. "Okay. Then I’ll start from the beginning."

Bore was born in a slum at the base of the Great Wall, a bona fide hillbilly from the wasteland.

But really, who wasn’t once an outsider?

Boulder Town wasn’t built in a day...

With a calm and steady tone, he began recounting Bore’s tale. Before long, he noticed it wasn’t just the prisoners who were listening, even the guards by the bars were leaning in.

It was the story of a nobody.

And like the old men said, an awakener couldn’t shake the system alone.

But in here, wasn’t everyone a nobody?

As the story went on, the ruckus outside eventually died down.

The jail was also filled.

Later, another boss showed up, putting on a false front, trying to retrieve his workers, but no one was willing to leave with him.

"Come home, my children! It’s awful here! It’s damp and cold! Let’s go home first and talk things out. I’ll even put on Mr. House’s broadcast for you, it’s your favorite channel!"

That fat-bellied man forced a smile, but it only amused the workers. They had never seen such a friendly expression on his face.

"Home? You mean that broken-down factory of yours?"

"Hahaha, not a chance I’m going back with you!"

"Exactly! It’s warm here! Not cold or drafty, and we’ve got stories to listen to!"

"Why don’t you come in and join us?"

The boss panicked.

Why wouldn’t these people just cooperate?

Panicking about his deadlines, he blurted, "Are you all insane?! If I miss the order, the factory loses money! Your IOUs will be worth nothing! They’ll just be paper! I’ll walk away scot-free, but you’ll grow poorer and won’t even afford nutrient paste!"

No wonder they were poor!

They were lazy, not that bright, and downright shameless!

"Then just assume we’re crazy," a young man said with a look of disdain. "We don’t care anymore. You’re not giving us a dime even if you get rich. We might as well let you go broke. Maybe then you’ll learn to appreciate us."

"Haha, look at him still trying to reason with us!"

"Forget it, man. Go check if it’s windy up on your huge buildings!"

Laughter and mockery drowned out the boss’s feeble arguments.

By then, nothing he said would make a difference. Even when he reluctantly offered some back pay, no one bothered to respond.

Still, he didn’t regret issuing the IOUs, that was his greatest invention. His only regret was not buying a few slaves as backup.

Boulder Town permitted slave trade, but slaves were too stupid. They kept breaking machines, and over time, no one wanted them anymore. Survivors worked harder and slavery had been phased out generations ago. He simply hadn’t expected this level of upheaval.

In truth, only about 200 workers had originally gathered outside the bar. But by the end of the afternoon, half the workers in the industrial zone had joined them.

They all sat on the prison floor.

Since they weren’t causing trouble and were just listening to stories, the warden turned a blind eye to Spielberg’s reading and even let them wander the halls. After all, there was no room left in the cells. Just taking roll call would take an entire day. The corridors had to do for the time being.

It was crowded, but it was warm, and they had lights and nutrient paste.

"Brothers, this place is paradise!"

"We should’ve come here sooner!"

"If the nobles want to lock up the whole city, they’ll have to build a prison the size of Boulder Town itself!"

"Hahaha! Maybe they’ll renovate our homes too!"

Though they joked to ease their suffering, somehow it didn’t feel bitter. In fact, there was a strange joy in their shared hardship.

They began brainstorming new chapters for Bore’s story. Everyone agreed there needed to be a character named Kent, a clownish figure, and insisted Spielberg write him in.

Spielberg felt it was a bit much to humiliate someone who worked with them, so he persuaded the crowd to give Kent a bit of dignity. He dropped a syllable and just called him Ken, noting he liked to spit and kiss Stephan’s ass.

It was a compromise.

Everyone agreed. After all, bullying their own wasn’t worth it. Even if Kent despised their filthy clothes and didn’t care about them, beating him would only drive other people into becoming more like him.

They just had to live true to themselves.

They weren’t chasing grand dreams. All they wanted was their fair share.

Surprisingly, Spielberg was doing quite well in prison. He was the only one who could entertain everyone.

He suspected the warden, despite his cold demeanor, actually sympathized with them.

The man had no black card and no chips. He was just another nobody scraping by. And besides, chips didn’t buy much anymore. Soon, everyone would be poor.

During one story session, the warden half-jokingly asked if prison guards counted as workers.

Before anyone else could answer, Spielberg replied immediately, "Everyone who earns a wage counts."

The warden didn’t respond, but the meals got better. At least they stopped watering down the nutrient paste.

A week passed. It was mid-December and the weather was getting colder. The warden brought in a batch of cheap scrap materials. Carpenters and metalworkers among the prisoners built a furnace to keep everyone warm. Even the guards who refused to mingle with the workers benefited.

Spielberg secretly wrote a letter, gave it to a friendly guard, and asked him to deliver it to the New Alliance embassy, specifically to his editor, Miss Dori. He asked that his royalties to be converted into silver coins and used to buy corn for the prison. When he saw a mountain of corn, sacks of radishes, and potatoes piled up in the yard, he was stunned.

He hadn’t expected his royalties to buy so much!

Later, a fellow from the flour mill crafted a grinding tool. A guy from the canning factory made stew for everyone. With full bellies, people needed things to do, so engineers from the repair shop started teaching classes, and a chemist from the chemical plant gave lectures.

This place had everything. It no longer felt like a prison, more like a welfare center. No one paid attention to the desperate bosses anymore. Partly out of spite, yes, but they had also proved something.

Without Stephen, they could live even better!

Freed from assembly line drudgery, Spielberg now had time to refine Bore’s story properly.

Someone suggested they should write a code of conduct, a charter of sorts. Even the gangs outside the wall had rules.

They needed one too.