The People of Pittsburgh

The roar of the armored vehicle's engine finally disappeared at the end of the street.

The plaza in front of the Pittsburgh police station has returned to calm.

The helicopter flew away, and even the ordinary patrol officers who were maintaining order breathed a sigh of relief and took their hands off their holsters.

The warning tape was still there, and the yellow tape fluttered helplessly in the wind.

Luna stood at the very front of the crowd.

Her legs felt a little numb.

The tension that had been supporting her suddenly vanished, and a feeling of exhaustion crept up from the soles of her feet.

The surrounding crowd did not disperse.

Thousands of workers, students, and citizens remained standing in the same spot.

They stared at the empty street corner, in the direction the car that had taken Luigi Randall had disappeared.

No one speaks.

The oppressive silence was even heavier than the deafening slogans that had just been shouted.

"Buzz".

Luna felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

That was a notification she had specifically set up.

I took out my phone and turned on the screen.

This is a news item that was just pushed out by "Rust Voice".

There are no words, only a photograph.

Luna clicked on the picture.

The moment the photo loaded, her breath caught in her throat.

In the image, Luigi Randall is standing on the steps of the police station.

A ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone on his face.

He was wearing that glaring orange prison uniform, with heavy iron shackles on his hands and feet.

Her hair was messy, and she looked so thin and young, even with the naivety of a college student.

But he tilted his head back, a very faint smile playing on his lips.

That calm and composure made the prison uniform no longer seem like a symbol of shame, but rather like a robe from some kind of religious ceremony. Luna stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over Luigi's face, hesitant to swipe.

This young man, this elite who should have had a bright future, lived in a luxury apartment, and drunk fine wine, is now a prisoner. He killed someone.

The law calls him a murderer, the media calls him a terrorist.

But in Luna's eyes, he wasn't.

Luna remembered a year ago.

At that time, her husband Jim was injured at the factory and was writhing in pain in bed.

They went to the hospital. The doctor gave them a referral and recommended minimally invasive surgery.

The insurance company refused.

The claims adjuster sitting behind the counter told her in a cold tone, "According to the terms, conservative treatment is recommended for this level of injury, which means taking painkillers."

Luna remembered how she cried and begged the claims adjuster that day.

She remembered how Jim was biting the corner of the blanket in pain late at night, afraid to make a sound lest he wake the children.

She remembers that despair.

The despair of watching your loved ones suffer while being shut out by a cold system because you have no money.

The CEO who was killed by Luigi was the one who created this system.

That CEO earns tens of millions a year and lives in a big villa, while her Jim can only take painkillers until he has a stomach hemorrhage.

Now, someone else has fired that shot for them.

Someone helped them vent their anger.

The price is that the person who fired the shot will have to sacrifice their entire life.

Luna's vision blurred.

A tear fell onto the phone screen, blurring the light and shadow of the photo.

Luna is a strong woman.

She didn't cry when she couldn't afford to buy baby formula, nor did she cry when life was overwhelming her.

But at this moment, looking at this photo, at that young face that was so heartbreaking, she couldn't hold back anymore.

Those were people who wore prison clothes for their sake.

She was someone who voluntarily went to the altar so that people like Jim could afford the surgery, and so that her children wouldn't have to wait to die because they couldn't afford it.

"Damn world."

Louis's voice came from the side.

Louis's chest heaved violently, and he let out suppressed gasps.

He was enduring it.

Endure the grief and indignation that makes you want to roar at the sky.

"He did nothing wrong."

Louis gritted his teeth and forced out those words.

"He just killed a vampire."

"Why do we have to protect good people? Why are those bastards who ruined our family still driving yachts, while this child has to wear shackles? This isn't fair!"

The surrounding workers also took out their mobile phones.

Sobbing began to spread through the crowd.

Some people squatted on the ground, burying their heads in their knees.

Some people looked up at the gloomy sky.

This is a resonance.

A collective lament born of long-term suppression, neglect, and humiliation.

They saw themselves in Luigi.

I saw myself as insignificant, trampled upon at will by powerful figures.

Luigi's resistance was like a ray of light, illuminating the deepest dignity in their hearts.

"Look at the mayor."

Someone in the crowd said in a low voice.

"The mayor is behind him."

Luna looked at the photo again.

She noticed the black figure standing behind Luigi.

Leo Wallace.

He didn't hide away like other politicians.

He was right there.

At the edge of that beam of light, at the boundary between shadow and light.

Just then, a news flash popped up on Luna's phone screen from the official account of "Heart of Pittsburgh".

The bold black headline stung her eyes: "Suspect transferred to Pennsylvania State Police to face state charges in Philadelphia." This press release was given to Sarah by Leo the moment the transfer decision was made within the police department, and she was asked to edit it in advance.

He knew that in this war of public opinion, speed was everything.

He had to define the nature of the transfer before the FBI and the mainstream media could react.

He needed to make the workers understand that this was not a forced surrender, but a strategic shift to preserve the flame.

Philadelphia.

Luna read the place name aloud.

The surrounding workers gathered around, and as they looked at the place name, their initially angry expressions gradually changed.

They didn't quite understand the intricacies of the situation, but the article explained all the reasons.

If Luigi was taken away by the FBI, he would be sent directly to Washington to face prosecution under federal anti-terrorism laws, and his fate would be either lethal injection or rotting away in prison.

That was the territory of capitalists and Washington bureaucrats; Luigi was doomed.

But Philadelphia is different.

The prosecutors there are Democrats, and the legal system there operates within the framework of the state government.

As long as he remains in Pennsylvania and is not labeled a terrorist, Luigi can survive.

"He stopped FBl."

Louis pointed to the federal agents in the corner of the photo in the newsletter, their faces ashen, standing outside the police line.

"Look at those guys in trench coats, they're furious."

The workers understood the power struggle behind this photo.

Leo Wallace gambled his political future by detaining the man at gunpoint with federal agents and forcibly handing him over to the state. "He saved the boy's life."

Luna sniffed, her voice trembling.

"I knew we hadn't chosen the wrong person."

"He's on our side."

This understanding quickly spread among the population.

This is a tested and unbreakable class bond.

Leo Wallace was their brother.

He's the older brother who, in crucial moments, would turn against Washington for them, who would stand in front of them and shield them from the storm. *Beep*

Louis's phone rang.

It's the construction site's start-up bell.

The time has come.

Louis turned off the alarm and took a deep breath.

He raised his head and looked around at his fellow workers.

Everyone was wiping away tears, and everyone was silent.

Sadness is a strength, but indulging in sadness makes one weak.

Now is not the time to be weak.

Luigi went in for them, and Mayor Rio is still negotiating with his superiors to protect Luigi.

What can these people do?

Should we break them out of prison? Or go on a protest?

No.

That would only cause trouble for Leo and make Luigi's sacrifice seem cheap.

There's only one thing they can do.

That proves they deserve to be saved.

Louis put his phone back in his pocket.

He took off his helmet, vigorously patted off the dust, and then put it back on.

"alright!"

Louis roared.

"Stop crying, everyone!"

"What's the use of crying! Will tears save Luigi?"

The workers looked up at the foreman.

"Wipe away your tears!"

Louis pointed south to the inland port construction site, where the red lights on the tower cranes were flashing.

"That's our battlefield."

"Let those who look down on us, let those who want to destroy us, see what we've got!"

"The workers of Pittsburgh aren't just crybabies!"

"If we can forge the best steel in this country, we can build the best cities in this country!"

Louis waved his arms.

"Walk!"

"Go back to work!"

Luna looked at Louis and wiped away her tears.

She felt a surge of power within her.

That power was hotter and heavier than the sorrow I had felt earlier.

She remembered the cup of hot milk in the house, her sleeping husband, and the pay slip that arrived on time every month. This was her life.

She cannot let this life down.

"Walk."

"Work has started."

The crowd began to move.

Thousands of workers turned around, their backs to the police station, and faced the construction site.

Their steps were orderly and heavy, their shoes making a booming sound as they trod on the wet pavement.

A second-floor window of the police station building.

Chief Everett Carter stood behind the curtains, watching this scene unfold.

He watched the crowd recede like a tide, yet remained orderly, and felt a sense of awe rising from the soles of his feet.

He had witnessed countless gatherings.

The result is usually tear gas, police batons, and a scene of utter devastation.

But he had never seen such a sight before.

After experiencing the arrest of the most wanted criminal and the intense emotional shock, this group of people were able to maintain such restraint and transform it into productivity so quickly.

This is a terrifying force of cohesion.

"Mr. Mayor."

Carter muttered to himself.

"What kind of monster have you created?"

Carter looked at the dust rising from the construction site in the distance, where thousands of machines were roaring and tens of thousands of tons of materials were being transported.

For decades, bureaucrats like him, or politicians like Cartwright, have arrogantly believed that they rule the city and that the lines they draw on the blueprints give it life.

They thought a city was just piles of reinforced concrete, complex underground pipe networks, and GDP figures written on paper. They thought that as long as the buildings were tall enough and the roads were wide enough, the city was great.

But steel bars are cold, and concrete is lifeless.

Without these workers in oil-stained overalls, wrenches and hard hats touching them, without their flowing sweat nourishing them, those things would forever remain just a pile of construction waste.

There has never been a great city.

The walls of Babylon have long since collapsed, and only ruins remain of the Roman Colosseum.

What makes those names resound throughout history is never the stones, but the people who once lived there, struggled there, roared for survival, and built for the future.

It is the will of the people that supports the city's skyline.

It is the people's patience and outburst that forged the soul of the city.

Leo Wallace didn't create anything new.

He simply did something that none of his exes had ever done.

He returned the city to its builders.

He made these people understand that they were not tenants residing on Morganfield property, nor were they figures in the city hall's statistical reports. They were the owners.

Because they were the masters, they exercised restraint.

Because they are the owners, they would not burn down their own homes to vent their anger.

They swallowed their anger and turned their sorrow into motivation.

They are not working for the mayor.

They are building a new Jerusalem for themselves.

Carter took a deep breath; he felt an unprecedented sense of awe.

Perhaps this city can truly become great again.

Because it belongs to the group of people downstairs who are silently moving forward.