Chapter 721: A Disregard for Life

When the woman in the interview shouted those words, and the "Prawn" behind her rummaged in the trash with no interest in her bag, clothes, or life, the contrast couldn't have been starker.

Especially when she turned around and saw the alien behind her—she didn't react with fear, like someone who'd just encountered a robber or a murderer. No, what surfaced on her face was... anger.

Yes—anger.

The kind of rage one might feel when a "lesser being" dares to approach them. A visceral revulsion, like a high-born lady catching a whiff of a beggar in her garden.

She screeched at the "Prawn" to get lost, to roll away from her.

But if she'd truly been faced with a real murderer or criminal, would she have dared to scream like that?

Kevin Thomas's eyes gleamed. On his notebook, he jotted down one phrase: "Supreme irony."

…

And then finally, the protagonist—Robert Downey Jr.—made his debut on screen.

Through the first-person narration of his character, Carl, the audience learned that the MNU (the "727 United Nations Coalition") had appointed him to relocate all the aliens from District 9 to a new, even more remote location—District 10.

Through the lens of a handheld camera, Carl, played by Robert, led a convoy of armored trucks and helicopters, flanked by a full squad of personnel, as they entered the alien slum.

As Carl marched into District Nine with his troops, the theater stirred with anticipation.

The main character had arrived—now the real story could begin.

Kevin Thomas placed his pencil against his notebook, glancing briefly at those beside him. Everyone was fully immersed. He leaned in again, eyes locked on the screen.

…

District 9 was a cacophony of chaos. Gunfire. Helicopters roaring overhead. News broadcasts overlapping in a dissonant soundscape.

Outside the base, human rights organizations were protesting the government's forced relocation of the aliens.

Inside the district, Carl was a walking contradiction.

He showed no hesitation in ordering his men to bulldoze alien homes.

"Right here! This one! It's an illegal structure. Tear it down!"

On screen, the camera panned through the squalid slum as an enormous bulldozer bearing the MNU logo plowed straight into a crooked tin-roofed shack, following Carl's command.

The shack groaned and collapsed under the mechanical assault.

Not far off, a tall, green-skinned alien—one of the "Prawns"—shouted in distress, stomping the ground and hurling alien curses at Carl.

Karl glanced over, casually picking his ear, and ignored him entirely—his indifference cold and cutting, painting a perfect portrait of detached cruelty.

Beside the adult alien stood a child—a tiny green-skinned "Prawn," clutching a filthy, torn ragdoll. The child stared blankly at the ruins of their home.

That was his house.

And yet Carl, even knowing his men were about to open fire on a defiant alien, stopped them—not out of respect for life, but to keep things "clean."

"No. Don't shoot him. That's not necessary."

But his mercy felt more like condescension than compassion.

To Carl, he was a superior species dealing with inferiors. Any occasional sympathy he showed was no more than a performance—an act of charity from above.

In one alien home, he casually ripped out a nutrient pipe used to feed alien young, smiling all the while.

He had no respect for alien life.

He even ordered his soldiers to torch an incubator housing alien eggs. Then, grinning at the camera, he joked, "You hear that? Pop pop pop! Like firecrackers! That's the sound of Prawn eggs bursting in the heat!"

That moment sparked revulsion in countless viewers.

Kevin Thomas scribbled furiously in his notebook: "Racism." "Xenophobia."

Then he paused, and wrote a single powerful line: "Life is sacred. Life is magnificent. Life is equal. These rights are inborn. No one has the authority to strip them away."

Just as he finished writing, the screen burst back into motion.

"What did you say? You call this your home?" Carl sneered onscreen.

"No, no, no. This place doesn't belong to you. Not a single inch. And those rotting shacks? They're not yours either."

Carl smirked as he pointed at the trembling alien on the ground. "Your little legal loophole era? That's over."

He gestured toward a nearby helicopter. "See that? That's a sniper. You resist, and—bang!"

"I guarantee your head'll pop like a watermelon hit with a bat."

He burst into laughter.

And so did the soldiers around him.

But in that instant, the alien being threatened suddenly snapped.

Letting out a furious roar, the "Prawn" lunged, flipping a weapon out of nowhere and rushing at Carl, who was still grinning smugly.

Karl's laughter died instantly as he was flung backward, slamming into a fuel drum.

A shot rang out from the helicopter above—the alien collapsed, leg shattered, immobilized.

Soldiers swarmed in.

One of them sneered, "Where you think you're going?"

The alien crawled toward his home.

The soldiers followed behind, snickering.

"You're not getting away," the leader jeered. "Keep crawling, mutt. Crawl! You looking to piss me off?"

"No... no..." the alien whimpered, turning over and dropping to his knees, arms shaking, palms pleading.

Bang!

A gunshot echoed.

The alien's head exploded. His body hit the ground, trembling.

Another soldier laughed. "Hey! His head did burst like a watermelon!"

Carl staggered over, wide-eyed. "Why the hell did you kill him?" he demanded. "He wasn't a threat anymore!"

Inside the theater, eyes gleamed—not just Kevin Thomas's, but those of many film critics.

They saw something in Karl—complex humanity. And that was exactly what they craved.

But the general audience was cold with unease.

This callous disregard for life struck a deep nerve. Despite their grotesque forms, the Prawns were clearly intelligent beings.

From the very start, Martin had been subtly stirring emotions in the viewers—like a maestro conducting an invisible orchestra.

Signs that read "No Prawns Allowed" littered the city.

Civilians dumping garbage on the aliens.

Alien children being kicked aside like insects by soldiers.

Aliens displayed in cages like circus animals.

Bit by bit, he stripped away the façade of civility, exposing the raw ugliness of human prejudice—while gradually awakening the audience's empathy for the Prawns.

By the time Carl and his men entered District Nine, viewers had shifted—from seeing aliens as parasites to feeling a conflicted sympathy.

Then came the brutal scenes of MNU and human soldiers committing atrocities—while the aliens, contrary to everything said about them in the opening interviews, appeared nothing like the monsters they'd been painted as.

And just like that, the moral scale inside the hearts of the audience began to tip in a new direction.