Two Realms: Don't call me evil!

Chapter 498: Magical America ( words)

Pollack Prison in California, the United States.

This is a private prison. In the beautiful country that advocates liberalism, everything can be privatized, including prisons.

Private prisons have been on the rise in the United States for decades because the country holds too many prisoners.

This country, which accounts for only 5% of the world's population, holds 25% of criminals, ranking first in the world in terms of total number of prisoners.

Private prisons thus came into being. This is a "high-quality business" that can make money, go public, and generate tens of millions of dollars in annual revenue, which has attracted a lot of capital participation.

Pollack Prison is affiliated with CCA Group, the leading private prison company in the United States, and is also the largest prison of CCA.

CCA Group currently has prisons across the United States, holding more than 2007 prisoners. In 400, the company was named one of the "Best Large Companies in the United States" by Forbes magazine.

Although the Pollack Prison belongs to the leading enterprise CCA, the life of the prisoners here is not worthy of the treatment and status of this big company.

Behind the thick gates and layers of barbed wire, high-intensity labor is taking place here. This place is actually no different from a factory, with machines running everywhere and assembly line operations.

White, black and Latino prisoners are doing production work like ordinary workers.

The only difference between them and ordinary workers in the United States is that there will be no trade unions, no strikes, and no need to pay five social insurances and one housing fund. Compared with the high labor costs of other factories, this factory is simply a labor gold mine with basically zero cost.

The temperature here at this time was over 30 degrees because of the hot weather, but there was no air conditioning or even a ceiling fan on the scene. All the prisoners were soaked in their clothes and sweating profusely.

Rather than being prisoners, they are tireless slaves on a production line.
"dinner time."

At noon, the prison guards hit the iron door with their batons, making a loud noise.

The scene immediately became restless, with groups of prisoners scrambling for food, swearing, quarreling and even fighting, all just to get to the cafeteria first.

The prison guards present were not surprised at all. They even had the leisure to smoke, point and laugh as if they were watching a monkey show.

They are not afraid of these prisoners causing trouble. The batons in their hands and the guns on their waists are not just for show.

If these prisoners don't work hard, they have plenty of ways to deal with them. If they still don't obey, they will be forced to "commit suicide."

In the cafeteria, the food here also fully reflects the capitalists' precise control over costs.

It's not a big deal if the bread and hamburgers have signs of being bitten by rats, the meat is spoiled, and the vegetables are mixed with bugs. In order to keep costs to a minimum, everything is done based on the principle of saving as much as possible, as long as you don't starve to death.

The prisoners devoured the food at the table, but of course, not all of them ate so badly.

There are some prisoners who eat much better food, including sausages, cola, salad, grilled chicken, etc.

This kind of private prison has always been a paradise for the rich and a hell for the poor. Without money, you can only do the hardest and most tiring work, eat the worst food, and live in the worst possible place.

For rich people, as long as you pay enough, serving a sentence can be as enjoyable as a vacation.

"Chairman."

Suddenly, rhythmic footsteps were heard outside the cafeteria and a middle-aged man walked in.

The prison guards who were maintaining order were surprised because this was CCA chairman Novartis Stout, who rarely appeared here on weekdays.

A team of medical staff also appeared with Novartis.

"Gather the people."

Nova said calmly, looking at the prisoners and giving orders directly.

There was a sudden chaos at the scene. Under the beatings of the prison guards, the prisoners could only curse, put down their food, and line up in front of Novartis with unwilling looks on their faces.

"Everyone whose name is called, come here and draw blood."

Novartis said in a commanding tone without any nonsense.

The medical staff had brought blood-drawing equipment, wearing masks and holding needles, which caused a commotion among the prisoners.

"Fuck, why are you drawing blood? Why are you drawing blood for no reason?"

"Why are you drawing my blood? I'm not sick. You can't do this."

"Not only do you squeeze our work, you also draw our blood, you bastards. I'm going to sue you guys."

"No wonder you organized a physical examination for all of us yesterday. You had bad intentions long ago."

This compulsory blood-drawing order immediately aroused the prisoners' resistance. They were all prisoners, and most of them had strange personalities, but they would not think of having their blood drawn for nothing.

"Do you still need me to teach you how to do things?"

Nova looked coldly at the prison guard next to him. The guard was startled and shouted: "You don't understand what I say, do you? Just do whatever I tell you to do. If you don't want to have your blood drawn, no one will eat. I will starve you for three days and three nights. I don't want anyone to dare to resist."

While speaking, he pulled out the baton from his waist and smashed it down on the head of a black man in front of him, causing him to scream in pain.

The other prison guards followed suit and soon became 'friendly' with the prisoners. Finally, with a few gunshots, the scene quickly became quiet again.

The prisoners squatted on the ground unwillingly, looking at the muzzles of the guns that were emitting smoke and a few small holes on the ceiling.

They knew that if they continued to make trouble, it would not be just warning shots, but they would actually be shot with several bloody muzzles.

"Prisoner 731281, come here for a blood draw."

The first prisoner's number was called, and a white man stood up hesitantly. Only after being kicked twice by the prison guards did he reluctantly walk to the medical staff.

After a simple disinfection, the medical staff began to draw blood.

Generally, 400 ml of blood is enough for one blood bag. This is also the blood donation policy implemented in the Indochina Peninsula. This amount of blood drawn generally does not cause any discomfort to people.

But the blood drawing was not like that. Two blood bags totaling 800 ml of blood were drawn.

When the beating came to the back, the white prisoner's face turned pale, his fists were clenched tightly, veins bulged on his neck, and he did not look in good condition.

You know, if the human body loses more than 800 milliliters of blood, it will cause hemorrhagic shock. You can imagine how cruel it would be to draw milliliters of blood at a time.

"Next one, number 102128, come here."

"Number 947127, draw blood, hurry up."

"You can't draw blood if you have a stomachache? Even if you have a funeral tomorrow, you have to donate blood to me today."

Soon, one prisoner after another was forced to complete the blood draw, and the blood bags were placed in refrigerators for storage.

Resistance would occur from time to time, but unfortunately the prisoners' fists were not as strong as the prison guards, and in the end everyone had their blood drawn.

Only some prisoners suffering from infectious diseases were lucky enough not to have their blood drawn because their blood was considered dirty.

These prisoners secretly rejoiced that they did not expect that their dirty blood could become a talisman at the critical moment.

All the blood was eventually loaded onto cold chain trucks for unified transportation and shipment.

Mexico!

Tijuana Cartel, in an underground warehouse in the city slums, the boss of the Tijuana Cartel, is meeting with CCA Chairman Novartis.

Both sides brought their own people, but compared with each other, it was obvious that the cartel's people were superior.

In addition to the super soldiers, there were also two genetic warriors with cold eyes wearing three-meter biological colonization suits, which made the bodyguards brought by Novartis feel uneasy.

"Mr. Carter, we meet again."

Novartis no longer had the cold look he showed in front of the prisoners. Instead, he had a warm smile on his face and opened his arms to give a hug.

This was not the first time the two had met. The Tijuana Group's smuggling business was all over the United States. Tianyuan Hair Growth Liquid, Myopia Pills, and Weight Loss Pills were all hot-selling products. Many forces engaged in the underworld and gray industries had become the downstream of these products, helping to sell these goods, and also allowing these products produced by the Jeko Group to flourish in the United States and could not be stopped.

"Let's take a look at the goods first. This is our first blood transaction. Nova, please don't fool me with some dirty blood. Otherwise, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Cartel looked at the cold chain trucks brought by Novartis, and his attitude was not very enthusiastic. Although Cartel's attitude was a bit cold, Novartis did not have any dissatisfaction, or he did not dare to.

He also wants to continue to sell goods from the Tijuana Group. Medical products such as hair growth liquid have high profits and low risks, and can make more money than running a private prison.

Even though Novartis' private prisons hold hundreds of thousands of prisoners and have an occupancy rate of over 80%, exploiting them is a sure win. However, compared to the money made by selling hair growth liquid, myopia pills, and weight loss pills, it is still far behind. Only opium can compare in profit.

As a seller's market, Novartis naturally dares not offend the cartel.

"Of course, Mr. Carter, you know me. I am a man of integrity in business. All the blood was drawn after a physical examination. There is absolutely no problem. You can ask your people to go up and check it out."

Novartis patted his chest loudly, turned around and waved at his men.

As the cold chain vehicles opened one after another, what came into view were rows of blood bags, densely stacked and stored. The scene was enough to shock ordinary people.

"Go up and test the quality."

Cartell spoke, and a team of doctors stepped forward, set out various instruments, and began sampling and testing on the spot.

"Mr. Carter, look at this money."

Novartis rubbed his hands, his eyes fiery.

"The goods are fine, and your money is indispensable. Do you trust the reputation of our Tijuana Group?"

Cartel glanced at Novartis. His powerful aura frightened even the black-hearted capitalist Novartis.

"That's not the case. The Tijuana Cartel has never made any mistakes. It's just that the inspections in the United States are strict now. The previous payment channels are no longer available. We have to find a new safe transit channel."

"It's a small matter. Our money is always available. How to launder it is your business."

Cartell chatted with Novartis in a casual manner while watching the blood tests over there.

After a while, the doctor who was doing the random inspection nodded to Cartel and said, "Boss, the goods are fine and of sufficient quality."

Cartell nodded slightly and was about to speak.

Suddenly, a genetic warrior who had been standing behind Cartel suddenly moved, rushed forward and kicked sideways.

But one of the bodyguards in black brought by Novartis was about to take out a submachine gun and fire at Cartel.

The genetic warrior was even faster. He kicked the air and broke the bodyguard's body in half. His upper body slammed heavily against the wall, and the splattering blood and flesh covered the bodies and faces of the bodyguards around him.

But this is not the end. The next second, the genetic warrior stood in front of Cartel, protecting him under his body and rolling over continuously.

Immediately afterwards, a bullet came over. It was a bullet fired from a sniper rifle, or an anti-material sniper rifle.

If it weren't for the protection of the genetic warriors, Cartel would definitely be dead now.

The other genetic warrior was now like a gecko, climbing up the wall quickly, and all the bullets shot at him were dodged.

The sudden change caused a panic at the scene, and Nova turned pale and screamed, "It's none of my business. It's not me."

The super soldiers at the scene raised their guns and aimed all kinds of heavy weapons at them.

In the tense and stalemate atmosphere, less than ten seconds later, the charging genetic warrior returned again. A thick and ferocious tail emerged from the biological suit, tightly wrapped around a man's neck, dragged him to the ground, and captured him alive.

"The assassination was probably carried out by someone from the CIA."

The genetic warrior held the weapon he had used to commit the crime, an anti-material sniper rifle, in one hand, and with the other hand, he had already grabbed Novartis's neck and lifted him up like a chicken.

Novartis was so scared that he almost peed himself. He screamed, "I am innocent! It really has nothing to do with me. I really didn't know there were CIA agents infiltrating my company. I am so rich and I haven't enjoyed such a good life yet. How could I possibly become a CIA spy?"

At this moment, Novartis looked devastated and in tears.

He didn't expect that he would be dragged into such a thing. A good deal went wrong, and this assassination had nothing to do with him.

Everyone knows the background of the Tijuana Cartel. They are truly ruthless people who dare to engage in smuggling at the border and engage in gunfights with the United States' anti-smuggling forces. They often dispatch helicopters, armored vehicles, tanks and super soldiers, making the United States' anti-smuggling forces extremely anxious.

And behind Tijuana stands the Jaco Group, the overlord of Indochina. The boss is known as the Tsar of Southeast Asia, the most ruthless of the ruthless. He is not crazy, so how dare he provoke them? Even a hundred lives are not enough to deal with this!
The bodyguards brought by Novartis dared not move when they saw their boss being arrested, otherwise they would leave faster than their boss.

At the same time, the genetic warrior who blocked the bullet stood up, revealing Cartel who was protected under him.

"Let him go, it has nothing to do with him."

Cartel waved his hand. As the leader of the Tijuana Cartel and working for Sujie, he had encountered assassination attempts more than once or twice.

The United States really wants to get rid of him as soon as possible, but fortunately he is protected by the people sent by Sujie. In addition, Mexico has its own national conditions and the Tijuana Group is deeply rooted here. The United States has never been able to eliminate Tijuana's foundation.

On the contrary, over the past few years, Tijuana has become increasingly powerful. Not only can it call the shots in Mexico, but both the black and white worlds are Tijuana's umbrella, so even the United States cannot get away with it.

"It seems that our new business has been targeted. Selling blood is too conspicuous. The CIA wants to target us."

The cartel murmured to itself that, generally speaking, the CIA had lost many good men to the Tijuana Cartel and would not easily launch an operation.

This sudden attack was probably due to their recent active blood selling, which caused the CIA to want to strike them down and warn them.

"Do we need to postpone our blood purchase plan?"

The newly appointed personal secretary, who is also a distant relative, whispered.

Snapped!
A loud slap sounded.

Carter knocked the secretary to the ground, his eyes gleaming with coldness as he said, "Fuck, what nonsense are you talking about? This is a task assigned by Mr. Su. You can push anything off, except this. Next time you have this idea, you'll sink into the sea."

As he spoke, Cartell inadvertently looked around and found that the two genetic warriors were paying attention to this place, and his heart trembled.

He knew that although these two genetic warriors were bodyguards, they were actually a form of covert surveillance.

If he betrays the JEC Group in any way, today's protector could potentially become the perpetrator at any time.

"It's not like we haven't fought the CIA before. Do you think our Tijuana group was intimidated? We will not stop. Notice them to increase the amount of blood purchased. We are in the dark and the CIA is in the light. There is nothing to be afraid of."

With a cold snort, Cartel walked forward, helped Novartis up personally, and handed him an anonymous check.

"This is the amount of this transaction. I'll double it for you. When you go back, tell your peers that our blood is sold at a good price."

Seeing the check, Novartis, who was originally terrified, suddenly had his eyes light up and nodded quickly, saying, "Okay, Mr. Cartel, I'm really sorry about what happened today. I will definitely help you promote it and let my friends make a lot of money together. Just wait."

"I'm waiting for news from you."

Carter patted Novartis on the shoulder and asked someone to send him away.

He spent a fortune to buy a horse with bones, and he wanted to start buying blood on a larger scale, starting with this person.

He was even willing to let the suspected assassin go. Such publicity was enough to show the Tijuana Group's sincerity and importance in the blood business.

Novartis, which had escaped the disaster by chance, did not disappoint people and quickly spread the news that the Jeko Group had purchased blood at a high price.

Novartis himself spread the blood-drawing incident throughout the prisons under the CCA.

To be precise, it is not just CCA prisons, but almost all private prisons in the United States are conducting large-scale blood-drawing activities. Even in the official prisons of the United States, many people are doing this secretly.

In addition to prisons, various other formal and informal blood draws are carried out in many places in the United States.

For formal blood drawing, doctors in hospitals will personally recommend it to patients. If you don’t have enough money, you can sell your blood and use your own blood to treat your illness. It is very cost-effective to use the original blood as food.

If your own blood is not enough, you can ask relatives and friends to help.

Informal blood drawing is done in the underground black market, where blood selling stations are set up. Many poor people choose to sell blood here because they are greedy for the high prices.

What's worse, in the streets of the United States, many homeless people have decreased and disappeared mysteriously.

The bankers have even come up with an outrageous blood donation loan, which allows you to take out a loan with your own blood. When the loan matures, you don't have to repay the money, but instead your blood will be drawn and the interest will be converted into blood. This is a kind of magical, advanced consumerism.

(End of this chapter)