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Chapter 21: Sin
April 4th, nightfall.
On the Pierre cargo ship, after days of silence, a sharp turning sound suddenly came from the container door.
Moments later, the door was violently yanked open, and a handheld light pierced through the stagnant air inside. The beam swept over the huddled figures deep within the container—people who had grown accustomed to the darkness—eliciting cries of despair. Even mosquitoes and flies buzzed chaotically in the air.
"We’ve arrived! Everyone out! Climb down the ladder onto the small boat, hurry up!"
The Blue Signal criminals barged in without hesitation.
One by one, they herded the stowaways out of the container. But even after most were gone, several figures remained motionless in the depths of the container.
"I said get up, didn’t you hear me?" An impatient criminal kicked one of them. The stowaway, leaning against the corner, slumped to the ground like a lifeless puppet.
The criminal froze for a moment, then crouched down to check for breath. "Dead."
"Huh?" The accomplice at the door was dumbfounded.
The criminal shone the flashlight around again. Human bodies were piled together like lifeless heaps, limbs twisted, faces pale—a sight that made one’s stomach churn.
"They’re already rotting... Didn’t you patrol here a few days ago?"
"I did! They were yelling for medicine, saying they needed a hospital. I thought they were just messing with me."
"We’ll have to move them all down. Tell them to take the bodies and bury them."
"Can’t we dump them in the sea?"
"It’s too risky lately. If they wash ashore, it’ll be trouble—give me a hand."
"Damn it, we’re definitely getting chewed out for this. First the storm cost us important cargo, and now we’ve lost people. What’s going on..."
The two stuffed their noses with paper rolls and began dragging the corpses out of the container. They shouted toward the small boat waiting beside the cargo ship to explain the situation, then threw the bodies overboard, where other criminals on the boat took charge of them.
After dumping everything, the two also climbed down the rope ladder into the dark. On the small boat, their accomplices were using long poles with hooks to drag the corpses aboard.
Soon, the overcrowded boat carried both the living and the dead, packed tightly together. The engine roared as the vessel turned under the cover of night, heading toward the rugged coastline of Pingyuan City.
The storm that had raged days earlier had long since faded into the distance. This night in Pingyuan City was pitch-black, devoid of moonlight.
Pingyuan City’s coastline was riddled with treacherous reefs, whirlpools, and strange currents, but the criminals of Blue Signal knew the safest routes like the backs of their hands. The small boat moved like a nimble fish, navigating through clusters of rocks in near-total darkness. It slipped into an almost undetectable channel and finally docked at a hidden pier.
"Get ashore, hurry up! The truck is waiting just ahead!"
Under the criminals’ shoves, the stowaways scrambled onto land. Led by the flashlight of the lead criminal, they stumbled along narrow paths.
A drizzle began to fall, soaking the group as they trudged forward. Groans and cries echoed through the night—the injuries sustained during the storm in the container had left everyone wounded, their spirits and bodies pushed to the brink. Pain they had suppressed for days now spilled forth uncontrollably.
Those who hadn’t survived were left behind on the small boat.
At the very end of the line, one stowaway glanced back at the boat as it headed back out to sea. He remembered someone he’d spoken to in the container. That person had been badly injured; at first, they’d managed to exchange words intermittently, comforting each other. But for the past few hours, there had been no response.
The stowaway turned to the criminal at the rear of the group. "What will happen to those people?"
"What, do you know someone?"
"No..."
"Then why are you asking? They’re dead." The criminal smirked. "Just a few days, and you’ve already formed some kind of brotherhood?"
"Dead? But... but they were just hurt. We were talking earlier..."
"Shut up and keep moving."
The criminal shoved him again. The stowaway fell silent, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other.
After walking for some time, the group was directed into a building.
The harsh sea wind and rain ceased here, replaced by an unnatural warmth. The stowaways looked around, trying to make out the vehicle that would supposedly take them to their new lives in the pitch-black surroundings.
Finally, someone turned on the lights.
The glow revealed a dilapidated warehouse, dusty air swirling around rust-covered iron walls and roof.
Seawater dripped from the stowaways’ bodies, pooling at their feet. These frightened, disoriented people glanced at the criminals nearby and the piles of miscellaneous items scattered throughout the warehouse.
There was no truck in sight.
Fear, like a seed, found fertile ground in these exhausted minds and began to grow rapidly.
At that moment, a rather rugged-looking middle-aged man entered through a side door. He closed his umbrella, wiped mud from his shoes, and frowned as he surveyed the interior of the warehouse. "I know the cargo was lost—it was an act of God—but what about the people? How are they supposed to work like this? Where are the thirty-odd young people we were promised?"
"The ship encountered a storm. A few died, and the rest got banged up, but it’s nothing serious—"
"‘Nothing serious’? How are they supposed to work in this condition?"
A deathly silence spread among the stowaways.
Even the dimmest among them now understood their fate.
There was no “infiltration into the relocation program.” They had been lured away from their homes and sold off in District Ten.
In the dim light of the warehouse, someone eyed a small door in the corner, planning to escape while the criminals were haggling. But before they could take a step, a gunshot rang out.
The sound triggered screams, and the stowaways all dropped to the ground. The would-be escapee froze, forced to stop and raise their hands. Immediately, a criminal rushed forward, striking them down with a stun baton.
A small leader lowered the pistol he had pointed at the ceiling.
"Anyone else feeling brave? Working for us won’t kill you. Life in District Ten is better than in District Nine—we’re not at war every day. Work honestly, and you’ll live peacefully. Understand?"
The cries of the fallen escapee still echoed overhead, mingling with the faint sobbing of the crowd—for their deception, and for their bleak futures.
The armed leader holstered his weapon and resumed negotiating with the buyer.
"This batch is smaller than expected, but the news from Green Island City is big. We’ll definitely lure more batches later. For now..."
"Sinners! Villains!"
A voice, seemingly out of place in this den of iniquity, boomed from above, echoing through the warehouse.
An imposing figure, cloaked in black, stood atop a steel beam near the ceiling. Their long coat fluttered dramatically despite the lack of wind.
The criminals raised their guns and aimed upward.
But the figure seemed oblivious, declaring their arrival with resounding conviction.
"Denizens of the night! Your time has come, for you face—"
A barrage of gunfire drowned out the rest of their proclamation, like firecrackers exploding in rapid succession.
The warehouse erupted into chaos.
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