Darkstone Code

The sound of a heavy object hitting the ground, a loud bang, even made people feel a slight tremor underfoot.

Some people walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out, the street outside erupted with some women's screams after a brief silence.

The place where Ferrari held the celebration ceremony this time was at a hotel. He himself didn't have a large house in Sabin City to accommodate so many people, nor did he have any grand villas or big estates. Hosting it at home would only reveal his shortcomings.

In the end, he chose to host this celebration at Sabin Hotel. The hotel manager cleverly waived all of Ferrari's fees and even provided quite a lot of drinks and beverages, and everything needed at the buffet, including a band and a male and female singer.

The room they chose was directly facing the crossroads outside the hotel, the busiest place, and only at this time did people realize someone had jumped off the building.

This kind of thing is actually not new, more people jumped off buildings last year, but jumping in front of people still makes these wealthy individuals feel a certain kind of thrill they themselves are unwilling to admit.

The excitement in the eyes of the lady who murmured "Too scary" betrayed her, while the gentleman not far from her tore at his bow tie, staring intently at the jumper, his breathing somewhat rapid, his pupils slightly dilated, this wasn't a display of fear.

Everyone's reaction was different, Ferrari was also somewhat curious, he had encountered such things before, but back then he was the one handling the aftermath, reducing unnecessary impacts, getting rid of some negative reports, now the change in status makes it a bit interesting, he stands with a wine glass by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the jumper who is still twitching below.

The gentleman who jumped made a poor choice, as the main building of Sabin Hotel is not tall enough, jumping won't result in instant death, and the agony of a fractured body lasts at least for ten to tens of seconds, far less desirable than choosing other ways to leave this world.

"I know him..." someone suddenly exclaimed, "He ran a company, seemed to have completely gone bankrupt recently."

Originally, people still had somewhat schadenfreude expressions, which immediately turned somber. Most here are merchants, they had a kind of shared illusion of empathy, no one knows when they might choose this path.

It's actually much better than when the financial tsunami first arrived; back then in Bupen, the rooftops of tall buildings were queued up, you had to wait for others to jump off before you could leap, otherwise, you might not die.

Someone used a very abstract way to describe the scene that day through words—"People were like the Lord and demon's dinner, being invisibly smashed onto the ground, turning into a mass of meatloaf, sprinkled with tomato sauce."

Lynch also moved to the floor-to-ceiling window, glanced at the corpse that was no longer twitching on the ground, and raised his eyebrows.

"You know him?", Ferrari asked, feeling Lynch's previous reaction was a bit off.

Lynch shook his head, "No, I just thought of a guy, he said he wouldn't sell me his factory even if he goes to Hell."

After hearing it, Ferrari couldn't help but laugh, "How could anyone refuse you? Even someone like me, who doesn't do business, knows it's the right choice to deal with things while they can still be sold."

He and Lynch clinked their glasses, each taking a sip.

"So you are suited to be a politician, not a capitalist," Lynch seriously commented after setting down his glass.

There are two kinds of businesses in this world that are pretty stable.

One is political business, which requires someone, and someone who holds high positions.

A place, even the whole country, will vigorously develop what's next, when there is no news outside yet, you'll get the information first, using nearly no capital to get a large swath of quality resources first, and once the policy is down, the value of the resources skyrockets.

The second is underutilization, though using "underutilization" to describe this method isn't entirely correct, these enterprises don't lose because they have some method to avoid losses, but because they can afford to lose.

Just like Mr. Wardrick plans to acquire a film company for his daughter, even if this film company doesn't shoot films for decades and incurs losses year after year, it can still sustain.

Apart from these two, all businesses are essentially gambling, it's betting on an uncertain future, betting one can hold out until dawn comes.

Some succeed, but many more fail. This world doesn't have that many miracles. Waiting for the economy to turn better certainly isn't achievable in three or five days, three or five months, it might take three or five years, or longer.

Unclear ones, like the current gentleman, apart from perhaps getting reported in the middle pages of tomorrow's newspaper, he will disappear from society forever, no one will remember him.

Including his wife, his children, his family, after a brief period of grief, they will quickly move on from the sorrow.

Lynch looked at the corpse, slightly shook his head, suicide, the stupidest solution!

Of course, Lynch wasn't aware, at this moment on the rooftop, there's another gentleman preparing to jump, just as he watched the gruesome dead fellow on the ground, he suddenly didn't feel as bold as before.

His hands tightly grasped his fedora, the brim bent slightly due to his grip.

The cold wind on the rooftop howled, and even though it was January, the temperature hadn't improved; instead, it was colder than before.

He suddenly sneezed, perhaps from standing on the rooftop for too long, or maybe from being in the cold wind for too long; the sneeze made him feel a bit dizzy.

At the moment he closed his eyes and exhaled a gust from his lungs, he felt a sense of weightlessness, which frightened him enough to kneel down on the ground, not daring to move.

When he felt better, he looked once more at the unfamiliar friend who had chatted with him a while ago but was now thrown into a body bag like trash, feeling a bit sorrowful.

Meanwhile, he saw a few police officers preparing to come upstairs.

This gave him a start; he quickly turned and headed towards the stairs, not wanting to be caught at this time. They might think he's the murderer, that he's the one who pushed that fool down...

They couldn't really think that, how foolish would that be.

He hurriedly got up and walked towards the staircase entrance, wanting to leave before the police arrived. At that moment, the panic on his face bore no resemblance to the demeanor he had earlier when he pointed at Lynch's nose and shouted, "Let your greed go to hell!"

As he was going downstairs, he happened to meet the police coming up. The police gave him a once-over, and he nodded with a smile. Just as both parties were about to pass by each other in opposite directions, one officer suddenly spoke.

"Sir, were you on the rooftop just now?"

"Rooftop?" The old man turned sideways with an exaggerated expression to hide his inner unease, "Of course not, how could an old man like me go to such a cold place as a rooftop?"

The officer glanced at him, smiled, and nodded, "Did you see any strange people?"

The old man shook his head, "I haven't seen any."

"Alright, sorry to bother you, goodbye, sir!"

After the old man walked away, one policeman bent down and picked up a small stone from the ground. He had a playful expression on his face, "Have someone follow him, there's some dust on his knee and a small stone. If I'm not mistaken, there must be many of such small stones on the rooftop..."

The old man didn't know that even though he had quickly left the scene, he was still considered an important suspect in the crime. Nor did he know that the incompetent police officers in Sabin City's police station had been thoroughly dismissed due to a strike.

Currently on duty were either recently retired soldiers, still maintaining a swift and decisive style, or experienced captains and detectives. He was really unlucky.

In the Federation, being associated with a murder is a serious crime, even if he's truly innocent. The legal procedure won't be reduced, which means he'll have to hire a lawyer, another significant expense...

The gentlemen in the building quickly recovered from the pervasive gloomy atmosphere; they gathered here today to celebrate Ferrari's inauguration as mayor of Sabin City, even if temporarily.

The band started playing again, and the singer resumed passionately singing classical music. Amidst the intoxicating revelry, people wore fake smiles and raised their glasses, as if everything was still in the "golden age" of several years ago!

...

In the morning, a thin worker bid farewell to his wife and children with a smile while carrying his tool bag. After about one to two years, they finally welcomed a new job!

Through screening by City Hall and the Workers' Union, these family members who needed work more than others finally got jobs.

These workers had never desired work as much as they did now; in the past, they wishfully worked only eight hours a day, and if they could slack off for two hours, they would; if not, they pretended to work.

But now, even if it's ten hours a day, or twelve hours, they think it's appropriate.

The workers lined up at the factory entrance, showing their work permits. The small booklet bore their photos and a steel seal, indicating they were workers at this factory.

The reason behind such inhumane measures, in conflict with the essence of freedom, lay entirely in the discovery that some people attempted to sneak into the factory to work.

To prevent this, work permits with photos were created and distributed to the workers.

Only with a work permit could one enter the factory and work; this was almost impossible to achieve before. Work permits were once regarded as proof of capitalists enslaving workers.

But now, work permits have become symbols of honor and glory.

It's very realistic, not laughable at all.