Pheonix

Ms. Camille was forcibly taken by gunmen and locked in the basement of Signor Bronte's former mansion.

"Clang, clang..."

Heavy shackles and handcuffs had been placed on her arms and legs.

The basement had been converted into a completely enclosed prison room, where dim lighting revealed a mottled and blood-stained scene.

Wooden partitions divided the basement into small rooms, each containing various torture instruments, some of which she had never seen before.

These instruments were stained with blood, some fresh, indicating that their recent victims had only just departed.

Two figures were also hung on a nearby wall, seemingly for display. These two corpses were rotting in the air, emitting a strong putrid smell. Their flesh was torn open, revealing crimson muscles underneath, but by now, perhaps due to the prolonged exposure, the muscles had faded from crimson and become somewhat dull.

These two were criminals who had committed murder and rape in Saint Denis during this period, and they were also remaining individuals of the Lemoyne Raiders.

After all, in this era, it was difficult to completely distinguish; it was very normal for a cowboy to be a good person when he put down his gun and a criminal when he picked it up, so these two had luckily avoided arrest.

However, they didn't cherish the life they had so painstakingly gained, and instead sought their own demise, so they could only be tortured and hung here as a backdrop.

And in the innermost part of the room, a familiar figure was sitting on an iron stool, drinking tea.

A steaming hot kettle sizzled on the stove, and the corpulent Mr. Jessica sat on an iron chair, struggling frantically, constantly admitting his mistakes and even crying aloud.

"I was wrong, I was wrong, sir! I won't dare to do it again! I won't dare to look for people again! I don't want to go out again! Please spare me, please spare me! Ahaha, I was wrong... wuwu... gurgle... gurgle... ahhh... ughhh..."

Before his plea for mercy ended, the gunman standing nearby picked up the kettle, poured a small cup of hot water into a small wine glass, then forcibly pried open Mr. Jessica's mouth and poured it in.

"Aoo ao ao!!!"

A piercing scream echoed in the basement. A person simply couldn't swallow hot water of that temperature. Jessica, his mouth full of blisters from the scalding, wailed as he spewed hot water from his mouth and nostrils, screaming like a pig and writhing his body.

Surprisingly, aside from making him drink that mouthful of hot tea, his weight had actually been gradually decreasing during this time, with effective results in weight loss. And after drinking tea this time, it is expected that his weight control will reach an even higher level.

Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was never a good person; even if he did all good deeds, it still couldn't conceal his true nature.

Madness, rebellion, outrageous defiance!

Looking at the terrifying and dangerous scenes around her, and feeling the heavy iron chains on her ankles and wrists, Ms. Camille's mind, which had seemed to be in a fog and a dream from the very beginning, suddenly snapped back to reality.

She felt the heaviness and coldness on her wrists, and looking at the terrifying scenes around her, an extreme fear, after a long delay, finally surged into her mind.

"No, no, no! Dutch Van der Linde, you can't do this to me! Damn it, you can't do this to me, I'm from the Morgan Consortium! I'm from the Morgan Family! Damn it, you can't do this to me!!!"

When the emotion of fear wasn't apparent, she wasn't particularly afraid, but once it surged, it directly scared her to the point of utter terror, making her entire body tremble and bringing her to the brink of collapse.

Ms. Camille's body struggled frantically. She screamed and wailed, wanting to escape from this place, wanting to break free from the arms tightly gripping her, but it was to no avail. Instead, it enraged Mike, who followed closely behind.

"Fuck! You damned bitch dare to insult Dutch!"

Mike, who had followed closely, took a running start and kicked her hard in the back.

"Bang!"

"Ahhh!!" Accompanied by Ms. Camille's scream, she was kicked so hard that her entire body hit the wall, almost knocking the breath out of her!

"Fuck! Mike, you damned bastard, that's not how you do things!" Davey slapped Mike on the back of the head, then angrily kicked Mike's butt twice.

"Quickly help Ms. Morgan up, damn it, she's our patron!"

At Davey's instruction, two Van der Linde Gang gunmen quickly stepped forward, forcibly pulling Ms. Morgan, who was screaming, crying from fear and pain, and shrieking, from the ground. Then they bound her with iron chains to a seat in the small cubicle.

Feeling the coldness and stiffness of the iron chair behind her, feeling the pain from Mike's kick on her body, listening to Jessica's screams nearby, and seeing the two corpses hanging on the wall, Ms. Camille had never experienced such a terrifying scene. Her mental state completely collapsed, and she wailed and begged for mercy frantically.

"I was wrong, I was wrong! Mr. Caland, I was wrong! I shouldn't have had bad thoughts, I shouldn't have used my power to oppress people! Spare me, please spare me!

Ahaha, I just wanted to gain status within the Morgan Group, I won't dare to do it again, I won't dare to do it again! I was wrong, I was wrong!"

Facts prove that no matter how powerful a consortium is, it cannot withstand an iron fist swung at it.

Ms. Camille hadn't even had her tea yet, and she was already frantically admitting her mistakes.

If she wasn't tied to the chair now, she would probably be kneeling on the ground, frantically kowtowing, to beg these terrifying people not to inflict torture on her.

"No, no, no, Ms. Camille, you don't know you were wrong, you just know you're about to be tortured. For you damned capitalists, like maggots and Vampires, you simply don't recognize your mistakes. When American children are overworked to death in their jobs, you don't know you're wrong. When the American common people starve to death, you don't know you're wrong. When they sell their bodies and blood but still can't ensure their basic living, you don't know you're wrong. Only when you sit on the torture rack do you realize you're wrong?

Oh, fuck! I once thought we outlaws were bad enough, but compared to you, we are even nobler than God!"

Davey's face was extremely gloomy, and he stood in front of Ms. Camille with a vicious expression.

"Ms. Camille, from birth, none of you have ever engaged in any productive activities, yet you enjoy the sustenance of countless American people! Not only do you consume their hard-earned contributions, but you even consider it a loss to leave them even a trifle!

The current productivity of America is entirely sufficient for every American to have a healthy life, but now they are displaced, hungry, and without hope in life. The main reason for this lies with you damned beasts!

Making no contribution yet taking the vast majority of the income, standing high above yet looking down on the common people, you are simply heinous criminals! You have no pity, no morals, no bottom line, no humanity! You are a group of scum that should be completely eradicated!"

Davey's words hit the mark, and it was clear that he had also read a lot of the red book written by Dutch during this time.

Damn it, everyone is evolving!

Ms. Camille paid no attention to Davey's words; she just kept wailing that she was wrong, but exactly where she was wrong, she probably wouldn't know even if asked now.

Clearly, she was indeed as Davey said: she only knew she was about to suffer, not that she had done anything wrong.

From birth, they were instilled with capitalist ideas: how to make money, how to lower costs, how to earn more than others, and how to exclude others. This was the ultimate basis of all their thoughts. In their view, oppression was the essence of this world; only by constantly oppressing could their assets be competitive and avoid being squeezed out by others.

So, no matter how much was said, she would not recognize her mistakes.

Once the machine of capital starts running, it cannot stop; they can only become more and more competitive, constantly compressing costs. Whoever stops means they are eliminated. Britain in the current stage is even the progenitor of oppression, researching and selling unique products as stimulants to workers, allowing them to work 24/7 to expand production scale, reduce production costs, and form a favorable suppression of the market.

Therefore, Mr. Van der Linde's arrival can be said to be the destruction of capital, or the rebirth of the American people.