You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 271 He Can Be a Seeder

After half an hour.

The wind and rain were battering the dilapidated stained-glass windows of St. Jude Church.

In just the last half hour, the cleanup work at the abandoned steel plant has been completed.

MacArthur loaded the unnumbered automatic rifles and M249 machine guns onto a truck and secretly transported them back to the Psychedelic Cat outpost.

Alex continued driving his refrigerated truck, its chassis soaked in blood, shuttling between the boiler room and the cold storage.

Meanwhile, Leon drove the gray Toyota Camry alone, taking the unconscious Mia to a side room of the church.

The side room was dimly lit, with only a low-wattage table lamp on.

Reverend Thomas, wearing a slightly yellowed white coat, was standing in front of a cot covered with a simple sterile sheet.

Holding a medical flashlight, he pried open Mia's eyelids to check her pupil reflex, then, wearing latex gloves, gently pressed on the horrifying bruise on Mia's abdomen.

In her semi-conscious state, Mia frowned slightly in pain and let out a very soft groan.

Leon leaned against the doorframe of the side room, his black mask still on, his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, his eyes fixed on Thomas's movements.

"How is it?" Leon asked.

"I won't die." Thomas turned off the medical flashlight and put it back in his breast pocket.

"The bruising on the abdomen was caused by a blunt force trauma, resulting in subcutaneous soft tissue contusion. There was no damage to internal organs or signs of internal bleeding."

"The laceration on my wrist was just a superficial tear, and the bruises on my legs didn't even require stitches."

99

Thomas turned around, walked to the metal tray next to him, and picked up a bottle of iodine and a few cotton swabs.

"As for the close-range shock of the stun grenade you mentioned, her eardrums were not ruptured, and her pupils reflected light normally."

"When she wakes up again, she may experience tinnitus, nausea, and mild loss of balance for a few hours. These are normal stress responses and she will recover on her own after a couple of days of rest."

Upon hearing this conclusion, Lyon's previously tense shoulders visibly relaxed a little.

Thomas didn't say anything more. He skillfully disinfected the marks on Mia's wrist with iodine, applied a layer of transparent anti-inflammatory ointment, and then pulled over a clean, thin blanket to cover Mia.

After doing all that, Thomas walked to the sink, took off his latex gloves covered in ointment and threw them in the trash can, then turned on the tap to wash his hands.

The sound of flowing water seemed somewhat empty in the quiet side room.

Thomas grabbed a tissue to dry his hands, then turned around, leaning against the edge of the sink, and quietly watched Leon leaning against the doorframe.

His eyes, which were originally as still as water, were now filled with a complex emotion.

That was the doubt that MacArthur had accumulated when he brought in several burly men with gunshot and knife wounds seeking medical treatment, and it was also the huge intellectual shock he had experienced these past few nights while flipping through that English paperback anthology under the lamplight.

"Your man MacArthur just came here with a few men."

Thomas spoke, but very slowly.

"One had his ribs pierced by a shotgun shell, another had his forearm slashed open by a dagger, and he himself was also stabbed in the left shoulder."

.

"When I was stitching them up, I saw the gun they had just fired."

Leon did not avoid his gaze, but simply looked at him calmly.

"and then?"

"Then I asked him a question."

Thomas stared into Lyon's eyes.

"I asked him, 'What exactly are you planning to do after developing this community that gathers homeless people together, gives them weapons, and sends them to fight gangs?'"

Thomas took a step forward.

"He didn't answer me; he said it was the commander's strategic intention."

The old pastor took a deep breath, his withered chest rising and falling slightly.

"Also, I read the book you gave me."

Thomas's voice began to tremble slightly.

"I read that article titled 'Why the Red Regime of XX Can Exist.'"

"I am now seeing your methods for reorganizing those poor people who have been abandoned by society."

He paused for a moment, his eyes becoming extremely penetrating.

"You're definitely not involved in any gang activities. They don't do gang things, and they don't seem like they are. But you don't seem to be doing charity work either."

"What exactly do you want this community to do in the future?"

There was a few seconds of silence in the side room.

Lyon looked at Thomas, who was getting agitated, and didn't answer immediately.

He pulled his hands out of his jacket pockets and sat down on a folding chair next to him.

"Since you've already read that book..."

Leon stared into Thomas's eyes, his tone flat.

"So, what do you think this community should do in the future?"

Thomas was taken aback; he clearly hadn't expected Lyon to throw the question back at him like a ball.

Leon leaned back in his chair, watching the old pastor deep in thought, his eyes showing little emotion.

In fact, Leon had already anticipated what Pastor Thomas wanted to say, but hadn't yet.

He has read the anthology he himself gave him, and now he knows about the organization under his command. He must now feel that he wants to start a revolution.

Lyon could indeed throw money at buying medicine, teaching homeless people how to shoot, and even getting them M249 machine guns to wipe out those gangs that collect protection money.

He did all this partly to create a sieve that could continuously select highly skilled talents like Bill Gates and to gain political status in the United States. On the other hand, it was also out of a basic empathy for these people at the bottom who were crushed by capitalism, as someone who grew up in the East.

However, he has always been very clear about his position.

He was ultimately not an American.

He has no sense of belonging or identification with this land or this Stars and Stripes, and naturally he would not sacrifice his life for a better America.

Even if he may have indeed taken down a few gangs and improved Seattle's environment in a negligible way, that was not his primary objective, but merely a side effect.

To completely overthrow this social Darwinian system that treats human life as a commodity, what is needed is a group of American revolutionaries prepared to bleed themselves dry, and the kind of determination to fight to the death for a better country.

He, Leon Vance, was just a passerby; his final resting place was on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

He could never become the leader of this group of Americans.

—But he can be a sower.

He can act as a mentor, enlighten their minds, and provide assistance and guidance to the forces.

Thomas, of course, did not know that Lyon was not American, nor did he know his thoughts. The old pastor's withered lips moved slightly, as if he was organizing his thoughts.

"I now know that I should take up arms to resist and establish a base of operations."

Thomas took a step forward, gesturing with his withered fingers in the air, his voice hurried with excitement and nervousness.

"You've now taken over that abandoned nightclub, organized those veterans and construction workers, and this is your initial base."

He pointed outside the door. "I just saw the weapons in the hands of those people who came for treatment. You were fighting with the gang. That means you've started building an army, right?"

Lyon looked at him without saying a word.

Thomas got more and more into his speech, and even started pacing back and forth on his cot.

"The US healthcare and welfare system is completely rotten."

"We can't rely on the mayor or those councilors; we must control the resources ourselves."

"We can use force to wipe out all the gangs in the West End that are still selling drugs, confiscate their funds, and then use that money to buy antibiotics, food, and building materials."

The old pastor stopped in his tracks, his eyes gleaming with an almost fanatical light.

"We can turn the West End into a place free from the control of the police and gangs." Lyon almost spat out his saliva when he heard this.

"We can fight—oh no, in this case, we should fight the gang's sub-district."

"Then we built our own hospital and our own canteen, so that all the homeless people who were driven to the streets would have a place to live!"

""

Lyon sat in his chair, listening to Thomas's words, and the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily.

He had originally agreed with Thomas to study for ten days, but now the time is estimated to be just over halfway through.

Thomas clearly treated the book as a quick-fix tactics manual.

He applied complex class analysis and the mass line to the gang warfare in Seattle's West Side in a simplistic and crude manner.

This tactic sounds exciting, but it's completely unrealistic in the current situation in the United States.

However, Lyon could understand.

An old doctor who had been in despair for decades under this cannibalistic system suddenly grasped at a straw. It was inevitable that he would blindly apply the solution without considering the national context, especially since there was not enough time to study it thoroughly.

"You think—just a few dozen broken guns and a bunch of homeless people—can turn the West Side into an autonomous region?" Lyon interrupted Thomas's grand plan.

Thomas looked into Leon's eyes, which seemed particularly cold in the shadows, and his voice, which had been trembling with excitement, caught in his throat.

"Do you think that killing a few street drug dealers gives you the leverage to stand up to the government?"

"You've been a doctor for so many years, you should know very well how the United States works."

Lyon tapped his fingers lightly twice on the metal armrest of the chair.

"The capital and politicians here really don't care whether the homeless people outside freeze to death, starve to death, or rot on the streets because they can't afford antibiotics."

"They can watch tens of thousands of people sleeping in tents without doing anything."

Lyon leaned forward, closing in on Thomas.

"However, they will absolutely, absolutely not allow anyone to challenge the government's monopoly on violence and land."

"Even if we really do go out with a few guns to clean up the gangs in the future, it will only be a gang fight."

"The police might turn a blind eye, or even be too lazy to clean up the mess."

"But what if one morning, someone dared to put up a sign on the streets of the West End, declaring this an autonomous region beyond police control?"

Lyon gave a cold laugh.

"I guarantee that before nightfall, SWAT teams, FBI tactical squads, and even National Guard Stryker armored vehicles will have razed that so-called 'base' to the ground."

"There will also be helicopters providing live streaming from the sky."

"There's no need to fabricate charges. The phrase 'domestic terrorism' is enough to legally riddle us all with bullets, saving us the trouble of going through a trial."

Thomas's face turned deathly pale instantly.

His cheeks, which had been slightly flushed with excitement, lost their color, and the wrinkles on his forehead seemed to deepen at that moment.

The old pastor swayed, his back slamming heavily against the tiled edge of the sink.

He is not a fool; on the contrary, he was once one of the top elites in this society.

He had simply been suppressed for too long, and after suddenly encountering this theory that could change the world, he was overwhelmed by a moment of fervor and said some foolish things.

Lyon's words were like a bucket of ice water, completely extinguishing his impulsive actions.

"That book—" Thomas's lips trembled slightly, "It described armed separatism—"

"The book is a good book, but you've read it to death."

97

Lyon interrupted him.

"The book teaches methods for analyzing problems and the logic for seeing through the essence of things, not for you to copy what you learned decades ago."

Specific tactics on the other side of the world.

"At that time in the East, warlords were fighting each other, and the government's rule could not reach remote mountainous areas, so they were able to establish bases in the valleys."

"But this is America."

"The government machinery here is armed to the teeth, with a powerful surveillance network and a violent apparatus."

"You're just copying tactics from decades ago and applying them to the streets of Seattle today. It's pointless except to send homeless people to their deaths."

Thomas looked down at his hands, which had just been used to save someone.

His hands were covered with age spots, and he was clenching them tightly.

"You're right."

Thomas's voice lowered, tinged with a bitter self-mockery, "I was so naive. I thought that as long as we had weapons and theories—"

"Both weapons and theories are useful, but how to use them depends on the environment."

Seeing Thomas's deeply shaken expression, Leon knew the time was right.

He doesn't need a completely desperate old man; what Lyon really needs is a key figure who can clearly understand the situation and resolutely execute the plan.

"In this country, if you want to survive and do something, you have to play by the rules."

Leon leaned back, shifting to a slightly more relaxed sitting posture.

"Build high walls and store up plenty of grain; this is the first step."

"Don't seek the limelight, and don't challenge the bottom line of the police and the government."

"Select those homeless people who are capable and skilled, give them food and shelter, and make them follow instructions."

"And then?" Thomas looked up.

"Then, put on a layer of skin that they can't find fault with."

Lyon's gaze swept over Thomas's white coat and the black collar of the priest peeking out from underneath.

"Our organization hasn't adopted any official name yet. It will have a name in the future, but even when it does, it will absolutely not use any sensitive words."

"Externally, it must be a label that aligns with the mainstream American narrative."

"For example, veterans' mutual aid associations, Christian charitable NGOs, or community neighborhood watch organizations."

Lyon paused for a moment, letting Thomas process the vocabulary.

"What we're doing isn't as refined as inviting someone to dinner, but in America, it has to be disguised as a dinner invitation."

.

"You need to make the citizens of Seattle, and the politicians who watch TV every day, think that you are a group of good people who spontaneously organized themselves because of government inaction."

"You are cleaning up the scourges on the streets for the government, doing charity work, and maintaining community safety."

Lyon held up one finger.

"Make more friends who are willing to help, and fewer enemies you have to fight to the death with."

"When all the media thinks you are community heroes, and when nearby residents feel safer on the streets with you around than with the police, even if the FBI really wanted to take action against you, they would have to consider the pressure from public opinion."

"Only by occupying the moral high ground can you tear a crack in this cannibalistic system and gain space to breathe and grow."

The side room fell silent once again.

The only sounds were the wind and rain outside the window and Mia's steady breathing on the cot.

Thomas stared intently at Leon, who was sitting in the folding chair.

The fervor in the old pastor's eyes did not disappear; as Lyon analyzed it, it gradually subsided and settled, eventually transforming into a bottomless steadfastness and awe.

He did know that RayFong's way of thinking was different from his own, but since they hadn't had in-depth communication before, his understanding of him wasn't comprehensive.

Only now has he realized that this man wearing a black mask not only sees through the root of America's problems, but also possesses a set of unfathomable political wisdom.

Thomas felt an unprecedented shock.

"I see."

Thomas straightened up, his voice no longer trembling.

"What do I need to do?"

"You don't need to pick up a gun, nor do you need to fight gangsters in the streets."

Leon stood up, walked to the cot, and helped Mia pull the blanket back up.

"Your task now is to continue reading that book. Stop copying his tactics; you need to understand his methods of analyzing class and contradictions."

Lyon turned his head and looked at Thomas.

"This church is a good cover."

"In the future, we can hang up signs for Bible study classes or Alcoholics Anonymous here."

"When you are distributing food and treating the wounds of the homeless, you don't need to preach any grand principles to them, and you shouldn't mention the words 'communism' in front of them."

"These four words are more dangerous than C4 explosives in the United States."

Leon walked up to Thomas and patted him on the shoulder.

"You just need to use language they can understand to tell them why they can't afford to see a doctor when they are sick, and why they will be driven to the streets after working hard all their lives."

"Don't talk about terms like class or capital; just talk about how the government does things and how big corporations operate."

.

"Break down the reasons and explain them to them."

"I want you to transform them from a pile of sand that only knows how to pray and complain into a group of people who know why they are suffering."

Thomas looked down at his hands.

His hands, which had once held countless scalpels, were now clenched into fists.

"I will," Thomas said.

Lyon nodded and turned to walk towards the door of the side room.

"If she wakes up, get her some water. I'm waiting for someone; go check if he's arrived yet."

Lyon opened the door and walked into the corridor of the church's nave.

He was well aware that his idea was very basic and simple.

However, the expansion of homeless communities is now urgent and cannot be delayed any longer.

He must transform the arms and territory he just acquired into a community-scale operation in a short period of time in order to truly achieve an equal partnership with Sterling.

He could play cat and mouse with Sterling for a while, but he couldn't hold out for long.

Once the homeless community expands significantly, he will no longer be able to allow the homeless to continue receiving welfare without limit.

Looking back now, I realize that my initial plan to have homeless people compete with ordinary Americans for jobs to support themselves was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision.

There is also the potential for organizational chaos caused by the expansion of homeless communities; with a large number of people, it is inevitable that one cannot control everyone.

Lyon needed to quickly report his situation to his superiors, as he required further instructions and guidance to see if there were any solutions to the current problems and how to handle the next steps in the community's development.