Darkstone Code-Chapter 911 - 909: Mr. Lynch Faces Unspoken Rules
"I don’t know you guys," a simple phrase, which is also often said by the bar security guards.
Every day, some dimwitted lads think they can fool the security guards. They’ll bring a chick through the VIP passage, provide a fake name, and impersonate some VIP they might vaguely resemble, hoping to slip through.
This trick... sometimes could be a bit effective, for example when new security guards arrive, they might not remember every VIP’s face.
Some VIPs might not have come for several months or even longer, so the guards would ask them to show their VIP cards.
Nobody would go without carrying such things, in this age ruled by gangs, there’s this saying —
During the day, the police manage the city’s law and order.
At night, the gangs rule the entire world!
Most of the security guards in the bar have more or less some connections with the local gangs. Moreover, not everyone can operate such venues; nobody would challenge them in such a place.
Until today.
A security guard stepped up and raised his hand to make a stopping gesture, "Sorry, I don’t..."
He intended to say, "I don’t know you, please show your VIP card," feeling these people don’t look like they’re here for entertainment.
But he didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence.
The guy at the front restrained his arm in an almost incomprehensible way, forcefully twisting his body to the side while kicking the inside of his knee joint.
His entire body just... knelt onto the ground with one knee, like he was willingly going down, his body and head pressed endlessly downward, the intense pain making him feel as if his arm might fall off!
When he was about to sternly speak out, something cold appeared at the back of his head, he knew what it was.
Slowly, he raised his other hand, retracting the other leg firmly planted on the ground, kneeling fully, and then gradually lay down.
He only took this job to look more "gang-like", sometimes acquaintances could sneak through the VIP passage through him, though VIP treatments were out of the question.
This made him seen as a "resourceful person" among friends, he never intended to sacrifice his young life for the gang or the bar owner.
The battle between gangs is not a struggle between police and thieves, it really gets people killed!
His body trembled slightly, forming a sharp contrast with his strong appearance, but how many people can remain calm when a gun is pointed at their head?
It’s either a lunatic or an idiot!
The others continued to quickly advance inside, the privacy of the VIP passage attracting no attention despite what was happening. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦
Once inside the bar, the group had a clear target, they knew where the two people were before taking action.
Kicking open doors, covering each other, entering with guns raised, their actions were as standard as learned in the Marine Corps courses.
"Hands up!"
The plain-clothed soldiers entered the room, facing lay scientists A and B who were standing in front of a stripper, the air was almost frozen.
In the Federation, all places ban solicitation, purchasing pleasure for money is an illegal business — this refers to conducting it as a business behavior.
If a lady needs some financial help and someone is willing to help her, without trading as a business purpose, it is allowed.
In places like strip clubs, any service beyond limits isn’t allowed, though some projects are permitted.
For instance... from a judicial perspective, only the exchange involving special organs is regarded as a fluid exchange necessary process. If not using these organs, it’s not considered solicitation.
Hands, mouths, all not counted, judges wouldn’t consider a touch as solicitation, sometimes the Federation’s judiciary can be quite flexible.
Now, the two were doing just that, stunned initially, perhaps never facing such an awkward scene in their lives.
Following that was a tight scalp, fury, in front of an array of black gun muzzles, became powerless.
"Put your clothes on, everyone!"
The leading Marine officer glanced at the girl kneeling on the ground, maybe she was the contact person.
With guns aimed, the three didn’t dare to resist. Soon enough, they were taken out of the bar; it was only then the bar realized something had happened — a girl had been taken.
They tried to catch up with the group, but upon seeing the special license plate, the bartender ordered everyone back off.
A military license plate.
In the Federation, you might offend many people, but some you cannot because they are unreasonable.
And it’s not just about being unreasonable, there’s no place to reason with them afterwards, this is the military.
A few vehicles quickly vanished into the night, after the bar owner learned of it, he remained silent for a moment without pursuing further, even encouraging the security guard who surrendered upon recognizing their military identity.
If that fool had pulled a gun, his bar would have been turned into a sieve.
As for the guest who was taken away?
That was even less of a problem. As a legitimate merchant, he also hated various crime organizations...
Two hours later, the three were sent into the Warning Zone. Once they arrived there, truly no one could save them.
Of course, they also had to face a problem even they themselves did not understand.
Civil scientist A and civil scientist B—who contacted you, where did you plan to send the intelligence, what conditions did the other side promise...
The shivering stripper—whom do you serve, have they already given you the intelligence, did you pass on the intelligence, confess the people behind you...
The military didn’t use torture; they seemed to understand it was purely Lynch causing them trouble, and keeping someone locked up for a year or so before releasing them was fine.
One couldn’t say there was abuse every day, except for a lack of freedom, facing the same questions daily. In fact, life here was quite comfortable, with no competition and no pressure—meals and accommodations provided!
Not long after Lynch returned home, someone came to "visit."
The visitor was the manager of the community service company, apparently entrusted by someone else.
"Mr. Lynch..." The manager was a middle-aged man in his forties, with a presentable appearance, looking somewhat humble when he smiled.
Of course, if he didn’t smile, he appeared rather severe, a man very suitable for the "manager" role.
He brought some gifts, some small pastries. In the Federation, visiting someone’s home requires bringing a little gift, regardless of the purpose, as a formality.
Lynch had the maid take the items and invited him into the living room.
"It’s impolite to visit you suddenly..."
Straightforward and uninteresting opening remarks, Lynch gestured for him to continue.
"It’s like this, some things seem to have happened around you recently, especially a few days ago, when we received a formal letter from the Federation Ministry of Defense requesting cooperation in action."
"There have been more people in the community who appear to be special agents..."
When talking about this, Lynch couldn’t help but glance at the two female special agents not far away.
The Federation staff always kept their work permits visible, so whether someone was a cop, a special agent, or an investigator, you could tell by looking from afar.
Those special agents in the community, just one look and people knew their roles.
The two female agents seemed to have little reaction to these words, probably used to people easily recognizing their identities, and didn’t feel annoyed by it anymore.
"Please continue," Lynch nodded slightly, retrieving a pack of cigarettes, "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you," the manager politely refused.
After Lynch lit a cigarette, the manager continued, "Now there are quite a few Ministry of Defense agents in the community, causing some disturbances for the residents."
"They feel their peaceful lives are being disrupted and the dangers are too close, so..." The manager smiled awkwardly, not finishing his sentence.
Lynch continued, "So they intend to have you convey that I’d better move out of here?"
It was quite obvious, and the manager quickly tried to smooth over it, "Once your matters are sorted, they’d be very pleased to have you as a neighbor."
This is also a feature of the Federation, community exclusion.
Such situations often occur in middle-class communities and above; if they feel someone doesn’t match their identity, the entire community will demand these people to move out.
It seems absolutely absurd for someone to dictate where another should live; residence should be every person’s right and freedom, not subject to interference.
But practically, every legal proceeding regarding community exclusion ends with the community winning.
The judge would support them, and even society would harbor a twisted belief of "if you shouldn’t live there, then don’t force it."
It’s strange and abnormal but paradoxically also unequivocally correct—
This community exclusion showcases the Federation’s capitalist society’s coldest side, explicit class distinctions restricting even living areas, deciding from the start what class lives where and does what.
Now the community believes Lynch living here poses a threat to their safety, likely the judge would agree, and it seems like he has no choice but to move out?
Lynch fell into contemplation, with the manager not in a hurry either. Although his work today was somewhat offending, there was no other choice.
Once this matter ends, probably Lynch won’t move back, nor would he meet Lynch again.
In contrast, because of his "courage" today, presumably the community service company would renew a satisfactory contract for him.
Just as he felt there was hardly any turning back on this issue, Lynch suddenly said—
"I refuse!"
