Chapter Thirteen: Trouble Has Arisen

At that moment, Brother Can was still unsatisfied. He adjusted his sunglasses and continued in his mocking, sarcastic tone, “I’ve reflected on this, too! I’m at fault here as well! I was too polite and merciful with you all! No worries! I’ll change from now on!”

As he spoke, Brother Can kicked the corpse at his feet with his motorcycle boots. His lackeys understood immediately and stepped forward, dragging the bodies from the command platform away down a narrow path.

I quietly turned my head to glance at the path the lackeys had taken, unease stirring in my heart.

Truthfully, I had long since noticed the existence of that little road. Yet we low-ranking laborers were only allowed to move within designated areas of the compound. There were patrols everywhere—lackeys even stood guard at the public restrooms near the administrative offices.

If any laborer wandered where they shouldn’t, at best they’d receive a brutal beating, and at worst, the lackeys would relieve them of something more vital.

“Hey! Do you know where that road leads? They’re taking the bodies that way!” I lightly nudged 2050, who stood beside me.

She only shot me a glare and jabbed my temple hard. “Do you have crap for brains? If I knew, why would I need you to investigate?”

Her retort left me awkwardly chuckling.

“There aren’t any cameras on that road,” 2050 reminded me. “But there are plenty of patrols and guards along the way!”

I glanced once more toward the path. The number of guards there far exceeded that of any other area, and those stationed there no longer carried only electric batons and machetes, but gleaming blue AK rifles.

Because my attention was fixed on that little road, I barely registered what else Brother Can said. When I came to my senses, all the laborers below the command platform were already marching toward the office building.

In the days that followed, I kept a close watch on that little path. Every day at lunch and after work, I’d make a point to observe in that direction.

Just as 2050 had said, the path was under constant, twenty-four-hour surveillance. There were four AKs guarding the entrance alone, and inside, pairs and trios of lackeys patrolled with riot shotguns.

These guards were exceptionally vigilant—if there was even the slightest disturbance nearby, they’d immediately approach with weapons ready, checking every corner and even tearing apart shrubs to search thoroughly.

By chance, while helping Brother Song move some documents, I passed that intersection and saw that the path was blocked by a low iron gate, resembling the entrance to a basement.

What stunned me most was that on either side of the gate, sandbags had been set up for firing positions. Anyone who tried to force their way in would be shredded by two heavy machine guns.

These last few days, my mind kept conjuring up images of what secrets might be hidden behind that gate.

With this question burning in me, I began searching for an opportunity to get close.

And at last, after days of careful observation, the chance finally arrived.

That evening, as we laborers were eating dinner—barely having swallowed the last bite—a group of lackeys burst into the canteen, barking orders and herding us all out into the square.

But Brother Can was nowhere to be seen; instead, a few large trucks drove in from the main gate.

When the truck doors opened, the lackeys began directing us to unload the cargo.

“This load goes to the west entrance of Building A!”

“That one to the north entrance of Building B!”

Finally, one lackey pointed to the group I was in. “You guys! Take this one! Afterward, follow me!”

Clearly, these chores were supposed to be done by the lackeys themselves, but they’d dragged us laborers over to do the heavy lifting out of sheer laziness.

Under their direction, I and a few others wobbled over to the truck and each hefted a large crate.

Inside, something metallic clanged and rattled—it felt like heavy equipment of some kind.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out beside me.

I turned to see that one laborer had seized the moment in the dusk to clamber into the driver’s cab.

Before the nearby lackeys could react, he yanked open the door, pulled the driver out by force, and jumped behind the wheel, starting the engine—just like a carjacking scene from GTA.

“He’s running! He’s trying to escape!” Shouts erupted, snapping the lackeys out of their stupor.

But it was already too late—the man had the truck roaring across the square, swerving recklessly.

Unfortunately, it was clear he wasn’t much of a driver—maybe didn’t even have a license—the truck spun in wide circles, never making it to the compound’s gate.

The worst part was that I just happened to be in the back of the truck. As it careened and jolted, I was thrown about so violently that I lost all sense of direction.

Soon, gunshots erupted outside, mingled with the screams of the laborers.

Ratatat—

After several bursts of gunfire, I felt the truck lurch violently and then lose all speed. A deafening crash followed, and a massive impact sent me flying inside the compartment.

My whole body slammed against the ceiling, then crashed back down onto the floor. It felt like my organs had been churned to paste—pain wracked me from head to toe, and something wet seemed to be oozing from my scalp.

As the world spun, I heard the lackeys talking outside.

“Damn it! Just a few days ago some laborers tried to escape—we got docked half a month’s pay by Brother Can! Now another idiot tries his luck!”

“Who cares! Brother Can’s not here today! If we keep quiet, he won’t know a thing!”

“Hey, there’s another one in the back!”

At that, someone kicked me.

“Quit kicking! His head’s split open—he’s not going to make it. Toss him in the back room with the other one later!”

In a hazy daze, I had no idea how much time passed before a wave of frigid air snapped me awake.

I jolted upright, shivering uncontrollably.

Where was this place? Why was it so cold?

I couldn’t see a thing in the pitch-black surroundings. Groping in the darkness, I sat up—only to tumble off whatever surface I’d been lying on.

After a few minutes, my eyes slowly adjusted. I could make out the dim room around me—rows of stainless steel beds, each covered by a white sheet.

This was a morgue!

Panic overtook me. I staggered forward, accidentally knocking aside the white sheets covering several bodies.

Whether from my head injury or the shock, after a few steps I collapsed onto one of the corpses beside me.