This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 359.1: Survivors Daily

Nestled in the western district of Boulder Town, 97th Street was a place plagued by overflowing sewage and pervasive air pollution. Coupled with the crowded and run-down tenement buildings, the area was often referred to as Crow's Nest by the locals.

Due to its proximity to the giant wall, residents there could only enjoy the sun in the morning and at noon; by dusk, the street would be shrouded in the shadow of the giant wall.

Objectively speaking, if one ignored the lack of sunlight, life there was much better than in the slums outside the giant wall.

Most of the people living there were workers from nearby factories.

Unless they were local residents, few people were willing to come close to that area.

There were almost no entertainment activities, and almost no one would want to open a shop among a group of poor folks.

People with jobs would need to work 16 hours. They would often come home and fall asleep straight away. As for those without jobs, even if they stared blankly all day, they wouldn't pull out a chip for fun.

But there were exceptions.

At the border with the industrial zone, there was a tavern called Walnut.Its iconic sign was a pile of empty walnut barrels at the entrance.

These barrels were not large; they could serve as tables or stools, and could even be used as a makeshift toilet if needed.

When the workers finished their day's work and passed by there, they would occasionally pull out a chip given by the foreman and have a cheap and large glass of draft beer, a simple way to forget about the day's troubles, before going home.

Some unemployed workers would also spend their entire day there.

Although money was tight, being able to smell the beer or take a couple of puffs of second-hand smoke was better than sitting at home, listening to the complaints of those at home about the unbearable life.

Since there were almost no mercenaries, travelers and traveling merchants from outside the area would also not enter the western district.

Over time, that place became the club of Boulder Town's workers.

Workers were there not just to drink; they would also gather in groups to discuss family affairs or listen to gossip they'd heard.

Especially gossip from the industrial zone.

What people looked forward to the most was hearing news about which factory needed workers, although such things hadn't happened in a long time.

A scruffy unemployed worker suddenly spoke up. "... How about we become mercenaries?"

A fellow worker who was fired from the canned food factory glanced at him. "Have you ever touched a gun?"

"No, but I heard it's not that hard. Release the safety, aim the muzzle, then pull the trigger to shoot the scorching metal fragments into the Crunchers’ head." The scruffy worker demonstrated the shooting action with a broomstick next to a beer barrel, "See, it's that simple."

Laughter instantly erupted among the crowd.

"The Tide will not come until next year. It's summer now, so your opponents are likely marauders."

"I heard Liszt's caravan is recruiting. They plan to open a new trade route from here to the Great Rift Valley."

"Great Rift Valley... I heard it's at the northernmost edge of the River Valley Province."

"That's quite far."

Beside the door frame, a group of workers gathered, taking turns puffing on an almost finished cigarette butt.

Spielberg couldn't help taking an extra drag. Realizing everyone was staring at him, he quickly passed the cigarette to the next person.

Taking the cigarette butt, Pique, whose arm was wrapped in bandages, suddenly spoke up. "Speaking of which, why haven't we seen Kent recently?"

"Don't know. I haven't seen him since he led us to surround the City Hall. But then again, watching those well-dressed bastards turn pale with fear was really satisfying!"

"It would be great if we could do it again."

Anyway, they had nothing else to do, and causing a little trouble on the streets might bring some benefits.

At this moment, the chubby owner of the tavern, holding a large wooden box, walked out from the storage room next to the tavern.

His name was Tang, a very short word in the federation language, only 1 syllable.

Looking at this group of idle poor folks, Tang couldn't help but complain. "How long do you plan to waste time here? Can't you find some work if you're short of money?"

The worker who was smoking laughed. "We want to work too. Do you need a janitor or a waiter here? A handyman?"

Tang chuckled, "Why would I hire a bunch of big men without boobs or butts to do odd jobs?"

Another burly guy raised his hand and joked, "How about hiring a proprietress then? I'm signing up for that."

"Fuck off." Tang cursed.

Lately, Walnut Tavern wasn't doing well either.

More and more poor folks were coming in, and even sharing a cigarette butt became a rotating task, let alone pulling out chips to buy drinks.

Spielberg suddenly noticed that the girl who used to pour drinks and the young man who did odd jobs were no longer working in the tavern.

Now, even physical labor was done by the boss himself.

In the past, the fat pig would be sitting behind the bar napping at this time.

At this moment, Spielberg noticed the wooden box in his hand and the stack of papers inside. Curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "What's this?"

"Survivor’s Daily." Tang didn't say much, moving it into the tavern with difficulty.

Survivor’s Daily?

The crowd looked at each other, never having heard of the name.

Of course, it might be because they didn't read newspapers.

Most workers could read, but they could only recognize a few characters, enough to understand equipment operation manuals and job recruitment notices.

Workers who could afford newspapers didn't have time to read them. Reading books and newspapers were luxuries reserved for office elites.

"How much for this?"

"It's free. You can read it, but you can't take it with you," Tang impatiently said.

These newspapers were provided free of charge by the Survivor’s Daily, with a box of Nuka Cola included as a monthly bonus.

Since the space occupied wasn't large and it could serve as entertainment for the alcoholics, he brought them back.

"It's free?!" The crowd was shocked to hear this.

Was there such a good thing?

What was even more unbelievable was that the stingy boss was the one saying it.

Spielberg walked up and took a newspaper from the wooden box, spreading it in his hands.

Pique, who had been smoking, also threw away the cigarette butt that had finally burned out and curiously approached to watch.

"..."

"The negotiations between the city hall and the New Alliance authorities are going smoothly, and the 200 million chips aid loan will strive for a win-win situation for both sides... What's a win-win?"

"I just want to smash the New Alliance's factories to pieces! Throw their junk out of the giant wall!"

"But being their creditor doesn't seem to be a bad thing either... Kate Textile Factory has resumed work, according to the newspaper, because they received an order worth 1 million chips."

"Elisa lost a Southern Shorthair cat. If anyone sees it, please contact the address on the newspaper. Reward: 25 chips... Elisa... that name sounds familiar."

"I remember... She's the daughter of President Malvern!"

Boulder Town had no entertainment industry, let alone celebrities. The lead dancer at the Queen of the Night and the families of dignitaries were the objects of most ordinary people's gossip.

Malvern, the bank president, was naturally familiar to everyone. After all, Boulder Town only had 1 bank.

Upon hearing the name of this great man, the crowd immediately came to their senses, and envy appeared in their eyes.

"... She's the president's daughter."

"If anyone can marry her, they won't have to worry about anything the rest of their life."

"Stop dreaming, it's not even dark yet."

"25 chips to find a cat... that's enough for 25 kilograms of nutrient cream! Do these people have too much money and nowhere to spend it?"

"You don't understand. I actually think they should give more."

"Alas, having money is really nice..."

The crowd gathered around the newspaper, discussing animatedly.

Although the reward of 25 chips was tempting, no one ventured out to search.

With Boulder Town being so vast, where could they possibly find a cat?

Not to mention the uncertainty of whether the cat was still inside the giant wall.

The crowd excitedly discussed gossip, but Spielberg's attention was on the last line of the newspaper.

"We are committed to creating a newspaper that serves all survivors. If you happen to see this newspaper on a public newsstand, please leave your valuable suggestions on it. We will consider them as references after collection."

A newspaper serving all survivors?

Hmm. That's interesting.

Although everyone was a survivor, living in the same wasteland, Spielberg could vaguely feel that everyone was different from each other.

Some were born with a silver spoon, while others were born to live like cockroaches.

Take Elisa, for example. What did she have to do with the wasteland?

She probably hadn't even seen nutrient cream before, let alone tasted it.

After hesitating for a moment, Spielberg borrowed a pen from the boss and wrote at the bottom of the newspaper.

"We are very interested in what the City Hall is doing."

"The president's daughter's cat makes me frustrated. When I still had a job, 25 chips was 10 days' wages for me."

"... If you could publish more information about jobs, that would be great."

"Wish you a happy life."

After writing these words, he returned the pen to the tavern owner.

At this moment, Spielberg suddenly remembered that the newspaper mentioned 10 empty Nuka Cola bottles could be exchanged for 1 newspaper to take home.

He couldn't help thinking that maybe later, after it was completely dark, he could go to the bar street to pick up empty bottles.

Exchanging for a newspaper to bring home for his son to read would at least make the day feel less wasted...

...