Number 7

A warehouse.

This was the place that Randov was led for his first job.

There was nothing special about it. Crates lined the area, and a number of workers seemed to be driving forklifts as they moved things from one place to the other.

A group of people were unloading cargo from trucks, and others were working on the conveyor belts as they assembled various products.

However there was one particular oddity about this place which immediately struck a red flag.

'Everyone... is so young.'

Not a single person seemed to be of working age.

Almost half of the workers were female, which was completely unexpected for a plant of this type, but even more unexpected was that they all seemed to be in either middle school or high school.

"You see... I consider myself to be extremely GENEROUS. I've seen the struggles of so many young people... people like yourself who have nowhere to go, no place to work, no parents to take care of them... and one day, I thought to myself... what can I do for those people?"

With smooth motions, the man known as the boss slid past Randov as he made his way towards the assembly belts.

"Providing charity... was never an option. No... it wasn't that it wasn't an option, but rather that I didn't consider such a thing to be an option. Do you know why that is, Randov?"

"Why?", the boy asked.

With the stroke of his thin mustache which pointed straight outwards, the man grinned as he gazed around him.

"I do not believe in giving a man a fish... so to speak. You know the old saying, no? Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. Well, to put it simply, I sat down one day and I thought. I thought and I thought and I thought, about how on earth I could possibly help the poor children of these streets in the best possible way. And it was at that moment... that I envisioned this dream... which has come to life today."

With pride, the man spoke as he looked around him in a possessive manner.

Everything here was his creation.

"I wanted to build a workplace where even those who were rejected elsewhere would be able to make a living... where even those who could not legally work would be able to provide for themselves... I wanted to take in the ones who were told by society to go and DIE... and give them an opportunity to live."

"I see."

With a nod, the boy listened carefully.

"This is where you will start.", the man stated as he motioned over to the unloading area. "You seem... well, while you don't exactly seem to be well nourished... you do appear to be at least somewhat physically capable. Therefore I will have you work alongside these others in bringing all cargo in. Shipments will constantly be coming and going, and it will be your responsibility to ensure that they are unloaded."

Heading over to the group of workers who were already busy unloading, the man called the others forth.

"Unloading team. I would like to introduce your newest member today. Please welcome him into our family as if he is your very brother. Randov... that is what you said your name is, no?"

"That's right.", the boy responded once more, glancing at each of his team members as he analyzed them.

'I suppose these are the people that I'll be working with from this point on. Well... at least it's better than not being able to pay for a place to live.'

It was either this or a life of crime.

Theft was something which Randov had considered, but he knew one thing.

'I'm above that.'

Or at least, that was the thought he had.

'If I am to become Number One someday... then without a doubt, I must work my way up from the bottom. This nation... this system... it may be built so that you cannot rise up... but even so...'

With a smile, the boy stepped forth as he joined the group.

'I'll prove that sentiment wrong.'

With this, the man known as the boss turned around, folding his hands behind his back as he glanced back at the group.

"Welcome to my Warehouse, Randov."

----

The man had left.

However as soon as he left, the remaining members in the group seemed to immediately get back to unloading.

Without so much as a greeting they began their work, some unloading the crates off the trucks while others prepared them to be taken away by the ones who were manning the forklifts.

'I suppose it's straight to work. Guess I better get started.', Randov thought as he joined in.

Heading onto the truck however, he noticed a person who had not even left the truck who was currently pushing a large crate to the front for the others to receive.

A woman.

The only woman in this group, she wore the same green jumpsuit that all the others wore, completely covering their bodies, fit with a cap.

Her long blonde hair draped down her body, however it had been tied into a ponytail so as to not get caught on anything.

"Oh... I guess I'll help.", Randov stated as he took a place to the side of the girl as he pushed the crate as well.

"Did I say I needed help?"

"Well, no."

"Did I look like I needed help then?"

"No. But I was hired to help, so are you saying I shouldn't?"

Surprised at the response, the girl glared at the boy for a moment.

Her eyes were pitch black - a strange color which didn't seem to compliment her blonde hair.

"Irina. That is my name."

"Randov."

The girl spoke with a slavic accent, and she even had a name which suggested that she was Joratian - just as Randov was.

Even so, the boy did not feel that this held any significance, as his Joratian roots were just that - his roots.

He had no true connection to that nation.

He had yet to meet this 'Commander' who apparently knew about his parents, and both Krovak the sniper and Nerokov the mercenary had left him at some point, for different reasons.

Even so, it was enough for him to take an interest in the girl.

"Are you from..."

"Get to work."

As Randov brought up the topic, he was immediately cut off.

Of course, he understood why.

He himself had been bullied and mocked for his accent and nationality. Despite living in this nation for as long as he could remember, the name "Commie" still stuck with him to this very day.

Randov could say that he hated Communists, and he hated the very notion that he could be considered one of them.

Krovak had previously explained the situation in Joraten. Apparently there was some King a while back who had horribly abused the people, leading to a revolution. Even so, the revolutionaries were really just using the fact that the King was incompetent as an excuse to take control for themselves.

'Everyone just wants control... don't they?'

The Capitalists were no different.

Randov knew this well from his own experiences.

It was highly likely that Brian's mother had used the fact that her husband was a member of the military police to blackmail the school into following her unreasonable demands and giving her child special treatment.

This society was one where those who were a part of the four elite groups were able to get away with anything.

However the existence of the secret police was not commonly known. Even Krovak, who had worked with Nerokov as a spy, only knew bits and pieces about the existence of such an organization.

On that day, Krovak had eliminated one branch of the secret police force, and for that reason he went into hiding for a while before making any movements.

'Perhaps that was why he seemed to be so grateful to me and saved me in the first place?'

It made sense.

If Krovak was trying to eliminate an existence that could potentially become problematic for his Commander, then it made sense.

And if he used Randov for that purpose...

'Could it be.... no. There's no way he could have known... or is there?'

As he worked, these doubts erupted within the mind of the boy.

However, shaking his head, he shook such doubts away.

It was impossible.

'I made all those decisions on my own. To approach the mother, which led to her calling the father, which led to my kidnapping... but...'

His eyes becoming wide, the boy began to wonder.

'If my kidnapping was used as a way to track them down...'

Just how much would Krovak and this Commander had to have known in order to predict such a situation?

'No... that's impossible.'

With a wry smile, the boy shook his head once more.

"Hey. You've been blanking out for quite a while now. I know that you're still working and all... but it's kinda creeping me out how you keep making all those weird expressions."

Bringing him back to reality was the voice of Irina.

"Ah, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."

"You better empty it then. There's no room for full minds in this place."

"You're pretty rude, you know."

"And you're pretty bald, you know. Lose all your hair because of the stress?"

Unsure how to react, the boy merely shrugged it off.

"As far as I know I was born this way, but maybe that is the case..."

Once more, the boy entered thought, however the girl was caught off guard at this strange response.

"Ah... I'm sorry. I guess that was rude of me, wasn't it?"

"Is that so? Well that doesn't really matter. I guess we're just coworkers, so there's no real point in bothering to be all formal. I'll just be here until I'm old enough to find another place to work anyways, then I'll... hmm... I suppose I'll start my own company? What type of company should I start though..."

Raising an eyebrow, the girl seemed to be irritated with the way that Randov talked.

"You... you're strange, aren't you? You ignore when other people insult you, and you can't read the room at all. Do you even understand where you are? How can you talk about dreams when you’re in a place like this?"

The girl stopped her work to question Randov, however he continued to work all the while as he thought up an answer.

"Oh, that? Well that's pretty simple. When people insult you, it doesn't really mean much unless it actually harms your reputation. Sometimes it can even boost your reputation if you can get other people to side with you. As for the other thing... well, I'm not dreaming or anything. It's just what I'm going to do. Starting a company isn't that hard if you have the right contacts, and building it up is just a process. So long as you don't make mistakes, you should be able to do it."

Taking the hint, the girl began the work once more as the two spoke.

"You... haha... I guess you're smarter than I thought you were. Yeah... I suppose you're right, but doesn't it still piss you off when someone says something bad about you to your face? And not making any mistakes... what do you mean by that? How can you be so sure that you won't make these mistakes?"

"If someone says something to my face, that's all the better. I know exactly what they think and don't have to worry about it. It's when someone tries to hide their feelings from you that you have to be concerned about something happening."

Slamming a smaller crate down as he wiped his brow, the boy turned to continue the unloading.

"And as for the mistakes... well, I would say that there is only one type of mistake that can make or break a business. There is one factor that will end up determining everything about whether you're successful or not. Do you know what this is?"

"What is it?"

The girl seemed to be listening now with curiosity, wondering what the boy would say.

"People. Choosing which people to trust and which ones not to... which ones to rely on and which ones to cut off... this is the biggest factor which will always determine the success of a business. Of course... money will keep people loyal, no matter how dishonest they are, but only so long as your pockets are the deepest. On the other hand... you can never go wrong if the only person you ever trust is yourself. But this way, it will be hard to get everything done."

With a grin the boy made this statement as he planned within his head.

The girl merely listened, captivated by him for just a moment.

Everything he said seemed so naive, yet when he became more specific about his ideas it didn't appear to be naive at all - but rather the opposite.

It seemed as if he understood the harshness of this reality... and yet still was able to envision something grand.

This was not merely the dream of a child, but the vision of a man.

"Heh... well good luck. If you ever create your business that way, I'm sure everyone will end up hating you as some penny pinching CEO who cuts people off at the slightest mishap."

"Are you concerned for me? Or maybe you've experienced something similar, and don't want to see another person have the same thing happen to them?"

At this question, the girl became silent.

As if she had been read like a book, there was nothing further she could say.

"Anyways... enough talking. We've got work to do."

"That we do."

----

8 hours passed.

From 9 AM to 5 PM, Randov worked.

"I guess it's about time to pack up for the day."

Placing a crate down with a thud, the boy once again wiped his brow as he stretched his back, exhausted from the toil yet satisfied with himself after a long day of work.

"Huh? What are you talking about, newbie?"

However another boy spoke up with confusion evident in his tone, as if what Randov had just stated was something preposterous.

"Did I say something strange just now?", Randov asked, turning to the boy who made the comment.

"Hah... I see. So you thought that this was a simple 9 to 5?"

Speaking up as she placed down another crate was Irina, who turned back to once more enter the truck.

"Well, if you don't wanna get paid for the day, then yes. I suppose you could call it quits for now."

"What do you mean by that?"

Thinning his eyes with suspicion, Randov slowly came to a realization.

'Was I deceived?'

'Is there something suspicious going on with this place as well?'

These thoughts filled his mind, however the others seemed to not bother to stop their work as they merely laughed it off.

"Today isn't over yet. We still have 8 more hours to go."

----

'8 more hours... that's insane.'

Randov found himself storming towards the office of the man who had hired him.

'I know for certain that there are labor laws in this nation, and that working employees for 16 hours must be illegal. I'll have a talk with the boss.'

Perhaps the others who worked in this place knew nothing of the laws and workings of this nation.

However Randov understood these things better than most.

He had learned much from Krovak, which was why he knew.

'I can bluff.'

Recalling the lesson he learned from that secret policeman before, Randov now understood one thing.

'In order to successfully lie... I must first present a credible threat.'

'I must be able to still do harm to him, even after pulling the trigger on whatever threats I have... else he will read it as nothing more than a bluff.'

'Not only that... but I must be willing to show my opponent that I am not to be messed with.'

With a grin, the boy approached the office of the man as he felt the weapon at his side.

It was a pistol.

A present which Krovak had left for him.

'I have to be able to prove that I am willing to pull the trigger.'

Yet even so, this was a last resort.

For there was another lesson that Randov had learned before as well, from the trial on that day.

Violence was not to be used unless one of two conditions were met.

1. If one had the power to be able to use it without repercussions.

2. If one had been backed into a corner to the point where they had no other choice.

Therefore, putting this weapon in the back of his mind, Randov focused on his original plan.

'I'll first try to negotiate with him.'

----

"Ah... back so quickly, Randov? Is the work already too tiring for you? How disappointing. And I thought you would be such a good employee... or perhaps there is some other reason that you have come to my office in such a manner?"

Faced with the sly man, Randov stood before an office desk with an unyielding expression.

Taking a deep breath, the boy spoke.

"What is this I hear about working 16 hour days? Don't you think that such a thing is excessive?"

Speaking these words in a straightforward manner, Randov cut straight to the point.

Neither he nor the man in front of him had the time to bother around with formalities.

"Ah... that? Well I'll ask you a question, Randov. If I am not forcing my workers to work such hours, then how could such a thing be considered EXCESSIVE? Is there anything wrong with allowing my workers to FREELY choose to work such lengths?"

Presented with such an argument, Randov understood that his first step would be to probe the man further.

'If I don't understand exactly what he's trying to do... then I won't be able to stop him. If those people truly are working 16 hour days under this man by their own choice, then why on earth would they choose to do such a thing? He must be forcing them in some way... and that is the first thing I need to find out.'

Coming to this conclusion, the boy spoke.

"Are they truly freely working for you like this?"

"Oh yes. Yes, yes yes. I would never abuse my employees in such a horrid manner, my dear boy. As I said before... we are like a family. And did you not know that when you are members of a FAMILY... that you are willing to do things for others that you would normally not be willing to do?"

The way he spoke was disturbing.

It irritated Randov to his very core, yet the boy stopped himself from making any rash comments as he maintained his composure.

"So if I were to be done with my work for the day after 8 hours, you wouldn't have any issue?"

As the boy made this statement, a sinister expression seemed to wrap itself around the man as he gazed down in his chair.

"Oh... well, of course, I would take no issue. But you see, Randov, if you were to cut your work short like that... I don't believe I would be able to pay you for today's work."

The man said this with a grin, looking up as he made eye contact with the boy.

"Are you alright with that?"

"You're telling me that you wouldn't pay people for their work unless they worked a 16 hour day? Isn't that just slavery?"

"Slavery? Haha... such a thing... no, that is such a barbaric thing. I am anything but a slavedriver, my boy. Can you not see with your own two eyes? I have not even been present during your work hours. Do you not think that a slavedriver would be present, actively threatening the enslaved to get more and more work done?"

With the nod of his head, the man clicked his tongue as he shook a finger.

"Tsk tsk... boy, listen up, and listen well. You are aware that those who have not graduated high school are not legally allowed to work. This law was put into place not because the lawmakers actually value the children. They may claim that they are protecting the children, but instead they have no such thoughts. It is because they want them to finish their education... so that they may be INGRAINED with whatever propaganda that this nation is trying to push."

Standing up as he placed one hand to his chest, the man gave off a hearty smile which carried a sinister resolution.

"The ones who claim that education is so important are the very ones who are brainwashing those students... yet they hold no such concern for the children who are left to provide for themselves. For those who have no parents to give them a place to live, and are required to work for a living. The people who have accepted my offer for work are exactly such people. Now then... let me ask you this, as one of those people, RANDOV."

Thinning his eyes, the man placed both hands on his desk as he peered into the soul of the boy.

"If you leave this place, will there be anywhere else in this nation for you to go for work?"

Sitting down, the man crossed one leg over another with a grin.

"Don't answer that. I already know the answer well, and that answer is NO. You are free to leave. You are free to walk right out the door. But doing so will be choosing homelessness for yourself. When I hired you, there was no contract which was signed. Do you know why?"

Tapping his finger on the desk, the man glared at Randov, who said not a word.

"It is because there is no such thing as a contract. The very premise of this business is illegal. The very concept of giving young children a place to work goes against the law of this nation. Whether that law is right or wrong is of no consequence, because the fact of the matter is, the law does not apply here."

With a grin, the man rolled up the cuffs of his coat as he chuckled.

"Which means that in this place... I am the law."

"So you're able to get away with not paying people unless they work the full 16 hours of the day?"

"Precisely, my boy!!! It DOES seem that you understand.", the man said with excitement. "Indeed, indeed. I myself am trying to make a living just as you all are. And it is only through these long days that we will both be able to survive. It is only through collectively working hard... that this family is able to get by. Therefore I have presented those who wish to be a part of this family with the option of working those long days... and those who do not... with the option of being cut off."

Holding out his hands, the man gazed upon the boy with an overwhelming greed.

"Which one will you choose, boy?"

"And what if I were to report this entire business to the authorities? Would you not be in a large amount of trouble?"

"Business expenses."

The boy cut the man off as he derived from the question, yet the man didn’t hesitate to respond as he stated this single phrase while raising his finger.

"There are a large amount of expenses associated with running illegal businesses... however if these expenses are paid, then such a business cannot and will not be persecuted."

"I see."

The same as before.

This seemed to be a common pattern within this nation.

For those who followed the law, they were subject to the power of those above them.

The Big Shots and the Government.

For those who did not follow the law, they were subject to the powers of those who ruled the underworld.

The mafia and the police.

Connections with any one of these factions led to connections with the other three, and as such anyone who paid the right dues were free to do as they pleased.

This man too was among them.

'I see... so truly... if I wish to become number one in this world... I must first gain control over these four factions.'

With this thought, the boy obtained his goal.

"I see. I understand."

"You ARE quite quick to understand, boy. So? Are you going to get back to work?"

"One more question. How do you ensure that your workers actually do the work? How do you know that they're giving their all and not just lazing off during the long hours?"

As he walked towards the door, the boy asked this question, to which the man nodded with the stroke of his mustache.

"Ah... that. Well it's quite simple. As I told you before, I am the law when it comes to this place. Cameras are everywhere, and I know without question who is doing their work properly and who is slacking off. And as such... I have the right to decide exactly how much one earns."

With this statement, Randov nodded in understanding.

Heading off, the boy returned to the workplace with a grin on his face.

'I've learned something.'

This time, rather than being reckless and causing any incidents, the boy had instead taken his time to gain information, and he would formulate a plan.

A plan for himself.

Yet even so, for now, he would have to work.

The man was correct.

He had nowhere else to go.

In this sense, the man had a monopoly of labor.

And yet these laborers were not allowed to complain.

Going to the police or the government was not an option.

Even if they did, and were somehow able to overcome whatever contacts that man had, they would be admitting that they were trying to work as someone who was not legally allowed to work.

This would only end up harming both parties.

Thus, Randov made his decision then and there to comply... for now.

And as he left, the man answered his question.

"My boy... know that you are always being watched... and do keep in mind that the reward you earn will be in proportion to the amount you do for this company."