Blackstone Code-Chapter 670: Ransom

Connie was an ordinary crewman. His sister was the mistress of a minor supervisor at the shipping company—nothing honorable, nothing worth boasting about.

But thanks to that connection, he got a decent job. At least it was legitimate work with a steady income, enough to keep his family from living off welfare food every day.

This was supposed to be a routine trip. The company was sending a shipment across the strait, and under normal circumstances, they would be back in the Federation by the third day.

However, after departure, the first officer quietly revealed that they might stay an extra two days—to help boost the local tourism industry.

Since prostitution was legal in Gephra, that legality extended to its concessions. In the Amellia region, it was also legalized.

Despite the chaos inland, the port areas remained relatively stable, making Amellia’s coastal ports especially prosperous with a booming tourism sector.

For a bit of money, you could experience the exotic flair of Amellia and even hire a local tour guide to teach you some geography.

“Fifty bucks for three days—anytime!”

Everyone on board was thrilled. For the crew, this was one of their few perks. At each port, they could leave behind a bit of their genetic material—contributing, in their own way, to global integration.

By noon, the ship was already near the middle of the strait. This was a well-traveled route, considered safe, with stable weather conditions. Complacency set in.

It was like crossing a familiar street—who would expect trouble in such a routine moment?

Around 1 p.m., most people were drowsy. The sun had warmed the deck, creating a pleasant temperature and humidity. Most of the idle crew had already returned to their cabins.

Connie, for example, had changed into his pajamas and was lying in bed. As the ship gently rocked, the sunlight filtered through the glass above and landed on half his face. He quickly drifted off.

Until—

He was woken by a rifle butt to the head.

Connie jolted up like a drowning man, only to be met with another blow that made stars dance in his eyes.

Sounds slowly returned—screaming, shouting, begging… and gunfire.

The sunlight outside the cabin window no longer felt warm—it was icy cold. His mind went blank. He followed the pirates’ commands to the deck without resistance.

Yes—pirates. Terrifying pirates.

In this era, pirates were the worst menace at sea. Detection systems weren’t reliable, and pirates often used camouflaged boats to sneak up. If you didn’t notice them in time, commercial ships stood little chance.

That’s what happened here. A speedboat came up from behind, climbed the side, and boarded. Chaos followed.

Connie, still in his pajamas, barefoot, squatted on the searing hot deck with his hands behind his head. He kept shifting his feet—the sun had heated the metal deck enough to cook eggs. He was sure his feet were burning.

Soon, all the crew were herded together. The captain stood off to the side with the first officer, both grim-faced. Armed pirates surrounded them, occasionally smashing rifle butts into the heads of any crewman who dared look up.

“Sorry to break the news, but this is bad for you… You’ve been hijacked.”

The voice came from the captain’s cabin. The accent was strange—not quite Federal, not Gephra, not quite any single region. It sounded vaguely familiar yet not clearly from anywhere specific.

Most global languages were based on a standardized international pronunciation with local flavors layered on top. Pinpointing someone’s origin by accent alone was difficult—unless you knew what you were listening for.

Connie kept spitting on the deck to cool it off—he’d already been hit twice, and the heat underfoot was unbearable.

He knew if these pirates were the kind to kill indiscriminately, fighting or complying wouldn’t matter. All he wanted was a little comfort in the moment.

“You looking down on me, asshole?” a pirate barked, smashing him again with the rifle butt.

Connie looked terrified—Me? Look down on you?

He wanted to say that but knew better. He stayed silent.

The pirate jabbed the gun toward him. “Watch yourself. If I catch you spitting while the boss is talking again, I’ll toss you overboard.”

After that random beating, Connie behaved. His feet still hurt, but at least he could stand.

“We have no intention of killing anyone. All we want is ransom—money. Understand?”

“Can someone tell me what this cargo is worth?”

A pirate conferred quietly with the captain, who was reluctant to speak. After taking a few punches, he finally hunched over in pain and answered.

Connie thought the captain was stupid. You’re going to cave anyway—why get yourself hurt?

That was the difference between Connie and the captain. Of course the captain knew he’d give in eventually.

But he still resisted—because he had to gamble. He needed something to fall back on. He needed leverage.

These pirates hadn’t hurt anyone yet. As they said, they were here for ransom, not bloodshed. That meant the crew might survive. If so, the captain could later spin his image as a man who fought back but was overwhelmed. Add in a little behind-the-scenes maneuvering, and he might keep his job.

Capitalists could be cold, but they still cared about appearances—especially publicly traded companies. Retail investors might be weak individually, but unified, they could be trouble.

“Very well. I will respect your rights, and I hope you will respect ours,” said the pirate leader after exchanging a few signals with his men.

Under the pirates’ coordination, the cargo ship set sail again—but not toward Amellia. This time, their destination was unknown.

By the third day, as the situation in the Federation began to stir, the ship arrived near a small island. The crew was brought ashore, where they finally saw the pirate leader—a bearded man.

He spoke with a strange, gritty tone. “Friends, I hope you’ll continue to cooperate—just like the past few days. No one’s been hurt!”

Then he ordered the crew to kneel in a row. The bruised captain stood in front of a camera, holding a sheet of paper.

“I am the captain of vessel number… Our ship was hijacked roughly four hours after leaving port. We do not know our current location.” 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

“The attackers are demanding sixteen million in ransom to release the cargo, the ship, and the entire crew.”

“You have seventy-two hours. If payment is not made, both the cargo and our lives will be sent to the bottom of the sea…”

“What do you all think?” The President sat in the lounge of the presidential palace, where a television was on.

The room was packed: members of the Security Council, Military Intelligence Bureau, Ministry of Defense, representatives from the shipping company, and electrical equipment manufacturers were all present.

The videotape had arrived the day before, but it hadn’t been sent directly to the presidential palace. Instead, it was distributed to various television stations in batches.

Some stations were still hesitating due to concerns over public impact and narrative control, but once the first one aired it, the entire Federation knew within hours.

It was an absolute first in Federation history.

There had been pirate attacks on commercial ships before, but those usually ended in looting and murder. No one had ever demanded ransom.

This kind of move… whoever planned it must have something wrong with their brain. Didn’t they think about how they were going to escape after getting the money?

That was why the President, the cabinet, and everyone else initially found the situation oddly novel—before the tension and responsibility kicked in.

“Gentlemen, any good suggestions?” the President looked around the room. “Do we pay the ransom, or refuse their demand?”

Just as he finished, Mr. Truman coughed. “Excuse me, if I may…” He stepped up beside the President, leaned in, and whispered, “The public won’t accept a President who casually abandons his citizens’ lives. And what they’re asking for isn’t impossible—it’s just money.”

The President’s eyes widened. He suddenly realized that this had never been a real choice to begin with. In ordinary times, maybe—but the damn election was coming up.

If word got out that the President let pirates kill a crew just to save some corporate ransom money, it would kill any chance of reelection—even if he still managed to win this one.

People are like that. When something doesn’t concern them personally, they expect everyone to be rational.

But when it does, they expect everyone to look out for them.

He turned and patted Mr. Truman’s arm, a trace of gratitude in his eyes. “Good thing you reminded me…”