The sun was rising.
The blazing sun struggled to penetrate the thick gray clouds and sprinkled on the black and yellow land. Occasion
ally, a strong wind blew away a small piece of gray cloud, allowing the sunlight to pass down unhindered, and all kinds of strange animals on the ground fled in search of shelter, or simply hid in underground caves to avoid this deadly strong sunlight.
The only one that was not afraid of the sun was a tall plant with half-meter-long spikes growing on its pale stems. Whenever the sun shone, it twisted its branches and stems, accepting the baptism of strong light as much as possible, and then grew crazily at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Bang! Bang!
Bursts of loud noise broke the tranquility of the morning.
An old man in his fifties knocked hard on an empty iron pipe inserted into the ground, and shouted in a hoarse voice: "Work! Get up, you bastards! Let Old Hans see how many lucky guys stay today!"
Immediately, more than a hundred people around jumped up from the ground and ran towards this side, but when they were five meters away from the old man, these people stopped automatically, as if there was an invisible boundary there, preventing them from going any further.
There were several people in the crowd who didn't know the situation and were still pushing forward desperately. A few strong men around immediately scolded: "New guys, go to the back! What fuck squeeze?" Before those people could react, they had already received several heavy punches in the face and fell to the ground involuntarily. The people around immediately fought with fists and kicks without mercy.
After a while, the brawny men threw the few newcomers who had been beaten to death out of the line and even spat a few thick gobs of phlegm in hatred.
Old Hans had long been used to these atrocities, so he just shrugged indifferently. He wore a completely tarnished leather jacket on his upper body, a coarse cloth shirt with fine dark red checks inside, a pair of jeans with some motor oil stuck on his lower body, and a pair of high-waist military boots on his feet.
Compared with the vagrants around who were dressed like beggars, Old Hans was simply a king, and he was indeed as arrogant as a king. Pinned to his chest was a silver badge. The background of the badge was a distant city, with a rumbling tank in the center. In the sunlight, this badge was shining and very eye-catching. Hundreds of eyes fell on the badge from time to time, with fear, envy, and more of a thin wolf's greed for flesh.
Facing hundreds of "wild wolves", Old Hans didn't feel afraid at all. He stood behind a table made of welded angle iron, took out a few cans with unclear labels from the wooden crate behind him, threw them heavily on the table, and shouted loudly: "Old rules! One hundred kilograms of ore for five cents. The price of food is the same as yesterday. It is really lucky for you bastards. And there are even a few cans today. It depends on who can take it away! Don't squeeze, come one by one!"
These people had known the rules for a long time, lined up, and walked to the iron table one by one. Old Hans was like a butcher picking animals. He glanced at their bodies, skins, and complexions, and ordered casually: "You can go over there and get tools to work!" or "You can't! Just fuck away!"
The refugees who got the permission immediately trotted to the pile of tools next to them, picked up the pickaxe and a back basket, and ran towards the mine several hundred meters away, for fear that if they moved a little slower, they would be regarded as useless by Old Hans with a dread word: "You can't".
Those who already had experience walked unhurriedly, with a natural and familiar expression, as if they were in their own courtyard. One must know that this work would take a whole day, and it was very unwise to waste energy on the road.
"Why can't I?" A thunderous roar drew everyone's attention back. A strong black man who was about 1.9 meters tall and looked like a mountain bear thumped the iron table hard, and roared at Old Hans.
Old Hans took out a clean handkerchief, slowly wiped the drool sprayed on his face, pointed to a bowl-sized ulcer on the black man's chest, and said slowly: "You are sick! Let you go down the mine, you will infect all my strong mules. Who will work for me then?"
"I can work! I want to eat, and I have three children to raise!" The black man didn't listen carefully to what Old Hans was saying but kept roaring and banging the iron table.
Old Hans frowned, and while smoothing his bushy beard, he gestured behind him.
With a loud bang, the black man's screams suddenly stopped, and he looked at the sudden big hole in his chest in disbelief.
His throat made a hoo, but he couldn't speak anymore.
Behind Old Hans, a bald man pulled the trigger of a double-barreled shotgun in his hand again, and there was another loud bang. Hundreds of grains of iron blasted into the black man's chest, doubling the size of his wound, and completely pierced through his broad chest. The burly man was wearing a wrinkled black suit with several holes, obviously, it was an antique from some unknown years ago.
Behind Old Hans, there were three such strong men standing.
After wiping his face, Old Hans said to the air in front of the iron table: "Also, nigger, your saliva stinks!" Judging by the tone of his speech, it seemed that the black man was still standing in front of the table.
There were still more than a hundred refugees who had not entered the mine, and their eyes were less greedy and more fearful. Several people came over, dragged the black man's body away, and threw it a few hundred meters away. It won't be long before the carrion wolves and vultures, smelling the blood, would eat up his body. Not even a single bone would be left.
The line before the iron table shortened rapidly, and before dawn, most of the refugees had already descended into the mine. Those who had not been selected were walking towards the town to see if they could try their luck there.
"There are more and more sick mules, and this month's share is a bit too much." Old Hans muttered, standing up, and straightening his sore back. He had only stretched halfway when his movements suddenly stopped, and then he leaned forward with both hands on the iron table.
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He stared at the child in front of him who was just a head taller than the iron table.
The child was wrapped in a blanket that was so dirty that it was hard to discern its original color. His face, hands, and any exposed parts of his body were tightly wrapped with cloth strips. Only one left eye was exposed, looking at him calmly.
The child looked like he was only eight or nine years old, and he didn't know if he was a boy or a girl.
Originally, Old Hans would never waste a little effort on such obviously unqualified refugees. He did not open a charity organization.
But maybe it was the blood he saw just now that had made his heart a little soft, or maybe it was the worry about the lack of labor this month, or maybe it was the child's eyes… anyway, he hesitated for a moment, and asked, "You want to work too?"
The child nodded.
"Okay! But first, tell me, are you a man or a woman?" Old Hans asked.
"Male." The child finally spoke.
Compared with children of the same age, his voice was slightly deep, but it had an indescribable magnetic taste.
"Very good, boy. Go over there to get some tools. Like everyone else, you can get five cents for digging out a hundred kilograms of ore. This is the greatest preferential treatment for you. Dressing like this, you don't have any illness, do you? Well, you don't have to worry, at least you don't have a bad smell on your body. Old Hans has a good nose. Go to work, finish your work early and fill your stomach early, and work until you can't do it anymore. Then find Cripple Pete, and he'll tell you how much money you've made, and how much you can get for food."
While Old Hans was nagging, the boy carried an iron pick that was almost taller than him, carried a basket on his back that almost touched the ground, and slowly disappeared into the depths of the mine.
It wasn't until his figure disappeared that Old Hans shook his head. He suddenly turned his head and asked the burly man in a black suit who was following him, "Am I particularly wordy today?"
In front of this neurotic old man, the "Black Suit ", who was as strong as a cow, couldn't help taking a step back, and shook his head hastily, forcefully, and resolutely.
Old Hans laughed dryly and said: "You are very smart, so I made you the head of the guards. But you must always remember that I am the only official agent of the company in this place. If I can let you kill those vagrants like killing wild dogs at will, I can turn you into a dog tomorrow too. Old people are always a little weird. You just need to do your own thing well, do you understand?"
"Understood, Mr. Hans."
"You should call me Lord Hans!"
"Understood, my lord!"
Old Hans hummed a tune he had learned from somewhere and walked into a shed made of iron sheets. Even in the town a few kilometers away, this tin shed that was somewhat windproof and rainproof could be regarded as a mansion.
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