Chapter 918: Discrimination and Reporting 66618

What does it feel like when adrenaline fills your body?

Karl felt the veins behind his ears throbbing, the sounds around him distant, all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

In his hand he held a steel pipe, charging toward the nearest man, his whole body brimming with power.

His eyes, reddened by elevated blood pressure, swung the pipe down hard onto the man’s skull.

“Motherfucker!”

He cursed—his limited Common tongue offered no words beyond these basic syllables to fully vent his rage!

The man’s face twisted in shock and horror; the searing pain froze his thoughts for an instant—then Karl swung the pipe again.

His hand ached from the vibration of the strikes!

Blood oozed from the battered skull, but not much—after all, the pipe had no blade.

The bleeding was merely from contusion, so it flowed slowly.

Yet the man he’d struck began shoving, trying to fight back, even screaming for help!

Karl didn’t care—he was focused on nothing but knocking every one of them down.

At the same time, the police who had formed a human wall, unmoved even when provoked, suddenly moved.

The strike leader, clutching his head, sighed in relief and pointed at Karl, shouting, “That’s him! That’s the one! He’s the ringleader!”

Under his gaze, the police charged forward—he smiled, but the smile froze instantly!

Because the police’s rubber batons cracked hard against his skull.

After two blows from the pipe, his head now took another strike from a solid rubber-coated steel baton—his mind went “buzz,” his vision blurred.

Two officers pinned him to the ground and pounded his head relentlessly.

The iron studs on their boots tore open the worker’s scalp—blood gushed out immediately.

The two officers removed their handcuffs and shackled the man; one elbowed Karl, nudging him to snap out of it.

Karl came to his senses and immediately charged at the second man!

Blood surged through his body like thunder—he felt terrifyingly strong in that moment!

In an instant, the street erupted into chaos; in such confusion, no one could clearly tell who was the aggressor and who was the protester.

The reporters didn’t care who got arrested—they only cared about the big story.

The onlookers screamed and fled; every riot always had someone who truly got unlucky.

The strikers, stunned at first, gradually realized what was happening—they tried to resist these “attackers,” but to little effect.

Because the attackers held steel pipes and wooden clubs, while they had nothing.

These weapons might not kill, but they hurt like hell when they hit the body or the head!

And most crucially—if injured, who would pay the medical bills?

In the crowd’s eyes, a striker’s arm was smashed mid-block—a steel pipe shattered it, bending at a grotesque angle.

This sight terrified many!

As workers, their entire livelihood rested on their bodies, arms, and hands.

If their arms were broken, they might lose their ability to work.

What did losing one’s ability to work mean in this miserable society?

It meant losing their jobs, their steady monthly income; their wives and children would leave them, because they could no longer feed the family!

Eventually, they might lose their homes to the bank over unpaid property or land taxes—just a few dollars—and be forced out onto the streets at half-price sales.

They’d lose the last coins in their pockets, join the homeless, and vanish slowly from everyone’s memory.

The protest march began to collapse; though some still resisted, those who did were quickly surrounded and beaten by the refugee crowd.

After being beaten by the refugees, they were beaten again by the police—and then dragged to the ground and cuffed!

Those at the back of the march had no idea what had happened up front—they only saw people ahead, bleeding from head to face, fleeing in panic.

Fear drove those at the rear to flee too.

Most of those at the very back of the protest had been morally coerced by coworkers—they hadn’t truly wanted to join the strike, so as soon as an escape route appeared, they scattered immediately.

What had begun as a massive strike dissolved miraculously as crowds kept fleeing—the entire process lasted less than forty minutes.

Karl dropped the pipe, heart pounding, and melted into the fleeing crowd—but some refugees were arrested. That was part of the script.

You couldn’t arrest only strikers—you had to arrest some refugees too, to extract from them the content the media, public opinion, and society wanted to hear.

Large numbers of injured were rushed to nearby police stations; the most severely wounded were taken to hospitals.

The news spread quickly.

Mayor Williams, who had been standing by the window, smiled and shook his head, then returned to his desk to resume work.

Some capitalists in the city also smiled contentedly and returned to their indulgences.

Attorney General Terry, upon hearing the news, immediately ordered local prosecutors to determine whether any individuals or organizations had attempted to exploit this protest for ulterior motives…

Tang Mu also informed the senator at once; the senator remained calm and composed—this wasn’t Guoguan yet, it was only the beginning, but Lans had set a good precedent.

Everyone had different views on this incident, and all awaited its further development.

Lans himself had been at the scene—invisible to the crowd—and as he watched the protesters scatter, he nodded in satisfaction: “Karl did well.”

Others nodded too—they’d seen Karl charging first. He’d given it everything; everyone liked men like him.

As the strike visibly collapsed, Lans picked up the phone: “It’s time for the next step.”

Soon, the editor-in-chief of Jin Gang Today arrived at Lans’s office.

Previously, George had enjoyed Lans’s exclusive resources, making many in the newsroom envious—even the editor-in-chief had thought the kid was ridiculously lucky.

But after certain events unfolded, he realized good fortune didn’t last forever.

After George’s downfall, he’d called Lans himself, explained the situation, and offered: if Lans needed anything from the newspaper, just contact him directly.

Though the editor-in-chief hadn’t written an article in years, he was still the best in the business.

When he met Lans, his face beamed with obsequious smiles—today’s events reminded him once again: whether this city erupted or stayed calm depended entirely on Lans.

“Mr. Lans.”

“Please sit.”

Once both were seated, Lans spoke: “I want you to arrange some reports as soon as possible.”

The editor-in-chief pulled out his notebook and pen: “What content would you like us to report?”

The news conglomerate stood with Mayor Williams—indirectly, with Lans—so the editor felt no burden.

Even if the conglomerate knew what he planned, they’d fully cooperate, never try to stop him.

Besides, Lans was a major shareholder in the TV station—no one would ever refuse his request.

“First, interview the people who bled and were injured in this clash. I noticed many had limbs broken—find out their conditions.”

“Then follow up with a report: who paid their medical bills?”

“And after treatment ends, how the union and labor federation arrange for them.”

Lans paused. “I heard their employers are planning to fire them.”

“Direct the blame toward the union and labor federation—they joined the protest voluntarily, so their injuries aren’t work-related, and the companies bear no responsibility.”

“The refugees have no money—they can’t pay. Only the labor federation and union have funds and justification to cover it. Publicize this.”

The editor’s eyes lit up—he understood Lans’s goal: to create conflict between workers and the union, and the labor federation.

Medical costs in the Federation weren’t small—especially during wartime, drug prices had doubled. A simple fracture could cost over a thousand credits.

If surgery was needed, and especially if complex, the cost would be far higher!

The labor federation and union would almost certainly refuse to pay—because once they did, it would become a precedent.

Future protests they organized would demand payment for every injury—something they couldn’t afford.

There’d be too many people joining just to fake injuries and extort money.

“Also, report on how their strike for personal gain damaged production and disrupted society.”

“Interview factory owners—let them describe the hardships caused by the workers’ strike.”

“They’re about to be fired—interview their families, report on the problems they’ll face.”

“Pick the most tragic cases—even fabricate details if needed. Above all, make them heart-wrenching.”

“Finally, report on workers and factories that didn’t strike—show the public how stable society benefits both factories and laborers. Create a stark contrast…”

(End of Chapter)