When Lent followed Dixie to his new workplace, he discovered it was a newly opened factory. He vaguely recalled colleagues mentioning it... a steel refinery, bustling with workers. The sight eased his nerves.
"Dixie, you're here! The speech is about to start... hurry, or you'll miss the good spots." a man called out, spotting Dixie and rushing off.
Dixie's face lit up with urgency, dragging Lent toward the same direction.
"Wait, what speech?" Lent asked, bewildered.
"You'll see." Dixie replied without explaining, pulling Lent to an open clearing. A crowd had already gathered, surrounding a simple stage where a man stood.
Lent didn't recognize him or understand what was happening. He stuck close to Dixie, noticing familiar faces in the crowd... former colleagues and neighbors. As he marveled, the man on stage began to speak. His words weren't flowery but plain, understandable even to someone uneducated like Lent. He spoke of society, of its injustices.
"…We work tirelessly, some sleeping only four or five hours a day, slaving away. Yet our wages are a pittance, and if they're displeased, we're thrown out…"
Lent thought of his dismissal earlier that day, his fists clenching.
"…While we go hungry, cast onto the streets, while our children cry, asking why there's no food, the nobles and tycoons throw lavish balls. They dance under crystal chandeliers, drink from gold goblets, pile food high, and discard it without a care…"
Lent pictured his wife, straining her eyes to save on lamp oil, and his daughters, without a new dress in a year. His blood boiled.
"…But is this right? Are they born nobles, born superior, while we're born slaves, destined to be oppressed? Generations ago, their ancestors were ordinary, just like us…"
The speaker's voice grew impassioned, infectious. "Tell me, is this right?"
Lent's emotions surged. He opened his mouth to say it wasn't right but couldn't find the words. In his world, this was just how things were.
Then Dixie shouted, "It's not right! No one's born to be a slave! Down with the nobles and tycoons! We'll take back what's ours!"
His roar shattered some invisible barrier. The crowd erupted:
"It's not right!"
"Down with the nobles and tycoons! The world belongs to us!"
"We want fair work!"
Amid the rising shouts, Lent's heart raced like never before. Fear gripped him... what if a noble or tycoon appeared to arrest them all? Yet excitement coursed through him, though he couldn't pinpoint why.
Finally, Lent opened his mouth, his voice small, lost in the crowd's clamor. "It's not right!"
It was as if a shackle in his heart broke. He shouted again, louder: "We want fair work! We won't be slaves!"
What followed was a blur. Lent remembered only his fervor. When he came to, he was seated at a table.
"Not eating? If you're not hungry, I'll take it." Dixie said, dipping bread into meat stew, eating heartily.
Lent snapped back, diving into his meal. After finishing, he heard Dixie say, "Want to work here? I can take you to register now."
"I…" Lent hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Was that for real?"
Lent wasn't foolish. No matter how naive, he could tell this wasn't an ordinary factory.
"I think it's real. Guess what our factory makes?" Dixie nodded, whispering back. "Some parts I've seen... they're for guns."
Lent's hands trembled. He craved a cigarette. Beyond fear, an indescribable emotion stirred.
"Aren't you scared?" Lent asked, eyeing Dixie's excited expression.
"Scared? Why?" Dixie scoffed. "If I don't join, will I survive? Don't be naive, Lent. Those lords don't care if we live or die. If I don't fight, you'll be visiting my grave next year... oh, wait, I can't afford one."
"But if I fight, I'm a man. Maybe one day the boss will tell my story as an example. Better than starving, right?"
Lent took a gulp of stew.
"But…" Lent struggled, then asked dryly, "What if someone snitches?"
Dixie burst out laughing. "That's what you're worried about?"
He slung an arm around Lent, pulling him close, whispering conspiratorially, "Don't worry. Our boss has special powers. Snitch? Let them try."
Special powers? Lent's mind reeled, conjuring urban legends he'd heard. Though the mystical wasn't public in this era, such tales were rampant.
Then Dixie's eyes lit up, pointing. "Look! The boss! Who's that with him?"
Lent followed his gaze, spotting a striking man, fiery as flame, beside another dressed like a scholar.
"…Weapons and food are in place, and the ideological work's solid. Not bad, Medici!" Alaric, in his Lucifer guise, flipped through the documents Medici handed him, glancing at the lively workers eating around them. He smiled at Medici.
***
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