130: Chapter 130 Post-War Zero-Yuan Purchase
Reading "Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor, Three Hundred Years in Tax Arrears," enjoy your reading time.
At the site of the temporary press conference in front of the Capitol Building, flashbulbs flickered incessantly.
Admiral Jensen, in a crisp military uniform with medals covering his chest, stood before the microphone, speaking with animated fervor.
"Everyone, the Washington crisis has been completely resolved! Under my decisive command, we quelled this riot caused by mutant apes in just forty-eight hours! This fully proves the response speed and absolute combat power of the US Army!"
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He bragged incessantly about his bravery, decisiveness, and calmness in the face of danger, as if he had been the one charging on the front lines the entire time.
Below the stage, Fu Haoran leaned against the back seat of a bulletproof SUV, watching the live broadcast and let out a sneer.
Jimmy, sitting in the passenger seat, turned around and handed over a tablet: "Boss, the media outlets you arranged have already asked questions according to the outline you provided."
"Yellowstone Industry's reconstruction team is already on the way. After this riot, we should be able to secure basically all the reconstruction orders."
Fu Haoran curled his lips and continued to stare at the live broadcast screen.
At the press conference, the first reporter to ask a question, from The New York Times, stood up.
"Admiral, there are reports that the first unit to arrive in Washington to suppress the rebellion was a National Guard unit. There are rumors that they were owed construction fees totaling up to eight hundred million dollars, and they came specifically to demand their pay this time?"
The smile on Admiral Jensen's face froze for a fraction of a second, and he cursed inwardly: Eight hundred million? It was clearly only six hundred and forty million! Which bastard spread that number!
But on the surface, he remained righteous and slammed the table in denial: "This is a complete rumor! Our soldiers have always performed their duties faithfully; defending the country is their sacred duty and has nothing to do with pay! To speak of arrears is pure nonsense!"
A second reporter immediately followed up: "Admiral, this National Guard unit took less than thirteen hours from receiving orders to arriving in Washington."
"According to normal procedures, mobilizing the National Guard requires the Governor's approval and a record in Congress, taking at least twenty-four hours. How was this special case handled so quickly?"
Admiral Jensen almost blurted out a curse: Is arriving fast a bad thing? Do you want to wait until the apes have slaughtered everyone in Washington before you're satisfied?
He took a deep breath and recited the prepared lines: "These so-called National Guard units are actually militia volunteers spontaneously organized by enthusiastic citizens."
"They rushed to the front lines as soon as the disaster occurred. The military only granted them official status after the fact. This is a flexible and efficient emergency mechanism."
A third reporter pressed further: "Some citizens photographed an unknown model of heavy tank appearing on the streets. Is this a new weapon of our army?"
Admiral Jensen was blunt: "No such thing. No weapons or equipment beyond the standard issue were found at the scene."
Just as he finished speaking, a fourth reporter held up a phone, showing a live image of a Paladin Knight Mech on the screen: "Then may I ask if this mecha, over ten meters tall, is our country's secret weapon?"
A layer of fine sweat broke out on Admiral Jensen's forehead, and he shook his head frantically in his mind: No! I don't even know what that thing is!
But when the words reached his lips, he forced a sharp turn.
He knew all too well that if he said "no," it would be equivalent to admitting that unidentified heavy armaments had appeared in the defense of Washington and the US Army knew nothing about them.
That would be ten thousand times more embarrassing than admitting to having a secret weapon.
Without blinking an eye, Admiral Jensen spoke loudly into the microphone: "That's right, this is a new generation of combat mecha developed secretly by our country, codenamed 'Liberty Guardian.' It is currently in the experimental stage, and it's inconvenient to disclose more technical details."
"Please believe that we are always going all out to defend national security."
The reporters on the scene were instantly in an uproar, and the flashbulbs went crazy.
It immediately topped the real-time trending searches on the foreign internet, and the national confidence of the American people was instantly maxed out.
Fu Haoran laughed out loud as he watched the live broadcast.
All the sharp questions at the press conference were fed to the media by him in advance with money.
By forcing Admiral Jensen to publicly claim the mecha as a secret US Army weapon, the matter of shifting the blame would be completely buried.
By putting the issue of the eight hundred million dollar unpaid wages in front of the national audience, if Congress wanted to back out later, they would have to weigh the pressure of public opinion.
It was a guaranteed win-win deal.
More importantly, by shifting the blame and completely covering up the mecha issue, it was perfect.
The subsequent questions were all about the new weapons and accountability for the ape riot.
Admiral Jensen's lips were almost worn out from talking, as he shifted all the blame onto "illegal biological laboratories controlled by foreign extremist forces," without mentioning a single word about the US Army's own experimental projects.
Until the last reporter asked: "Admiral, Washington is currently experiencing widespread power outages. The power company says it will take at least three weeks to restore power. Hospitals and refugee camps are on the verge of collapse. What is the military's solution for this?"
Admiral Jensen's face instantly darkened. He was here to claim credit and gain exposure; how did this mess end up being dumped on him too?
He could only grit his teeth and speak in official platitudes, repeating things like "establishing an emergency command center, coordinating various resources, and striving to restore power as soon as possible," without saying anything useful, before hurriedly ending the press conference.
Meanwhile, on the streets of Washington, the traditional art of zero-dollar shopping had arrived right on schedule.
Daniel felt the worn revolver at his waist, feeling a bit more at ease.
This gun had been with him for eight years and hadn't been fired many times, but every time he went zero-dollar shopping, he had to touch it for peace of mind.
In zero-dollar shopping, the gun isn't for shooting; it's for scaring people.
He took over thirty brothers, carrying two revolvers, and drove three beat-up pickups, excitedly heading into the largest chain supermarket in the district.
As an old veteran of the looting world, he knew exactly what to do.
After a major disaster, food, water, and toilet paper were hard currency, easiest to sell on the black market; he had even found buyers in advance.
But when they reached the supermarket entrance, the rolling shutter door had been pried off and thrown on the roadside, and glass shards covered the ground.
Daniel's face instantly darkened, and he touched the revolver at his waist again.
"Fuck! Which bastard dares to snatch my turf? Don't they know this whole area is covered by me, Daniel?"
He pulled out his revolver, waved it in the air, and shouted with spit flying: "Everyone follow me in! Today I'm going to break the legs of those blind bastards and throw them to feed the apes!"
The brothers charged in, howling.
Daniel rushed at the front, cursing, but as soon as he turned past a shelf, his words got stuck in his throat as if someone were strangling him.
The supermarket was packed with people.
They weren't a disorganized mob of looters, but people in uniform military boots, tactical vests, and standard-issue Boltguns, with black cloths over their faces and coats thrown over them half-heartedly in a futile attempt at a disguise, methodically loading things onto military trucks.
Canned food, bottled water, batteries, toilet paper—even the shelves were being dismantled and loaded, and the barcode scanners from the checkout counters had been snatched away.
Hearing Daniel's shouting, over a hundred people turned their heads in unison.
The sound of cocking guns was like a crisp rain; over a hundred dark muzzles were instantly aimed at Daniel's group.
The leading soldier glanced at him sideways without saying a word.
In the face of truth (the gun barrels), Daniel's rusty brain began to spin rapidly for the first time in a long while.
Under the rapid irrigation of cold sweat, Daniel's brain operated at a speed it had never achieved in his entire life.
The flesh on his face twitched, and he instantly hid the revolver behind his back, squeezing out a smile that looked worse than crying: "Hahaha! Just a joke! Brothers, we're just passing through! Passing through! You guys continue, thanks for your hard work!"
As he spoke, he led his men in a frantic retreat. Once out of the supermarket doors, his legs went weak; he leaned against the wall and touched the revolver again, his palms drenched in sweat.
"Boss, should we check out other places?" one of the brothers asked quietly.
Daniel slapped him on the head: "Check your ass! With these plague gods here, there won't even be a hair left for ten miles around!"
Not giving up, he led his men to the luxury shopping mall in the city center.
If the supermarket was gone, surely they could pick up some leftovers like designer bags, watches, or jewelry in the mall? If all else failed, they could find a Chinese personal shopper to take the goods and still make a profit.
But when they reached the mall entrance, Daniel was completely stunned.
It was even more spectacular than the supermarket.
Over a dozen trucks were parked at the entrance, and soldiers were going in and out as if they were moving house.
TVs, refrigerators, computers, designer bags, watches, perfumes—even leather sofas were being carried by two people and stuffed into the trucks.
Daniel even saw a "bandit" holding a giant teddy bear, muttering about it being a "gift for my daughter."
"Is this fucking zero-dollar shopping or a moving company?" Daniel muttered to himself, subconsciously touching the revolver at his waist again.
Just as he was wondering whether to sneak in and scavenge some leftovers, a scrawny white junkie suddenly rushed past from behind, clutching a dagger, screaming like he was high, "This is my turf! Everyone get lost!", and charged into the mall like a madman.
The soldier guarding the entrance raised his rifle without even looking at him.
Rat-tat-tat.
A burst of bolt rounds hit near his feet, the concrete exploding into a series of craters, and stone fragments peppered the junkie's face.
The junkie instantly sobered up, slumped to the ground, and scrambled away on all fours.
The soldier didn't even give him a second glance and continued loading things onto the truck.
Daniel swallowed hard and turned to leave.
"Boss, not looking anymore?"
"Look at what? We're going home!"
"But we didn't get anything!"
Daniel looked back at the brightly lit but emptied mall, then looked down at the revolver that had been with him for eight years and sighed:
"These days, even zero-dollar shopping has been monopolized by the regular army. I'd better go back and claim some relief food."
In the supermarket, the recruit Leon was following the veteran Kharn, loading boxes of canned food onto a cart.
He was a recruit who had just come out of the conscription camp, and this was his first time on a mission with the Governor; his hands were still shaking a bit.
"Sgt... Sergeant, isn't taking things like this a violation of military regulations?" Leon asked quietly. "When we were recruited, didn't they say we couldn't loot civilians?"
Kharn sneered, stuffed two cartons of cigarettes into a sack, and spat: "Fear what? The Governor said the rulers of this planet owe our Hive City a full hundred years of taxes! Taking this little bit of stuff to settle the debt is only natural!"
He patted Leon on the shoulder and lowered his voice to explain the rules: "Remember the three iron laws set by the Governor. First, only touch the wealthy and the shops; don't touch the civilians' belongings."
He patted Leon on the shoulder and lowered his voice to explain the rules: "Remember the three iron laws set by the Governor. First, only touch the wealthy and the shops; don't touch the civilians' belongings."
"Second, only take wealth; no harming people, and no touching women or children."
"Third, half of all spoils go to the Hive City treasury, and the other half is distributed among the brothers according to military merit. How much you get depends entirely on your own ability."
Leon's eyes instantly lit up.
He had joined the army to earn some money and get a new nutrient tank for his family.
"By the way," Kharn added, pointing to the mask on his face and the gloves on his hands, "keep your mask on and don't take off your gloves. There are many cameras here; don't leave your face or fingerprints."
"Also, these clothes we changed into before entering the city must be burned after the mission. Don't cause trouble for the Governor, and don't cause trouble for yourself."
Leon quickly pulled his mask up a bit more, pushed the cart forward a couple of steps, and stopped in front of the food shelves, completely frozen.
He had never seen so much food in his life.
In the Underhive, a piece of Corpse Starch could make three children fight to the death, but here, crates of canned meat were piled up, with labels printed with letters he didn't understand, but the oily chunks of meat in the pictures were clearly visible.
There were also rows of bottled water on the shelves, so clean they could reflect a person's image, not like the rusty-tasting recycled water in the Hive City.
He reached out, picked up a can of beef, and looked it over repeatedly, his fingertips trembling, reluctant to put it in the cart.
His sister was eight years old and had never even had a bite of fresh meat.
"What are you standing there for?" Kharn slapped him on the back of the head. "Load it! If you can't carry it all at once, make more trips! There'll be plenty for you to eat when we get back!"
Leon snapped out of it, put the can into the cart, and reached for a second and a third. His movements became faster and faster, and the light in his eyes grew brighter.
This batch of recruits had all heard from the veterans before coming.
This place was a Garden World, where the upper class lived, with good food, good drink, and many rules.
But they knew even better that the soldiers who followed the Governor here never returned empty-handed.
...
As dawn broke, the wealthy in the affluent districts finally dared to emerge from their hiding places.
Richard, an investment bank executive from Wall Street, wrapped in a coat given to him by a neighbor, walked back to his villa, trembling.
Last night, he had been politely asked to leave his home by a group of masked soldiers; they had even given him a coat and hadn't harmed a hair on his head.
But when he returned, the entire villa was empty.
The red wine he had collected for twenty years, antique clocks, and oil paintings were all gone.
The safe had been pried wide open, and the gold, jewelry, and bonds inside were gone without a trace.
Only a few broken bowls were left in the kitchen; the food in the refrigerator had been cleared out, and even the outdoor unit of the central air conditioner had been dismantled from the wall.
Richard sat on the empty living room floor, his mind a complete blank.
He wanted to drive to a hotel in the city, but when he reached the garage, he found that his newly purchased Mercedes SUV, along with the keys, had vanished without a trace.
He pulled out his phone to call for a ride, only to find that his wallet and credit cards had all been taken as well.
His phone was still there, but the signal was intermittent, and the ride-hailing app simply wouldn't load.
Richard stood at the door for ten minutes and finally had to accept his fate, walking toward the city center on foot.
The entire street of the Upper East Side was filled with people just like him.
Wealthy men in loungewear and ladies in heavy coats, all pale-faced, walked aimlessly on the street.
Their homes, without exception, had been emptied.
Even more desperate was the fact that the entire city was out of power.
The backup generators in their homes, along with the fuel tanks, had all been pried away.
No electricity, no internet, no cars, no money.
The wealthy who once stood at the top of the pyramid had become homeless refugees overnight.
Fortunately, the police who arrived nearby guided them to a temporary shelter in the suburbs, a large supermarket that was still open.
As soon as they reached the supermarket entrance, everyone was stunned.
The supermarket was brightly lit, the air conditioning was blowing cool air, the freezers were running normally, the checkout computers had their screens lit, and there were even staff members checking out customers as usual.
In the darkness of the citywide power outage, this place was simply the dawn of civilization.
"Why is there power here?!" someone couldn't help but shout.
The crowd instantly became agitated, and some people followed the wires extending from the supermarket entrance and found dozens of sci-fi-looking pickups parked neatly in the parking lot.
The vehicle bodies were printed with an unfamiliar DYB logo.
"What kind of cars are those? I've never seen them. Are they providing power? Can the car batteries hold up?"
"I heard they're pure electric vehicles."
"What? Who buys pure electric? How long can the range last? They'll probably break down after a few miles."
The wealthy people present chimed in one after another, their words filled with a sense of superiority; no one took these DYB electric pickups seriously.
In their understanding, gas cars were the mainstream, and electric cars were synonymous with short range and toy cars.
The wealthy turned their noses up at the DYB pickups, only feeling a bit of curiosity about their appearance.