Blackstone Code

Mike was a gold prospector, but unlike those who wandered aimlessly, he specialized in the prospector business.

Not every country in this world was as developed as the Federation; some were shockingly backward.

Like the country Mike was in now—called Sugra.

Sugra had a population of just over 20 million, not much, and its technology was decades behind the Federation’s.

Standing on this land, Mike couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of superiority swelling inside him, almost overflowing.

Locals rarely interacted with the international community. First, because the country was underdeveloped with nothing noteworthy to offer.

Second, the distance made transport costly—goods cheaper here could end up pricier after shipping.

Still, some Federals lived here, believing parts of this country hid treasures like gold mines and oil.

If they found these riches, they could live off the money for life.

Prospectors might be poor most of their lives, but a single big find could put them ahead of 93% of people.

Every so often, Mike arranged shipments from nearby regions. These goods were sold to local wealthy buyers and Federals.

He also shipped valuable metals, leather, spices, and other goods back to the Federation, where the upper class prized them.

To protect his business, Mike worked here with his brother and relatives.

As outsiders in this backward place, they risked harassment if they were too few. Don’t assume backward means locals fear foreigners.

Sometimes locals didn’t care about consequences and only chased short-term gains.

Recently, they’d bought much leather, fodder, gold, and silver.

These weren’t bulk shipments needing containers. Gold could fit in a single passenger ticket; leather and spices were easy to transport too.

To ensure safe delivery, relatives and helpers escorted the goods back to the Federation.

Only Mike and his brother stayed behind.

After loading the cargo on the ship and watching it sail away, Mike suddenly felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Like someone had squeezed his heart, stopping it from beating for a moment, draining all his strength.

He clutched his chest, frowned, and lowered his head.

His brother immediately steadied him. “What’s wrong?”

Mike felt uneasy. “Nothing. Maybe the food wasn’t clean—my stomach feels off.”

For those traveling internationally, one of the hardest things to face was the different eating habits.

Tastes, spices, diets—challenges for self-proclaimed civilized Federals.

His brother smiled. Sugra’s local food was always poorly prepared.

It was hard to imagine how the locals survived; maybe they evolved strong stomachs.

“Then let’s hurry.”

Mike’s shop was in the city’s commercial center.

“Commercial center” meant a scattered market area filled with stalls where people sold goods from all directions.

Unlike street vendors without fixed spots, Mike bought a house here cheaply and ran his business.

For safety, he and his brother hired craftsmen to reinforce the house, installing steel bars and plates at key points.

No one could break in without the door opening.

Inside, after locking up, Mike finally felt his anxiety fade and sighed.

What he didn’t know was he had long been targeted—or rather, the shop was.

A local gang had set their sights on Mike’s shop.

To Federals, this place was poor and backward, but locals saw it as normal life.

They grew up here and didn’t see the backwardness or the development foreigners talked about.

So gangs were nothing unusual here.

One gang was obsessed with Mike’s shop. The wealth of these Federals drove them nearly insane with envy.

Normally, Mike’s tight security and the presence of other Federals nearby kept the gang at bay.

But recently, the gang found an opportunity.

Men like Mike, far from their wives and families, often felt lonely and restless.

Finding cheap local women to satisfy needs was their little secret, though not really a secret—everyone knew, including their families.

In this era, money meant everything. With money came happiness; without it, only sorrow.

Women left behind in the Federation turned a blind eye.

Recently, Mike’s brother started seeing a local young woman, which the gang noticed.

They saw a chance—a way to get what they wanted.

Early this morning, they began watching the brothers closely. Right now, the gang was lurking outside, but the two inside were unaware.

According to Mike’s rules, if the cargo escort was short-handed, business stopped, and during the day, they only dealt with Federals—not locals.

The rule was meant to stop locals from targeting them.

It had always protected them, and everyone followed it.

That night, before dark, the brothers locked the doors tight and barred them from the inside.

“What’s that sound?” Mike paused while packing. He heard a rustling above.

His brother, packing nearby, said casually, “Probably a cat.”

Mike didn’t think much of it—there were plenty of stray cats and dogs around—and kept packing.

After closing up, both lay awake in bed, unable to sleep.

Their work wasn’t hectic but usually lasted until eight or nine at night.

Now, they’d closed shop just after five. With no TV or entertainment, time seemed to drag against them.

His brother, tossing in bed, suddenly thought of the girl he’d recently started seeing.

He was in his thirties, almost forty, with a family back in the Federation—wife and kids—not happy, just stuck together by responsibilities neither fully understood.

This was common in the Federation: couples meeting a few times, not really liking or disliking each other.

Men wanted to vent energy without extra cost, have a hot meal after a tiring day, and avoid household chores.

Women wanted a man with a steady job—not necessarily handsome, just able to provide, occasionally spoil them a little.

Without love or dislike, they married.

Without love or dislike, they achieved many life milestones.

Marriage, children…

His brother was one of them—no love, no dislike, just responsibilities he didn’t understand.

Lying awake, he thought of the girl. It was a fluttering feeling, a kind of love.

With her, he felt like back in high school—happy when she was happy, sad when she was sad.

His fingers traced the rough wall. It was nothing like the smooth skin of the girl.

A strange, almost self-mocking smile crossed his face, lost in memories.

Youth… how wonderful it was.

The more he thought, the more restless he became.

He sat up on the bed, rubbed his head.

Mike glanced sideways at him but quickly looked away.

His brother smiled pleadingly, “Can I go out?”

Mike said nothing.

Again, “Can I go out?”

Mike grew annoyed, “It’s dark. It’s dangerous outside!”

Maybe twenty years of suppressed feelings burst out now. His brother didn’t give up; he wanted to try.

“There are plenty of Federals out late at bars. No one harms them!”

Mike sat up, serious. “That’s because they’re poorer than locals. Hurting them gets nothing and brings retaliation from prospectors.”

“But we’re different. We have this shop and a decent business. Do you know how many people want to rob us?”

He stared at his brother. “You know this, but some pointless emotions are blinding you. You need to open your eyes.”