Chubby clapped his hands excitedly and shouted, "Congratulations, Little Bottle, for closing a huge deal worth a billion Korean won! Everyone, give him a hand!"
"Clap clap clap"
Everyone looked at me with envy, their hands clapping loudly. Especially those who were always at the bottom of the performance rankings; they wished they could have that billion won in their accounts instead. That way, they wouldn't get dragged into the little black room for punishment.
"Little Bottle, the supervisor was right about you. Here, have some snacks to replenish your energy," Chubby said cheerfully, carrying a pile of drinks and cookies over to me.
I already had a dorm room full of snacks, so these expired foods didn't appeal to me. But having something was better than nothing. Starving is no joke, so I took them to store for later.
"Do you have any tea? Make me a cup to sober up," I said, snapping back to reality and looking towards Sister Jade at the door.
"Yes, yes, I'll make it right away." Chubby eagerly ran off to make tea.
That's how it is in this place. One minute you're making money and being treated like a king, the next minute you could be beaten down.
"A billion won is still a lot. You're amazing," Sister Jade said flirtatiously as she walked in and sat down at a desk next to me.
When she said "amazing," it always felt insincere.
"Here's your tea. It's a bit hot, so wait for it to cool down," Chubby said, diligently placing a steaming enamel cup on my desk. The tea was of medium quality, but decent enough.
"Well, if I close a deal, will you give me a massage too?" Sister Jade asked, giving Chubby a sultry look.
Chubby retorted, "Massage you? Keep dreaming."
Sister Jade adjusted the strap on her shoulder, "Dreams only happen after you sleep with me first!"
"…No one wants to sleep with you," Chubby said angrily, unable to outflirt her.
Why do I have to hear this kind of talk? I didn't want to get involved in their power struggles. I just wanted to make money, get a gun, and plan an escape.
"Are you looking for trouble? Calling the police!" Suddenly, one of the new guys was kicked to the ground by a lackey.
He was a boy with a face full of pimples, younger than he looked. He was from Class B, so I didn't know him well. We sat in rows like an assembly line and rarely talked unless we shared a dorm room.
In this hellhole, there's no trust between people. There's no solidarity, and you're lucky if someone doesn't stab you in the back.
The pimple-faced boy couldn't stand the oppression here, so he asked the person he was scamming to call the police. That triggered the warning system, leading to his brutal punishment: a session in the little black room with electric shocks and beatings.
They then forced him to make a video call to his parents, demanding ransom money. No parent could stand to see their child tortured, even if they had to beg or borrow money.
These demons exploit the desperation of the victims' families, extorting them until they're drained. Parents go mad with worry and helplessness; the police can't help across borders.
Those lucky enough to be ransomed back home are often severely injured. Some have broken limbs, some are missing organs, and others have been castrated. They return to face imprisonment and long-term medical costs that ruin their families financially.
I know three cases where boys were successfully ransomed. All came back disabled and faced prison sentences. Their parents aged overnight, buried in debt.
Imagine coming out of jail, still needing medical treatment, with a massive debt, a tarnished reputation, and a body too weak to work. Would you still think coming to Myanmar for money was a good idea?
I know the answer is no.
"Everyone, stop working and come out," Wrench, carrying a gun, shouted from the doorway.
When he's serious, Wrench is intimidating. Especially in that security uniform, he instills fear.
I guessed Liu Eleven had sent him to make an announcement. Sure enough, he said the supervisor wanted everyone to gather by the crocodile pond behind the park.
Several old employees shuddered at the mention of "crocodiles." My heart sank too, sensing trouble.
"Get moving, or the supervisor will be displeased," Chubby urged, clapping his hands.
After a few seconds of silence, everyone put down their work and headed outside.
"What a mess," Classmate Eight muttered under his breath.
"Watch your mouth, or you'll end up feeding the fish," I warned him, giving him a stern look before joining the crowd.
After a five or six-minute walk, we reached the crocodile pond behind the park. Unlike places where crocodiles are farmed for meat, here they fed on people.
The large pond was dug at the foot of the hill, surrounded by a simple but sturdy wire fence with no other defenses. The area was full of ropes and stakes, clearly used for torture.
As we approached, the stench hit us. Several three to four-meter-long adult crocodiles lay on the ground by the pond, dozing lazily. I heard these crocodiles were particularly aggressive and illegal to keep in China.
Hearing our footsteps, the Siamese crocodiles snapped their eyes open, opened their huge jaws, and slid into the water.
"Splash"
Dozens of aggressive adult Siamese crocodiles emerged from the water, turning their heads to look at the approaching crowd as if waiting for something.
We stopped outside the fence, fearfully watching the crocodiles just a wire's width away, unsure of Liu Eleven's intentions.
"Bring the people in. Those with no performance and disobedience will end up like this," Liu Eleven shouted through a megaphone from the building opposite.
"Please, don't kill me! Give me another chance…" The lackeys dragged five bloodied, crying captives inside and locked the gate.
"No, I don't want to be fed to the crocodiles, please!" The captives clung to the fence, shouting in terror.
The crocodile pack, smelling blood, started to gather around them...