Conflict

Mr. Raine was furious about this, and the consequences were severe. So, that morning, right next to the recruitment point, while a group of workers were explaining to others how humane and conscientious the new contract and rules of the "Renn Textile Mill" were, a group of factory guards rushed out wielding large sticks and attacked the workers. The workers, naturally, couldn't stand being beaten, so they fought back, and then...

The piercing sirens blared, and countless police officers suddenly emerged from every entrance to the street, as if they had sprung up from underground.

"Stop fighting! Get down on the ground immediately and don't move!" the police shouted, waving batons, shields, handcuffs, and revolvers.

"It's the police! Run!" some workers shouted.

The workers began to scatter and flee, but the police stopped them. The officers in the front line used shields to block them, and then began to beat them mercilessly with batons.

"Squat down immediately! Hands behind your head, this is your first warning!"

"Quick, get down!" shouted a representative from the London Textile Workers Mutual Aid Association. He knew that under Britain law, police only needed to issue three such warnings to open fire in the event of a group fight.

"Second warning!" the police shouted.

"Crouch down! Crouch down quickly! They'll shoot!" more delegates shouted.

Many workers hesitated, preparing to squat down. But the thugs of the factory security team, with white towels tied around their arms, didn't care. They continued to swing their big sticks and beat the workers.

"Third warning! Fire!"

The order to "fire" followed almost immediately after the "third warning," giving no one time to react. A worker representative was shouting, "Quickly, crouch down..." when several bullets struck him. Blood immediately flowed from his body, mouth, and eyes. The worker representative swayed and collapsed to the ground. But he didn't die immediately; he could barely prop himself up with his hands.

A security guard carrying a large stick swaggered over and struck him twice on the head and body, killing him instantly.

The workers were forced to squat on the ground, while the security guards, under the guns of the police, brandished large sticks and beat them mercilessly. If any worker dared to stand up and resist, the police, who had already issued three warnings, would shoot without hesitation... Blood was everywhere.

"Blood is everywhere! The blood of our brothers is everywhere!" Buck cried, tears streaming down his face. Buck had never cried like this since Buck saw his adoptive father, the previous Fagin, hanged.

"Buck, don't cry. How are the others?" Fagin asked.

"First the factory security team attacked, then the police arrested them and the security team members. They were gone for less than five minutes, and the security team members were all released, but our people were all locked up—this world is not letting any of us live!"

"If he won't let us live, we'll drag them all down with us!" the Butcher said through gritted teeth.

"I've heard that other textile factories are also planning to revise their contracts and lower wages," Oliver said.

"We must spread this message and get all the textile workers in London on strike," Fagin said. "Besides, we can't let them get away with this; we need to teach them a lesson!"

Early in the morning, Hindley got out of bed and stretched. His wife had already prepared breakfast and was waiting for him. Hindley's salary was decent, but the work was also very hard, with him leaving early and returning late. After paying rent and other so-called middle-class necessities each month, there was actually very little left. But at least every day when he came home, he could still find a lamb chop in the soup pot. That was a good life.

After breakfast, Hindley kissed his wife and children and went out.

It was still early, and the air outside was very stuffy, causing Hindley to cough. Hindley walked to the public carriage station and waited for his carriage.

Although Hindley considered himself a respectable man, a lowly respectable person like him couldn't possibly own a private carriage; he could only wait for public carriages at the station—of course, this was far better than being a worker. Did those poor workers even know what it was like inside a carriage?

Thinking about this, Hindley felt a surge of ambition. He believed that with a little effort, he could send his son to a private school, then find a higher-paying job, and even by his grandson's generation, they might have the opportunity to become their own bosses and truly respectable people with the money they had accumulated...

"This is wonderful!" Hindley thought to himself as he saw a public carriage approaching in the distance.

Hindley clutched his briefcase to his chest and glanced at the other people waiting at the station. These were now his rivals; he had to overcome them and squeeze onto this train, otherwise the next public carriage would take half an hour, and he would definitely be late for the factory. Even for him, being late would result in a deduction from his wages.

Of course, he could take a horse-drawn carriage, but it's much more expensive than a public carriage, so he should save some money if possible.

The public carriage stopped, and everyone rushed to get on. Hindley, holding his briefcase in one hand and grabbing the door handle with the other, tried to squeeze in. But then, out of nowhere, a hand ripped his briefcase off and threw it far away.

Suddenly, Hindley had to let go of his other hand and quickly pick up his briefcase. Some documents had spilled out, and he had to carefully check if anything was missing... and then... and then the carriage drove away.

"These people are... they have absolutely no sense of public morality!" Hindley cursed under his breath, while glancing around in hopes of spotting a passing taxi.

As luck would have it, a horse-drawn carriage happened to turn out from the other side and headed this way.

"Stop! Stop!" Hindley waved and shouted at the carriage.

The carriage slowed down, and the driver called out to him, "Where to?"

"To the Renn Textile Mill!" Hindley called out. He knew there was probably already one passenger in the carriage, but it could pick up another. If it was on the way, the driver would take him along so he could earn an extra coin.

The carriage gradually slowed down and stopped in front of him.

"Get on quickly!" the driver said in a heavy Scotland accent.

"Okay, okay," Hindley replied as he quickly boarded the carriage.

After sitting down in the carriage and closing the door, the carriage started moving again. Only then did Hindley have time to look around the carriage. Two people were sitting opposite him, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you here..." Hindley was about to greet them when the two men pounced on him. Hindley opened his mouth to call for help, but a smelly rag was shoved into his mouth. He tried to resist, but the two men were stronger than him, and in no time, they had tied him up with rope like a big dumpling.

The carriage kept moving without stopping, and after a while, it stopped. Then the two men dragged Hindley, who was bound like a big rice dumpling—ah, considering the cultural context, it should be said that he was bound like a mummy—from the carriage and slammed him hard to the ground. Hindley's fat face hit the ground directly, and the small stones on the ground scraped painfully.

Hindley tried to struggle, but a foot slammed down on his back, making it hard for him to breathe. Then a hand grabbed his hair and pulled his face up. Hindley saw a group of angry workers surrounding him.

Hindley knew he was in a slum, a place the police would never come to. He was in their hands, and no matter how much he screamed, no one would come to save him.

"Ugh..." Hindley's Adam's apple bobbed repeatedly. He wanted to beg for mercy, but his mouth was gagged, and he couldn't make a sound.

"You bastard! You looked so powerful when you led your men to kill our people! You dog!"

A worker-looking man cursed as he kicked Hindley in the face, instantly swelling up half of Hindley's cheek.

Another worker reached out and ripped the smelly rag out of Hindley's mouth.

"Spare me! Brothers, please spare me! I had no choice, Mr. Raine ordered me to order the shooting! I had no choice... Brothers, I have parents to support, a wife and children to raise, I'm the only one supporting them, I couldn't disobey Mr. Raine! Brothers, please spare me, I promise I'll turn over a new leaf..."

"Bullshit! Who's your brother?!" a worker shouted.

"You helped Raine kill so many of us, your hands are stained with the blood of so many of our brothers, and you think you can just beg for mercy and live?" A worker grabbed Hindley by the chest and lifted him up. "Weren't you so cool when you ordered the factory guards to open fire? You bastard, you should have died long ago!"

After saying this, he suddenly smelled a strange odor. He sniffed, then laughed contemptuously, "Brothers, this damn dog—he peed his pants, hahaha!"

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him to avenge our brothers!" the surrounding people shouted.

Someone brought over a large rock.

"What... what are you going to do?" Hindley asked, both terrified and flustered.

They ignored him and simply tied the large rock to his body.

"What... what are you going to do?" Hearing the sound of the Thames River beside him, Hindley understood their plan and finally couldn't help but shout, "Help! Help!"

"Scream all you want, scream until you're hoarse, no one will come to save you. You capitalist's lackey!" A worker stuffed the stinky rag back into his mouth, then grabbed him by the neck and dragged him toward the river.

"Do you know what will happen to your family after you die?" another worker whispered maliciously in his ear. "Your wife and son will be evicted by the landlord because they can't pay the rent. Your son will be expelled from school because he can't pay the tuition. Then, to eat, your wife will become a prostitute. In two years at most, she'll die from a sexually transmitted disease..."

Hindley struggled desperately, but to no avail. Several men dragged him onto a small boat.

"After your wife dies, your son will be old enough to work as a child laborer in a factory. He'll go to the textile factory in Raine and become a child laborer. Then, in five years at most, your family can be reunited."

Hindley's eyes were wide open, bloodshot and almost popping out of their sockets, as he struggled desperately.

"Alright, stop wasting your energy, it'll be over in a minute." A worker grabbed him and shoved him aside. Hindley fell into the Thames River and sank, bubbling away.