The train driver in the courtyard

To achieve anything, a well-organized structure is the skeleton, and an iron will is the sinews; without either, you cannot stand firm.

This is the experience Shuke learned from the English version of the Red Book.

This red book was translated privately by enthusiasts. Shuke always felt that it used too much dialect, but there was nothing he could do about it.

In his view, what Steve and his group of veteran artists lacked was precisely this kind of backbone that could hold up the scene.

Just now, foreman Steve casually settled the time and place for meeting the next day with his coworkers in the crowd of people leaving get off work.

Looking at the faces, some excited and some hesitant, Shuke felt a pounding in his heart: Wasn't he afraid that the boss might be hiding spies among the crowd?
“Steve, I’ll definitely be there tomorrow!” Hunter raised his hand, his voice booming and piercing. His enthusiasm, however, was so intense that it was almost blinding to Shuke.

"Good bro! Let's pull off a big heist together!"

Steve patted Hunter on the shoulder and watched him disappear into the crowd before pulling Shuk toward the end of the street.

Shuke watched as the direction he chose became increasingly off-center, and couldn't help but ask, "Where are we going?"

Steve turned back and winked at him, his smile a little odd: "Just follow along."

Before long, a brightly lit 4S store came into view.

The terrazzo floor was so shiny it reflected light off the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, making the gleaming SUVs in the showroom look as if they were plated with gold.

Shuke had heard that the store's sales exceeded ten million US dollars on its opening day, a figure so large that it shattered his wildest imagination.

The shop assistants were dressed in crisp uniforms, their faces adorned with smiles that seemed almost etched into their skin, but the string of zeros on those off-road vehicle price tags sent chills down one's spine.

That's something only capitalists like Walter Nelson could afford to touch.

The shop was great, and the staff were very friendly. The only downside was that the SUV was too expensive; only big capitalists could afford it.

Steve's meager salary wasn't even enough to buy a tire.

Just as Shuke was about to ask a question, a shout suddenly came from the exhibition hall: "The free lucky draw is about to begin! Come and try your luck!"

"Come on, let's soak up some of the good luck." Steve pushed the still bewildered Shuk inside.

In the center of the hall stood a spinning wheel taller than a person, covered with red and yellow awards.

A coupon for "20 minus 500", ten car maintenance services, original tires - all car-related items. But the seventh prize in the far corner had an unfamiliar name: pepper spray.

"Gentlemen, to thank everyone for their support of Tyrannosaurus Rex Off-Road, today's lucky draw is completely free!" The clerk smiled even more sweetly, pointing to the spinning wheel and enthusiastically promoting the prizes. "Why not give it a try? Maybe you'll win something big."

Shuke's heart skipped a beat: If he won the 20 minus 500 coupon, would he dare to take it?
It seems like you can't leave this room without buying something. He was about to pull Steve out when the other man gripped the turntable handle and twisted it hard.

The turntable spun like a windmill, finally coming to a slow stop, the pointer pointing precisely at the pepper sprayer.

“What bad luck, just a little gadget.” Steve shrugged at the clerk.

"Don't be discouraged, sir. You can draw the seventh prize again!" The shop assistant's smile held a hint of something indescribable.

"Oh? Let's try again." Without saying a word, Steve turned the turntable upside down again.

Stop, it's still pepper spray.

"This is weird," Steve muttered to himself, and before the clerk could say anything, he turned the dial for the third time.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The turntable spins, then stops, but the pointer continues to operate the pepper sprayer.

Whirlwind. Pepper sprayer

Spicy Pepper Sprayer

Swoosh. Pepper sprayer

Shuke finally understood: the turntable had definitely been tampered with; it was filled with small gadgets like magnets—Gypsies often used these kinds of tricks.

But Steve is so persistent, could it be that he really wants this pepper spray? What good is that thing anyway?

After the clerk had been marking up the order form for a while, he looked up at Steve and said, "Mr. Steve, we have too many sprayers. We offer home delivery. Where would you like them delivered to?"

Steve grinned, revealing his white teeth: "Disney headquarters."

Shuke felt a "buzz" in his head, as if a thunderclap had exploded in his ears.

He finally understood. Steve had already set up the connection. This wasn't a lottery; someone was using the 4S store as a front to send him "something"!
But he still couldn't understand why they had to go through such a long and complicated process.
“Let’s go, go back and get ready.” Steve patted him on the shoulder.

****
The sun rose as usual the next day, golden and bright, just like yesterday, but its light made people feel uneasy.

On a secluded street near Disney headquarters, dozens of elderly painters gathered together, their shadows stretched long by the morning light.

"Why hasn't Steve arrived yet?" Henry asked, his palms sweating as he mingled in the crowd.

He couldn't wait for these people to start making a scene, the bigger the better.

Once they are all caught, I will receive a great reward from my supervisor, and a promotion and raise will be just around the corner.

"They're here!" someone whispered.

Steve and Shuk strolled leisurely towards them from a distance.

"Steve, let's get started! I'll be the first one in there and smash that damn manager's head in!" Henry yelled, brandishing a stick, his voice hoarse from shouting.

Steve didn't even lift his eyelids, turning to the crowd and shouting, "Throw away all the sticks!"

"What?" someone exclaimed, bewildered. "How are we going to fight the security guards without sticks?"

"Yes, the security guards in the building are all armed!"

"Are we going to admit defeat?"

The crowd erupted in chaos, their grip on the sticks tightening and loosening involuntarily.

They risked their entire family's livelihood to dare stand here.

“You guys wait.” Steve raised his wrist to check the time.

Just as the old painters were puzzled, a truck drove up from a distance and stopped in front of them.

Just as everyone was puzzled, the roar of a truck came from afar, and a blue truck screeched to a halt in front of them.

The young man in overalls jumped down and handed Steve a form: "Sir, your prize has arrived."

"Thanks." After signing, Steve abruptly pulled open the tailgate.

It was filled with bright red cylinders, which looked like fire extinguishers, but were smaller.

“These are our weapons.” Steve picked one up. “This is called a pepper spray. Just press a button and it sprays out a spicy mist. If you spray it in someone’s eyes, it will knock them out instantly; they won’t recover without being taken to the hospital.”

The young man was demonstrating: "Everyone watch carefully, just press this button, but be careful not to point it at yourself."

The veteran painters' eyes lit up instantly.

This thing is much more powerful than a stick!

"Give me one! I want the big one!"

"I'll take two; the smaller one will be easier to put in my pocket!"

The crowd surged forward, and in the blink of an eye, each person was carrying a weapon, with several spares tucked into their waistbands.

Henry stood there, stunned, his heart pounding: Why the sudden change of weapons? He'd never seen this thing before; how was he going to report it to his superior?
While he was still in a daze, a small sprayer was handed to him.

"Didn't you learn how to use it?" Steve's voice rang out from above.

Henry looked up abruptly, forcing a smile: "Eager to learn, I grasped it at a glance!"

"Sizzle!"

A white column of mist suddenly sprayed all over his face.

Henry rolled around on the ground, his eyes covered, as if he had been branded with a red-hot iron. His screams were heart-wrenching and sent chills down one's spine.

“Traitor.” Steve spat on the ground, picked up a stick that had just been thrown down, and walked over step by step.

Henry kicked wildly on the ground, tears and snot streaming down his face. His eyes felt like they were being stabbed by countless needles, and the pain made him barely speak: "Team leader... the supervisor forced me. If I don't agree, I'll be fired. Please... please spare me this time."

"boom!"

After the muffled thud, all sound abruptly ceased.

Shuke was so frightened that his legs went weak and he almost collapsed to the ground.

He hated Henry, that traitor, but he never imagined it would end like this.

Steve went way too far.

The veteran painters around them froze, their faces still showing lingering fear, and some almost dropped their sprayers.

“This kind of person deserves to die more than the supervisor.” Steve threw down the stick and kicked the man on the ground. “Remember, this isn’t a dinner party, it’s a life-or-death battle! Think it through, it’s not too late to back out!”

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then someone gripped the sprayer tightly and straightened their back.

Immediately afterwards, more and more people raised their heads, and the fear in their eyes was slowly replaced by a fierce determination.

"Let's do it!" someone growled.

"Yes! Let's fight them!"

Down with brutality!

"We are A Bao!"

Steve nodded in satisfaction, then turned to look at the magnificent Disney headquarters building not far away. Sunlight shone on the glass curtain wall, making it dazzling.

“Let’s go.” He waved his hand and strode forward first. “Let’s go get back what’s rightfully ours.”

Dozens of people followed behind him, their red sprayers gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

Shuke mingled in the crowd, his palms sweating, but the hesitation in his heart had somehow transformed into a burning heat.

It turns out that Steve wasn't unorganized; he simply hid his methods in his seemingly casual actions, using the most ruthless methods to first temper this group of people.

The entrance to Disneyland today looks completely different from yesterday.

The security guard at the building entrance seemed to sense something was wrong and was looking in their direction.

Steve suddenly quickened his pace, waving his hand and shouting, "First group, left flank; second group, right flank! Go in after you've sprayed!"

Before he finished speaking, dozens of white pillars of mist suddenly shot out from the crowd and rushed towards the security guard at the entrance.

The security guards were prepared to fire as soon as the other side swung their batons.

but.

What is this?
Fire extinguisher?
The security guard hesitated for a moment before drawing his gun.

Almost instantly, pepper spray hit his face, and a scream shattered the morning's tranquility.

Shuke rushed forward with the crowd, his ears filled with the sounds of rapid breathing and the hissing of sprayers.

He knew that from this moment on, there was no turning back.

The advantage of pepper spray was fully demonstrated at this moment. It didn't require a high hit rate; as long as it got on the eyes and nose, the person would have to cover their face and fall down.

In the blink of an eye, the first line of defense was breached.

"A bunch of good-for-nothings, they can't even stop these old artists." Old Walter had been watching the situation closely. Seeing that the security guards couldn't stop them, he smiled sinisterly: "Since you're courting death, don't blame me."

He picked up the phone and said, "I'll donate an extra $50,000 to your police station. Be ruthless later, and cripple a few of them if you can."

A fawning response came from the other end of the phone. Old Walter slammed the phone down and tapped his fingertips lightly on the windowsill, as if he were watching a carefully choreographed drama.

However, he wanted to rewrite the ending himself. A few minutes later, the piercing sound of police sirens grew louder as they approached, shattering the tranquility of the early morning.

Seven or eight black SUVs bearing the FBL emblem ignored the chaos at the entrance, forcefully breaking through the edge of the crowd and screeching to a stop in front of the building's main entrance.

The car door was flung open, and heavily armed agents swiftly jumped out. The dark muzzles of their guns were instantly pointed at the surging tide of old painters, their fingers already on the triggers. The atmosphere froze instantly.

Shuke's heart leaped into his throat; he could even hear his own heartbeat drowning out the shouts around him.

Oh no, are they really going to use guns?

At this critical moment, the FBL leader suddenly raised his hand and shouted sternly, "Stop! Put your guns down!"

The agents were all taken aback, looking at their leader in confusion, but they still subconsciously released the triggers, their guns drooping slightly.

The leader frowned and quickly scanned the scene: the security guards groaning on the ground were in a sorry state, but none of them had been shot or seriously injured.

The old painters were waving strange fire extinguishers around their hands; they didn't even have a wooden stick!
"The other side did not use any lethal weapons, so we cannot open fire directly; this is against procedure!"

His voice came through the loudspeaker to everyone's ears, and the old painters paused in their charge, looking at the heavily armed agents with suspicion.

The FBL leader looked at them coldly, then glanced at the tightly closed curtains on the top floor of the building, as if he could feel the icy gaze coming from there.

He knew what was going on behind the scenes, but the situation on the ground prevented him from acting rashly.

Moreover, the FBL leader turned his head to look into the distance and saw that several reporters had already raised their cameras.

The FBL leader knew all too well the character of the higher-ups. If he dared to order the unarmed veteran artists to be shot, he would be the one to take the blame once the matter was exposed.

“Everyone, have some sense of propriety.”

Those FBL players have done their share of dirty work, and they know very well that doing dirty work is fine, but protecting themselves is the first priority.

"Everyone, please don't get agitated. Let's talk things over calmly."

The agents immediately changed formation, put away their guns, took out batons and handcuffs, and began to advance towards the old painters.

Steve, however, seemed to have anticipated this. He raised the sprayer in his hand and shouted, "We are not thugs! We just want justice! Disney owes us our hard-earned money and our dignity!"

"Charge, everyone!"

Inside the building, old Walter watched this scene, his face so dark it could drip water.

He never expected this to happen.

"Shoot! Didn't you see their fire extinguishers could take down a whole bunch of people?"

Upon hearing the shout, the FBL leader replied, "Sorry, fire extinguishers are not on the list of lethal weapons."

On one side is an old painter holding a non-lethal weapon.

On one side is the FBL, which is hesitant to act rashly.

There were also reporters' cameras nearby.

The situation on the scene reversed instantly.

Most importantly, the agents were also afraid of pepper spray. It sizzled and sprayed a large area, forcing them to take several steps back.

Steve seized the opportunity and led his men into the building.

"Boss, let's run! Our men can't hold out any longer!" Seeing the situation was dire, the confidant dragged Old Hua out of the office and forcibly put him into a car in the underground parking garage.

The car sped away through the back door, and old Walter, watching the group of old painters, gritted his teeth in anger.

"You just wait, I won't let you get away with this!"

"We won! The boss ran away!"

"We've won!"

"Don't be afraid, everyone. We are artists from the three departments and we won't make things difficult for you."

Upon learning of Walter's escape, Steve sent people to reassure the employees in other departments, saying that those who wished to leave could do so at any time.

Most of the employees left, but a dozen or so stayed.

Outside the building, more and more FBL members were gathering, and the FBL leader received a call from his superiors.

“They’ve taken over the whole building,” he said coldly into the intercom, “but they haven’t hurt anyone. They’re just sitting in old Walter’s office, not even touching a single filing cabinet.”

"Charge in and clear the area! I don't care what kind of junk they're using."

"Charge in?" The leader scoffed, glancing at his men who were still coughing on the ground. "Their pepper spray is too potent. My men were sprayed so badly they couldn't open their eyes as soon as they got close to the door. Forcing our way in will only cause unnecessary casualties."

"Then fire warning shots! Arrest the ringleader!"

"Fire?" The leader suddenly raised his voice, deliberately making sure all the surrounding agents could hear. "Chief, reporters from a newspaper are across the street, and their cameras are pointed right at us. Are you sure you want me to relay the order to 'shoot the unarmed artists' verbatim?"

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the intercom, followed a moment later by an angry "bang," as if the receiver had been slammed onto the table.

The leader slammed down the phone and spat on the ground: "Trying to make me a scapegoat? Dream on!"

The deputy leaned closer, his voice hushed: "Boss, are we just going to keep this up?"

The leader squinted, his gaze passing over the police line and landing on the direction of the building's revolving door, where he could vaguely see the figures moving about inside.

“This isn’t so simple,” he said slowly. “If the old artist dares to mess with Disney, there must be some expert backing him up. We should do nothing, just keep the perimeter. As long as they don’t hurt anyone, we’ll just wait it out. If we want to make a contribution, we must first ensure we don’t make any mistakes.”

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a commotion in the building.

The revolving door slowly opened, and a young figure walked out with his hands raised; it was Shuke.

"I'm not carrying a weapon!" Shuk's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly beyond the police cordon. "I want to talk to my journalist friends!"

FBL realized something was wrong and started to shirk their responsibilities, failing to stop them in time.

A reporter rushed over and handed a microphone to the young painter, and a camera was set up.

"Sir, I'm a reporter from the Workers' Daily. May I ask you a few questions?"

According to the Workers' Daily, Shuke's heart skipped a beat.

Of course he knew about that newspaper.

Founded in 1924 by the organization here, it has endured numerous crackdowns and suppressions, yet it always manages to appear on the front lines of activities at the most crucial moments.

The headquarters is far away in Chicago, yet a reporter is here at this moment. He would never believe that no one had arranged this behind the scenes.

Steve was indeed prepared.

"Why did you attack the headquarters?"

"We're here to take back what's rightfully ours. Disney unilaterally laid us off without any compensation and forced us to sign non-compete agreements."

"You're not allowed to work for any similar company. We've worked here for decades, giving the best years of our lives, and they want to throw us out like trash, leaving us no way to survive!"

His voice grew louder, filled with long-suppressed anger: "Some people live in luxury offices and drink wine worth thousands of dollars, while we artists have to worry about rent and lose sleep over our children's tuition! Is this fair?"

The reporter from the Workers' Daily's eyes lit up, and he pressed further: "So, you never intended to hurt anyone?"

This question was like a key, instantly unlocking a corner of Shuke's heart.

He was certain that the reporter was not only there to record events, but also to help them draw a clear line between themselves and the reporter.

“Absolutely not!” Shuk said firmly. “We brought pepper spray only to stop the security guards’ batons. We occupied the office only to get old Walter to come out and face us. What we want is dialogue, justice, not bloodshed!”

He pulled a stack of papers from his pocket and held them high.

Those were the signatures of dozens of veteran painters, as well as pay slips and medical bills of laid-off employees.

“These are the evidence!” Shuk’s voice trembled slightly with excitement. “We want to tell everyone how much blood and tears of workers are hidden behind Disney’s glamorous fairy tales! We demand that Walt rescind the non-compete agreement, pay the outstanding compensation, and give us a way to survive!”

A reporter from the Workers' Daily immediately pressed, "What if old Walter doesn't come out? Will you keep waiting?"

"Yes!" Shuk said without hesitation. "We have nothing left to lose."

But we assure you that as long as he is willing to talk, we are ready to lay down our 'weapons' and sit down to reason with him at any time.

As soon as he finished speaking, a round of applause suddenly broke out around him.

Before anyone knew it, a crowd of passersby had gathered outside the cordon, and even a few lower-ranking FBL players couldn't help but applaud.

The FBL leader stood in the shadows, watching this scene, his brows furrowing even more deeply.

He originally thought it was just an ordinary case of someone demanding back wages, but now it seems the other party has much bigger ambitions.

The situation had completely spiraled out of his control.

Inside the building, Steve looked at Shuk's figure through the window, a relieved smile appearing on his lips.

"Comrade train driver. I've completed the first step; I wonder if the second step will go as smoothly as you plan."

"Report, Steve has begun his operation; they have taken over the Disney building." Late at night, in the office, the phone rang. Li Aiguo picked up the phone and secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

The news came from North America and was delayed by at least half an hour after transiting through the port city.

but.

Good news is never too late.

"How's it going over there?" Sitting next to Li Aiguo was none other than Old Cat.

Even the old cat himself found it unbelievable at this moment.

Since returning to Beijing, he had been tracking Ji Huai's accomplice hiding in the city, but he was temporarily reassigned to the studio by the farmer to cooperate with Li Aiguo's work.

He originally thought that Li Aiguo was just preparing to recruit painters for Red Star Entertainment Film and Television, and that this matter had nothing to do with him.

Looking back now, he was terribly wrong.

If this operation succeeds, the results will be comparable to the operation a few years ago where the station retrieved top-secret information.

Most importantly, this operation does not require the use of any resources within the station, nor does it require the use of nails.

Li Aiguo even deliberately made cuts.

No wonder the farmer tacitly approved of this action.
"The stage is set up, now we just need to see them perform." Li Aiguo shrugged.

"The other party is performing?" Old Cat was taken aback at first, then remembered that Li Aiguo had made a record at the weather station a while ago and filmed Aunt Mei from Hong Kong in North America.

Aunt Mei has now gathered Wu Jingzhong's former subordinates and is now a powerful tool in the port city.

When a knife is used, blood will always be drawn.

Old Cat admired Li Aiguo's foresight, but still had some concerns.

"The organization in North America is not doing well. Even if we cause trouble, we probably won't be able to change the current situation."

“We workers have an old saying: ‘We’re not afraid of hard work. As long as we work little by little, we can always finish it.’” As he spoke, Li Aiguo stood up and walked to the geological exploration drilling rig, picked up a wrench and got to work.

Even if nothing can be changed this time, there will always be a next time.

Amidst the clanging and jingling sounds, the old cat was so startled that its mouth hung open.

This train driver's ambitions are far too great.

"Are you perhaps thinking of... using the Disney fire as a pretext?"

Li Aiguo didn't turn around; he just stood with his back to him, the wrench striking the steel frame of the drilling rig and sending up a cluster of dazzling sparks.

(End of this chapter)