"Devouring people whole, living modifications, sweatshops..."
Hearing the rumors, the cowboy downed his malt juice in one gulp.
Although it wasn't his target, taking this guy out along the way wouldn't be much of a problem.
Talia Star System... Haha, upholding justice in that godforsaken place? He'd actually done it before.
"Son of a fudge."
..."Meow! On what grounds are you detaining me! You little cuties, Wubbaboo-ing... I love you to death, you elegant, kind-hearted, handsome, far-sighted giants..."
The cowboy had been detained by Lancelot, and his mouth was still spewing words of praise (?).
That was probably praise.
"Flattery won't excuse the punishment for speeding."
Lancelot looked righteous.
"Son of a fudge, you clever little darling. If it weren't for a problem with my Synesthesia Beacon, I'd really love you to death."
Boothill grumbled with all sorts of flowery language.
"Listen, darling, I love you so much."
However, this was completely different from the "devouring people whole" sweatshop base Boothill had imagined. There were no gloomy cells, no painful wails, and even the people guarding him, though sharp-eyed and alert, hadn't performed any body searches on him.
"Name, identity, purpose." Lancelot took out a recording tablet, his tone flat and emotionless, as if those "enthusiastic" praises from earlier were just wind in his ears.
"Son of a fudge, your business-is-business attitude really fascinates me, you meowing little cutie." Boothill spat, "I don't plan on getting involved with the fuzz. You don't look like those should-live big darlings. I'm a Galaxy Ranger!"
"Yes, I know. You are a high-value wanted criminal of the Interstellar Peace Corporation, the suspected Galaxy Ranger Boothill. The bounty notice marks you as extremely vicious, and the bounty is constantly rising. Your actions include, but are not limited to, burning down the Interstellar Peace Corporation's warehouse in New Londinium, being the 'main culprit' of the Great Silence of Holstein, and intercepting products authorized to the Company by Ms. Herta..."
"Son of a fudging fudge, when did I ever do so many things?"
Did those big darlings at the Interstellar Peace Corporation dump too many strawberry milkshake bowls on his head?
He didn't even remember being this "capable" himself!
"According to Article 7, Clause 3 of the Talia Star System Temporary Navigation Safety Regulations, you have violated the speeding regulations."
Speeding regulations?
"Since when did this paradise on earth have such a magical rule?"
"Magical? It's not magical; it's a regulation."
"Meow! I'm not saying it's magical, I'm saying—ma—gi—cal—!"
"Yes, I understand. As a Galaxy Ranger, your status is special. I will report this to... the Emperor, our boss."
The Emperor.
Boothill narrowed his eyes.
He wanted to see what kind of Brother Hanu this Emperor was.
"Ah? You detained a Galaxy Ranger?" Caelus's voice came from the terminal. "I understand. I'll handle the matter of the Galaxy Ranger."
Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief.
To be honest, although he was considered one of the most capable fighters under Caelus, he still felt a chill down his spine in front of Boothill.
Boothill thought he was going to be taken somewhere, but after a while, Caelus walked in.
Seeing Caelus sitting in front of him, Boothill impatiently crossed his legs.
"Boothill, right? Speeding. Go attend a safety education course. After passing the course, you can leave."
Caelus nodded simply and then stood up to leave.
Boothill:?
"Hey! Little cutie, where's your Emperor?"
"Emperor? I am the Emperor."
Caelus said, patting his work clothes.
"Huh?"
Boothill looked at Caelus in disbelief.
"You're the Emperor? You've got to be kidding me. Even the wasteland leaders of Talia dress better than you! Stop wasting my time!"
Caelus stopped, looked back at Boothill, his gaze like he was looking at an immature child.
"Does whether I'm the Emperor or not have anything to do with whether you need to take the safety education course?" He tugged at the front of his oil-stained work clothes. "We don't do that fancy stuff here. People who work wear work clothes; it's only natural."
Boothill was choked by his stubborn attitude.
Rulers, warlords, mob bosses—which one of them wasn't surrounded by followers, dressed glamorously, and eager to carve their 'greatness' into stone?
"Meow it! You think I'm here to play house with you?" Boothill stood up abruptly, his mechanical hand slamming onto the table with a loud clang.
"The table is public property. If you break it, you have to pay for it. This table you just slammed is the first piece of furniture the children made."
Caelus frowned.
"Meow!" Boothill's mechanical hand creaked as he clenched it, but in the end, he didn't smash anything else.
No.
Steam rose from his head as he quickly calmed down. He really wanted to see what exactly was going on in this place.
Bizarre.
Too bizarre.
In Talia, Order should be a joke. That so-called Duchy of Thieves that claimed to create a fair world was just a means for those scheming thieves to amass wealth.
Boothill was taken to a brightly lit, almost cozy room.
On the walls were brightly colored safety posters featuring various chibi zakus and engineering machinery, with slogans like'Safety First, Efficiency Second' and 'Fatigued Driving Harms Yourself and Others.' In the center of the room were several rows of neatly arranged desks and chairs, with a projection screen at the front.
And there was a bunch of children.
Children?
"Children, today we're going to have a safety education class."
Forced to sit in a chair, Boothill, who was attending the'safety education class,' blinked his eyes, wondering if some of his parts were broken.
Yes, this was a school.
However, Caelus was behind Boothill, with his hands tied.
The children turned their heads curiously, looking at Boothill tied up in the back, and then gave a scattered round of applause.
Boothill: "..."
"Children, do you know why we can't speed?" the teacher asked.
A hand went up.
"Because speeding is dangerous!"
"Very good~"
Boothill was surprisingly quiet as he listened.
It was easy to cause trouble, but he couldn't bring himself to get angry at a bunch of little sprouts.
Seeing the little girl with pigtails next to him... Boothill fell silent for a moment.
If she were still alive... she should be much taller than her.
He shook his head violently, forcibly dispelling that ill-timed sense of vulnerability.
"...So, whether you're driving a vehicle on a planet's surface or navigating between stars, following speed limits is not only being responsible for yourself but also for others." The teacher finished the explanation, her gaze sweeping across the classroom and finally landing on Boothill, who was receiving'special care' in the back row.
"Alright, children, that's all for today's class." Guinevere closed the textbook, a gentle smile on her face. "Everyone must remember the knowledge learned today, and tell your mom and dad when you go home."
"Got it—!" The children replied in unison, their voices crisp and loud.
The lesson ended, but the children didn't leave immediately. Their little heads turned in unison toward the back row, their curious gazes focusing on Boothill like searchlights.
Boothill twitched his lips, the fingers of his mechanical arm moving slightly.
Many children went to find Caelus after class because they didn't have parents.
But Caelus had once said to the children,
"Although you may not have a father or a mother, I can love you like a parent, love all of you!"
Therefore, the children especially liked Caelus, this "Emperor."
Especially since the "Emperor" was always smiling whenever he came and would give the children snacks to eat.
"Sweets cannot be eaten when you're going to sleep, otherwise it's easy to get cavities."
"Understood~"
"Okay~"
The children shouted all at once, like a flock of happy little sparrows, hopping and skipping out of the classroom clutching their candies.
Boothill watched this scene in silence. His mechanical hand unconsciously rubbed the rough tabletop. This was far from the "sweatshop" or "live modification" he had expected, and even felt out of place with the chaos and cruelty that should exist in the Talia Star System according to his knowledge.
This place... was too clean. Not referring to the environment, but that... atmosphere. No fear, no numbness; there was real light in the children's eyes.
Tsk.
He had felt something was off when he arrived in this vicinity.
Guinevere packed up her teaching materials and walked up to Boothill: "You're the new... speeding Galaxy Ranger, right?"
Boothill hummed through his nose as an answer. He wasn't very good at dealing with little girls who looked innocent and harmless like this.
"My name is Guinevere, I'm the... well, Minister of Culture and temporary teacher here!" The young girl puffed out her chest, trying to make herself look more official. "The boss said that once you finish the Safety Education Class and pass the exam, you can leave."
"Exam?" Boothill's voice rose, filled with disbelief. "For Wubbaboo's sake, I've roamed the galaxy for so many years, and I still have to take some safety test in your 'good place'?"
"It's a rule." Guinevere repeated Caelus's words solemnly. "Everyone must follow it. The boss said, without rules, there can be no order."
She took out a simple data pad, which displayed a few multiple-choice questions.
"Listen, little sister." He tried his best to make his tone sound less like he was swearing. "When I was racing through the star sea, you were probably still playing with building blocks. Now you're making me do this thing?"
Guinevere remained unmoved, still holding the data pad, her eyes clear and determined: "The boss said, rules are rules. If you speed, you have to study, and after studying, you have to take an exam. If you don't pass... you might have to study it all over again."
Violent threats? Against a little girl and a bunch of kids who just finished class? Although Boothill had a bad reputation, he wasn't low enough for that. Reason with them? The people here seemed to only recognize the "rules" set by their "Emperor."
"Fine! I'll take it! Hurry up!"
The questions were very simple, nothing more than some basic traffic rules and common sense for safe operation.
But for Boothill, it was very difficult.
Where was the difficulty?
"Shoot, how should I know this."
Boothill, who was used to speeding at maximum throttle, frowned as he did the questions. Navigating through space debris belts, speed was life; being a second slower could mean being smashed into fireworks by out-of-control wreckage.
"...Muddle-fudge." He sullenly chose the smallest answer. "Tsk, what does this word even say?"
"Hmm... 60 points. Just barely passed." She looked up, looking at Boothill with a bit of helplessness. "The boss said you can leave if you pass. But... you have many dangerous driving habits that haven't been corrected. For example, 'admiring the scenery along the way' is actually very dangerous. What if you get distracted and hit something?"
Boothill: "..."
He felt a tightness in his chest.
"Enough, enough, passing is enough! Hurry up and... let me go!" Boothill tried to maintain his final shred of dignity.
Guinevere nodded, took out a small controller, and unlocked the energy restraint lock on Boothill's wrist.
However, when he walked out of the building that had been converted into a school, the sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks again.
The afterglow of the setting sun coated the entire base in a layer of warm gold. In the distance, huge zakus and engineering machinery were still working in an orderly fashion, but the noise was kept within a certain range.
Nearby was a neat residential area, with wisps of cooking smoke rising. The air was filled with the real aroma of food, rather than the industrial smell of nutrient paste. People walked on the road in twos and threes, with fatigue on their faces but also talking and laughing. Children were running and playing in a designated game area.
No guard towers, no patrols, no armed personnel to be seen everywhere. This place was more like a developing small town than a base armed to the teeth, let alone the rumored man-eating sweatshop.
"For baby's sake..." Boothill cursed in a low voice, more out of confusion than anger. This didn't match any of the intelligence he had gathered or his understanding of the Talia Star System at all.
He shook his head, shaking the absurd word out of his mind. He set off, his boots making a dull thud on the hardened ground. He walked aimlessly.
A few workers who had just finished work walked past him carrying tools. Seeing his iconic cowboy outfit and that metallic prosthetic hand, they only took a few curious glances, then continued chatting and laughing, discussing what good dishes the cafeteria had for dinner or whose kid had learned a new skill in the Talent Class.
[There is no high or low in work; get paid for how much effort you put in]
A large banner was stretched across a place that looked like a factory. People in work uniforms were everywhere at the entrance, and many were talking and laughing near the fitness equipment.
"Hey, brother." Boothill spoke up, using his usual tone. "Looking at your physiques, you're working pretty hard here. What good stuff did that 'Emperor' of yours feed you?"
The strong man finished his last pull-up, jumped down easily, and picked up a nearby towel to wipe his sweat. He turned his head and looked at Boothill. There was no expression of being offended on his face; instead, he showed a simple and honest smile.
"You must be new? Your accent doesn't sound local," the strong man said. "What we eat? Just the cafeteria's big-pot meals, two meat dishes and one vegetable, all you can eat! The Emperor... uh, the boss said, the body is the capital of revolution. How can you have the strength to work without eating well? The boss also ruled that we must exercise here for half an hour every day after work, saying it's mandatory fitness to prevent us from getting occupational diseases when we get older. Do you want to try it too? This thing builds strength!"
Train?
Boothill smiled silently.
"Then none of you can compare to me."
"Oh, impressive, impressive!"
For Boothill, lifting the heaviest barbell was an easy task. He could even have two strong men sit on the barbell and still lift it easily.
After all, his entire body had long been modified into machinery.
"He lifted it! He really lifted it!"
"My god! This strength is just too much!"
Boothill just twitched his lips and didn't speak. This weight was no different from lifting a straw to him. He just wanted to use this most direct way to vent the frustration accumulated today and, by the way, see how the people here would react.
As a result, there was no fear, no wariness, only pure amazement and admiration.
Don't you guys have any sense of crisis?
Boothill was utterly perplexed.