Chapter 927: Troublemaker

"Ronnie..."

Before the people behind the burly man had time to pull him back, the guy he had called Ronnie had, with his thick arms, violently pushed the manager, sending him "flying."

Of course, this was just an exaggerated rhetorical device. In fact, he had staggered back seven or eight steps before falling heavily to the ground.

Someone had hit the manager. People began to spread this bit of news, and the atmosphere at the scene had suddenly become tense.

The manager, who had fallen to the ground, was clutching his buttocks, grimacing in pain and sucking in cold air.

The look in his eyes as he looked at the burly man was filled with a deep chill. Never before had he, at any moment, had such a strong desire to kill someone as he did now!

He knew that this kind of emotion was not right, but he still thought so!

The guy who had pushed him down was called "Ronnie." What his surname was, people were not very clear, including himself.

Ronnie was a mixed-blood, a mixed-blood of a dark-skinned person and a local.

He was very lucky not to have been completely dyed through. Just from his appearance, he was just a little darker-skinned than the locals, which was still within people's acceptance range.

But people could, through some of the subtle differences in his appearance, discover his mixed-blood identity.

From a young age, his life had not been very good. He was regarded as a humiliation by his mother, and as a humiliation to the family by his mother's family.

Then he had been abandoned by his mother, when he was three or four years old, and had been thrown on the side of the road.

In Rapa, a child of this age who was abandoned would find it very difficult to survive, but he had.

He had grown up on the streets since he was a child, which had given him a very strong street style of doing things. Just one look, and you could tell where he had come from.

The street style was also very uniform, flashy, without the environment and space to use one's brain.

For Ronnie, to use his brain was far less simple and direct than to give his enemy a punch.

The fact that he could come to this factory was also because of an accident. When they were recruiting, they had been on the street where Ronnie lived. He was stronger than the others, so he had been luckily chosen.

The recruiter had felt that he would be a good hand, but had not expected that he was actually a troublemaker.

He was also the first to start slacking off. He had never done such a boring job, to sit there all day, and then to constantly repeat the process of rolling cigars. He had had enough of this kind of work, but he was not willing to lose this high-paying job.

So he had begun to slack off, and under his influence, some of the people who had a good relationship with him had also begun to slack off, and it had begun to spread to the surroundings, which was what had led to all this.

At this time, Ronnie looked at the manager who had been pushed to the ground by him. He already knew that the development of the matter had exceeded his expectations and plans. He could no longer stay in the factory.

The thought of him having just lost this job of his had made his gaze, as he looked at the manager, become even more ferocious.

And he had walked towards the manager.

The manager was frightened. Ronnie's eyes looked as if he wanted to eat him. He quickly retreated with both his hands and feet, and while retreating, he had sought for help.

The people around did not dare to help him much. The foremen in the factory had also just stood by his side, and had no intention of fully intervening.

Seeing that Ronnie had already come in front of him, and had grabbed his collar, and was preparing to let his fist and the manager's nose have a close contact, his action had suddenly paused.

The sound of a noisy commotion from behind him had made him turn his head, and then he had seen a baseball bat, which was swinging towards his head.

He had, almost instinctively, let go of the manager, and had, as much as possible, protected his head with both hands, to resist this attack, but it was of no use.

The intense pain from the baseball bat hitting his forearm, could make a person feel pain to the point of doubting his life!

However, this was not the end, but just the beginning.

The next second, the force from the back of his knee had made it very difficult for him to stand steadily. The joint that supported his center of gravity had been broken. He had almost instinctively pounced on the ground, and then a rain of blows had followed.

No one had given him any chance to breathe, nor had anyone told him why this was happening.

At this moment, he had curled up and was lying on his side on the ground. These experiences had made him think of his childhood, of the bullying he had received in the neighborhood.

This was not a good thing to be remembered.

Those children had always called him a "son of a dog." He had lived in an environment of deep inferiority. He had even, at one point, hated his mother.

Since you didn't plan to keep me, why did you give birth to me?

Since you had already decided to give birth to me, why did you throw me away?

He didn't understand, and he didn't want to. Because there was no time to.

Most of the time, he was the target of bullying. Who had asked his skin to be so dark?

They had also beaten him up like this. In the deepest part of his memory, the big kid who had led the bullying, after he had finished beating him, had taken off his own pants.

The moment the stinking, hot urine had poured on his head, he had decided that in the future, he must make a name for himself!

He had longed to become strong. It seemed that only by becoming strong could he protect himself.

He had once thought that he was strong enough, and that no one could bully him anymore, until this moment.

Every blow that had landed on his body had brought not only physical pain, but also mental, and spiritual. Those bad memories of the past had begun to attack him again, and his eyeballs had turned red.

He, through the gap between his arms, was staring at the manager, at the people who were inflicting violence on him, with a blank face.

The police who were watching the fun on the side had finally discovered that something was not right. As they were running towards this side, they were blocked by some foreigners who were wearing dark trench coats, and who, at a glance, were not from this country.

It was clear that these people, and the people who were beating him inside, were a gang.

One of the young men had taken out five two-dollar Federal Sols, had stared at the one among these police who should be a police officer, and had handed the money over. "I only have one piece of advice for you, don't find trouble for yourself!"

As he spoke, he had lifted his trench coat, revealing the weapon inside.

Looking at the handgun in the holster, the police officers in front of him had all fallen into a silence.

They had no weapons. To be more precise, they had no firearms.

Let alone a submachine gun or anything, they didn't even have a handgun.

It was not needed, nor was it necessary.

Before the federal people had arrived here, the Rapa people were actually quite easy to manage. As long as they didn't starve to death, they wouldn't find trouble with their rulers.

But with the arrival of the federal people, everything had changed, and it had also become more difficult to manage.

They had begun to be full of a questioning attitude towards some things, not as simple as before.

But even so, the police were still not fully armed. Only a very small number of people could be equipped with weapons.

After all, even if it was just a handgun, it was still a firearm, and it could also fire bullets, and could kill a person within a range of dozens of meters.

This was what the rulers feared the most, so the ruling group had, for the use of weapons in the territory of Rapa, had set up many barriers.

The police officer had looked at the handgun in the holster under the young man's trench coat, and then at the few banknotes that the other party was holding in his other hand. Soon he had made a decision.

He had reached out and had taken the banknotes from the young man's hand, and then, in front of the other police officers, he had taken off his police cap, and had put the banknotes in it, and had then put it back on neatly.

In this short period of time, Ronnie, in the factory, had already been beaten to the ground and was rolling back and forth. It wasn't that he hadn't resisted, but that his resistance had brought more of a siege on him. The workers, as they looked at him, their eyes were full of sympathy and pity.

The crowd had also been in a bit of a commotion, but it had soon been suppressed.

The manager had been helped up. He had been frightened just now. He had lost a great deal of face in front of the workers. He was the manager. This would have damaged his prestige.

Now he wanted to get back what he had lost in Ronnie's push, so he had to make some contribution!

Lance had had someone give him a baseball bat. The manager, who had gotten the bat, had swung it so hard that it had left an afterimage!

"You fucking dare to push me!"

"You fucking dare to take the lead in making trouble!"

"You fucking dare to slack off every day..."

In the process of venting, he had also clearly pushed some of the responsibility onto Ronnie, as if it were... all because of him that everything had become so bad!

He was constantly waving the baseball bat in his hand, smashing it at Ronnie on the ground. He had vented his anger fiercely, and with the constant beating, his mood had also calmed down a lot.

To get comfort through violence, through destruction, has always been a relatively common means for humans. For example, some people, once their emotions fluctuate, will start to smash things.

The manager looked at Ronnie, who was lying on the ground, pretending to be dead, and not daring to move. The manager had "spat" and had spat a mouthful of saliva on Ronnie's body. Then he had stood on the box again.

He had looked around, had taken a deep breath, and had, with one finger, pointed at Ronnie, who was lying motionless on the ground, and had said with a cold and serious face, "This is the end for you for not cooperating!"

Now, many people had already lowered their heads, not daring to provoke the manager again.

The manager's gaze had lingered on the nearest people one by one. No one had dared to raise their head. At this moment, the manager was satisfied.

"If you still want to keep this job, then from now on, you will abide by the company's rules."

"If anyone feels that it's too strict, and that you can't stand it, then you can leave now."

"This is the last time I will repeat this..."

A few minutes later, the people who had gathered at the factory entrance had all taken the initiative to disperse.

Some people had carried Ronnie, and had left with him. He needed a doctor now.

And most of the people had returned to the factory, had returned to the side of the assembly line, and had begun a new day's work.

The lower the class, the poorer a place, and the people who live here, they will not, just because you have given them an opportunity, and you respect them, in the same way, respect you.

People will only be in awe of those who can decide their future destiny.

Ronnie's "outburst" was just a "topic of conversation" for them, and could not, in the true sense, change anything.