This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 536.3: MY SON IS WORTHY

He understood he was never a good person. Sid was rotten to the core, but so was he.

The only difference was that he was still a little smarter. After all... He knew how to use chips to cosy up to Sid. But sid... He used the chips given to him to fall deeper into the trap. It was a shame he wouldn’t know what hit him.

As for Vega... He wanted love. He wanted to be loved.

He had always been greedy. But deep down, even as a kid, he had never stopped craving attention.

He worked so hard to earn that Black Card, not just for the perks, but because he hoped that his childhood friend, Sid, would finally look at him differently.

But he still felt like a dog. He always had. Generations of his family had been dogs. Now the leash was just tighter.

Maybe Liszt had been right all along. True dignity wasn’t about luxury, it was about respect. It didn’t make a man elegant, but it made him something less like an animal.

In a wasteland that could grind men into monsters, that was the one thing no amount of chips could buy. People yearned for it, and would die for it. But Sid kept it all for himself.

Poor Sid...

Vega didn’t want to leave his old friend behind, but the ship was sinking and it was time to say goodbye.

Hearing Sid calling him his friend for one last time was enough for him.

Glancing at Yalek who was still stuck in a daze, Aaron walked back up to Vega and asked in a soft voice, “Shall we contact the guest from the North?”

"Yes... Do it personally. This isn’t a package you can ship out in a day or two. Oh, and make sure he does one thing for us. Spielberg must not die and no one from the union should die either. Only then can we make our next moves seem justified."

Vega paused, then seemed to remember something. His gloomy face lit up with a smile as he slapped both his men on the shoulders. "Ah, relax. I’ll pay you double in the future but at the same time, we might have to pay their wages in silver coins in the future. You guys better get ready for what will happen."

Yalek looked a little disappointed, but then brightened up. Actually, it wasn’t so bad.

After all, the Queen of the Night had already started accepting silver coins. Some of the dancers were even moonlighting as money changers.

However... Aaron never said anything.

After all... Wasn’t getting paid in silver coins something that Vega was supposed to do anyway now that things have reached this point?

...

Back in the Industrial Zone.

Standing at the gates of Mighty Steelworks, Fred looked regretfully at the three bosses who came from the New Alliance and shook his head. "Sorry, you’re a step too late. The production line you were asking about... It’s already been sold."

Staring blankly at the guy who looked like he had just walked out of a meme, Night Ten froze like a startled groundhog. "What?!"

Days ago, Ample Time had set his eyes on the steel plant supplying Boulder Town's military factories. As soon as they were done with their tasks, they rushed over from Dawn City.

Who would’ve thought there was someone who moved faster than the dog who sniffed out game plots better than everyone else?

That was just too inhumane!

Old White frowned and looked at Fred. "Mind telling us who the buyer was? Maybe we can try to negotiate."

"... Sun Steelworks. The guy who came to buy it was called Sun Shiqi. He seems to someone from your New Alliance too. He’s a bit of a weirdo. He wanted the workers transferred along with the equipment, and even offered to pay off the IOUs Tang tried to shirk on."

Fred was also feeling bitter. He had acted too early. Had he waited for those folks to show up, he might’ve had some leverage to jack up the price.

He had sold off equipment worth 40,000,000 chips for a pittance, netting only two million silver coins in actual gains.

It was a massive loss!

Night Ten cursed, "Fuck! Someone beat us to it!"

If it were an NPC from some other faction, they might still try persuasion or bribery, but New Alliance NPCs? As Ample Time would say, it was not worth the risk.

Even for appearances’ sake, it was best not to touch them at all.

After all, the Player Handbook made it clear. If they used the trust of New Alliance citizens to engage in unauthorized trade with shelter residents, if the amount exceeded a certain threshold, their faction boss would personally intervene. They might just get their helmets deactivated.

According to game lore, they had all sworn allegiance under the banner of the Federation before stepping foot on this land. Work-related matters were one thing, but betraying their people? That earned them a swift ban.

"Don’t get too worked up," Fred said as he saw their reaction. "This isn’t the only production line I got. I got other good stuff too." His eyes sparkled as he tried to upsell them on other things. "And hey, I can even help connect you with other sellers looking to unload their equipment."

As long as the price was right, he could even help close the deal.

Old White didn’t waste his time. He took out a list that Ample Time had prepared for him.

"Here’s a list. Think you can contact the managers of these factories?"

"Let’s see, huh? This list looks kinda familiar," Fred stroked his chin, then suddenly froze and gasped. "Holy crap... Every single name on here is a supplier for Boulder Town Arms Industry! What the hell are you guys trying to do?!"

Night Ten cleared his throat and shot him a dangerous glare. "This is just a coincidence... We’re only looking into civilian production lines. The New Alliance recently needs a lot of cement and rebar."

Fred stared at him like he was an idiot, his face practically spelling out the words ‘Do you think I’m stupid’?

Old White couldn’t be bothered to explain and went straight to the point. "That’s right. If you help us get deals based on the prices listed here, we’ll pay you 50,000 silver coins."

Fred hesitated. After a moment of struggle, he shook his head. "That’s too little! This is practically robbing Mr. Eberts! You probably don’t know, but I report directly to the City Lord. Even the random nobles in the inner city don’t like messing with me. It’s not appropriate for me to help you..."

Old White didn’t flinch and interrupted him. "50,000 silver coins per acquisition project. We’ll pay it into your personal account. You go negotiate. You get 20% of the budget you save us."

Hearing that, Fred’s face immediately lit up like a child in a candy shop. Afraid they would change their minds, he nodded eagerly. "Deal! No problem!"

Being the middleman was right up his alley.

He glanced over the pricing list and saw that the New Alliance’s offer was quite generous.

In other words, there was a huge margin for him to make. He could sell them junk at inflated prices and still make everyone feel like they were getting a bargain.

"By the way, why is this place so quiet?" Now that the deal was sealed, Night Ten turned his gaze to the factory behind Fred, looking puzzled.

He had heard from Ample Time that Mighty Steelworks was one of Boulder Town’s top steel factories, but something about the place felt off.

Fred coughed and glanced around before speaking. "Didn’t you hear? Yesterday... Something happened. The prison’s packed with people now."

Smelling gossip, Night Ten perked up immediately. "What happened?"

"Well... rumor has it a worker at the Goodtaste Food Processing Factory took apart some wires under the cutter. And it just so happened he was a member of the Workers’ Union. So, guess what? Vega flipped out, and I started digging around... Turns out the head of the Workers’ Union was also one of his guys."

Looking at the dumbfounded New Alliance members, Fred said regretfully, "You know, those poor bastards thought they could pull a stunt like that to get Vega to give the defective cans away. Too bad they were idiots. Vega’s a notorious tightwad. Not his fault though. It wasn’t the first or second time this happened. If you were in his shoes, would you have done differently? No way you’d let freeloaders get a taste of success."

Gale stared at him and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. "Freeloaders, huh..."

Night Ten let out a sigh. "Classic wasteland... Jesus, they’re really a bunch of dicks."

They were speaking in a different language. Fred didn’t understand what they were saying but had a vague feeling they weren’t complimenting him.

Old White couldn’t hold back and muttered in the Federation’s language. "Did it ever cross your mind to raise their wages? What do you mean it’s not Vega’s fault? If he hadn’t pushed things too far, would his men be forced to rebel?"

Even though the game world was fictional, the wasteland was filled with brutal realities. Compared to slave-traders, run-of-the-mill profiteers looked like saints.

But they came from a society founded on principles, and loyalty to their beliefs. So seeing Fred’s stupid smirk naturally made them sick to their stomachs.

Even though their factory was called the Bull and Horse Factory, that was just a joke among them. Everyone knew the real laborers were the bosses themselves.

Even during the New Alliance’s poorest days, they would rather eat nutrient paste and curl up together just to spend their five copper coins on a fish for their dumb NPCs, even the ones who were just prisoners.

Fred didn’t understand those strange folks, but gave them a sideways look anyway.

"Raise... Raise the wages of those poor bastards? That’s insane. If you’ve ever done business, you would know those people aren’t decent. They’ll cheat and lie any chance they get. You treat them well once, and they’ll walk all over you. Feed them and they’ll get lazy... Oh, not saying they’re wrong or anything, just that we have different management philosophies."

Night Ten couldn’t help but curse, "Heh. So they’re your enemy, huh? They have no choice but to act a little happier when they see you!"

Seeing his clients’ faces sour, Fred realized he had crossed the line. He quickly changed the subject and found an excuse to leave with the list in hand.

He just wanted to sell off anything he could for a decent price, while he still could.

That was all.

Watching him leave, Night Ten sighed, "What really gets me is... Even when those bastards run off, they’ll still have it better than our folks scraping by under us. And here we are, paying him silver coins to introduce buyers. Damn it. Fuck!"

They were basically feeding a useless bastard.

"That’s money for him to plan his funeral. If he behaved and settled down like Old Brown, lived a quiet life, there wouldn’t be a problem. But if he can’t help himself and plans to make a comeback, bringing his rotten shit over to the New Alliance... We’ll make sure he goes bankrupt! Don’t forget what the Administrator said. He said that he would let the good guys win. I believe he’ll follow through and do what he said." Old White narrowed his eyes, still staring at Fred’s retreating back.

"These runaway profiteers aren’t harmless. Keep an eye on them. Watch for signs they’re trying to enslave our guys with their tricks."

There had been cases of new players getting conned by NPCs. One even rushed to post about it on the forum, only for the scam to be instantly exposed and ridiculed.

It was still hard for NPCs to fleece veteran players.

Night Ten had an idea. "Why don’t we draft a proposal? We’ll nail that bastard’s coffin shut. There are no second chances for people like him."

Back in the early beta, players had spontaneously proposed the law that restricted organ trading. Earth already had a legal system they could reference, and with Ample Time’s advice, Professor Yang’s genius, and their friendly troll, Arrogant’s critiques, they managed to establish rules tailored to the wasteland.

They were rules that governed both players and NPCs.

By Beta 0.4, they had realized the New Alliance was no longer just a village. They couldn’t rely solely on the wastelanders’ loyalty to the administrator to run their city.

Especially not people like Fred.

In his dictionary, the word loyalty didn’t exist. For the sake of profit, not only would he twist the truth, he would gladly kiss the administrator’s boots.

As the New Alliance grew larger, such people would only become more numerous, more crafty and hide the tracks better, making them harder to spot.

Those rats and dogs pretending to be men couldn’t be purged with bullets and nooses alone.

Gale nodded. "Agreed."

It was rare for Night Ten to come up with a mature idea. At least it beat shooting blanks from rooftops... No wonder he was their boy.

He was finally growing up.