CHAPTER 362: CHAPTER 13: KNOWING SHAME (3)

Stacy saw a familiar face among those weary figures carrying bed frames—her "ex" man.

He was still alive, though his face was haggard, with bandages on his head and face, and his thick beard was disheveled.

Coarse leather shackles adorned his ankles, making each step appear sluggish and heavy.

Deep down, Stacy felt grateful to this former partner. In those chaotic and desperate early days of the apocalypse, he cared for her, providing rare safety, basic food, drink, and shelter.

She knew very well that the "ex" had been captured while trying to secure more survival supplies for her.

The two once harbored simple dreams, envisioning building a family amidst the apocalypse, owning their farm, building a warm wooden house, having several children, and then living out their days in peace.

But the harsh reality shattered their fantasies.

The raid failed, the participants either died or were captured. The "ex" narrowly escaped death, but by now, he had lost his freedom completely, becoming a slave under another’s command.

"Stacy, what are you doing here?" The "ex" approached carrying a bundle of bed planks, surprised to see Stacy standing not far away.

Stacy felt uneasy, instinctively averting her gaze, reluctant to acknowledge her "ex" at this moment.

Because not far away, several armed "Holy Light" personnel served as overseers, their faces cold and stern, and she didn’t want to provoke any unnecessary misunderstanding.

Finally, she simply bowed her head and replied in a low voice, "Hello, Will."

"Were you captured as well?" The "ex" continued to ask, bitterness filling his voice.

Stacy nodded slightly, answering briefly, "We had no choice."

"It’s not your fault." The "ex" didn’t fully grasp Stacy’s circumstances, lowering his voice, "Those yellow-skinned monkeys say that us captives only need to do a year of ’forced labor’ to earn our freedom.

During this labor, I can earn some work points—money. I can give all my work points to you; will you wait for me? After a year, we..."

Before he could finish, the "ex" noticed more.

Stacy was dressed in clean and tidy clothes, her hair neatly done, and her face no longer had that greasy, weary look.

As if suddenly realizing something, his face’s hope instantly faded, and his voice lowered in agony, "You... found a new man?"

Stacy repeated, "I had no choice."

Now, the "ex" fully understood. He dropped the wooden board he was carrying with a clatter, his voice becoming hoarse:

"Damn it! Those yellow-skinned monkeys not only enslave us, but use black guys to oversee us, and even... steal our women!"

Outside the "dormitory" corridor, the black man Omar swung a thick wooden stick as an overseer; he jumped out proudly, angered to see a captive chatting with the new woman.

"What are you white slaves doing? Get back to work!" Omar pointed his stick, shouting loudly:

"This isn’t two hundred years ago. We black folks have risen; now it’s your turn to work for the esteemed Chinese masters!"

Omar was extremely proud; it was his first time feeling this sense of superiority.

Being a henchman for the Chinese masters didn’t seem so hard to accept, as there were lower-class whites for him to bully freely, providing great psychological satisfaction.

Before the apocalypse, he couldn’t even dare imagine such a "good job"!

Seeing the stick-wielding, flaunting Omar, the captured "basic labor force" were all filled with rage, their chests almost exploding from anger.

But to survive, they had no way to resist, forced to swallow this humiliation.

If they resisted, they were met with starvation, whipping, scorching sun exposure, and even a dark, damp little black room—a slew of cruel punishments awaited them.

The "Holy Light" team was still cautious, promoting dozens of blacks like Omar from the captives to act as overseers, all struggling at the bottom of society before the apocalypse, living unsatisfactory lives.

These individuals generally lacked good education, and during the white rule, even though their hearts were rebellious, they didn’t dare openly resist.

Now, they finally had the chance to wield sticks and whips, reveling in twisted pleasure—the way white police had discriminated against them, now they discriminated more severely against whites.

"You need to atone, be ashamed, understand?"