(The flag of EU's Dominion of South Africa)

OR1-EP1: Rainbow Nation (2)

McNeil once hated artificial intelligence products that interfered with his life in all aspects. It was not until he never had access to these things that he truly understood how technology profoundly changed people's lives. Without a computer, no Internet, no smart phone or optical implant, searching for information has become a thankless job. Not only that, even TV is a luxury item, at least McNeil only found an old radio in the old man's residence.

The old man's name is Jake Land. He is 77 years old and has the same name as McNeil's brother who has passed away for many years. The old newspaper seller said that he used to be a successful man with a family and a career, but a series of changes made him close to a homeless man. Now he is alone and helpless, thinking about making a living as a truck driver. McNeil sympathizes with his experience very much. There is no more tragic thing for old people to support themselves. McNeil, who thinks he is strong and has many work skills, temporarily decided to let this old man enjoy his old age as his goal at this stage.

"So, Governor-general Herzog's ancestors were Britannians?" McNeil and Old Jake gnawed hard bread together on the street. The taste of this bread reminded McNeil of war rations. No matter how this kind of emergency food is upgraded, it cannot be replaced by normal food, and McNeil does not want to live a life of forever eating battle rations. Before he left the original world, it was terrifying to hear that someone in GDI proposed to use a new set of equipment so that soldiers do not need food at all.

"His ancestors escaped during the Britannian Civil War. At that time, the Britannian Empire fell into terrible chaos. Neither the royal family nor the nobles were spared." Old Jake looked at the hurried pedestrians on the street. He has no confidence in his business at all. These citizens may not be interested in international news, or they are in short supply. "However, our EU is the biggest monster for monarchs all over the world. His ancestors may have been affected by that kind of propaganda, so they did not go to Europe, but settled in Africa. There are many Britannian civilians and nobles who decided to flee to Africa for various reasons. We generally call them African Britannians, or ABs for short. "

"So, what are the people who live on the reservation?" McNeil asked, "They are the real African."

"Everyone knows that they-at least in the eyes of the masters in Paris-are not people." Old Jake counted the few euros left in his pocket. "We can invent some words to call them. Anyway, we won't treat them as human beings."

McNeil discovered that what he had previously dismissed has now become a luxury that he could not afford. He needs a watch and a mobile phone. The prices of these two items are beyond his current capacity, even though the latter is only a large telephone with communication functions. He is thinking about ways to earn more living funds, maybe he can expand his business, or find ways to get in touch with some dignitaries.

Near noon, McNeil decided to take a gamble. He has dealt with many big figures and met with many GDI Directors-general. Even if he was asked to face the Emperor of Britannia, he wouldn't have the slightest fear. He decided to put his ideas into practice, so he first went to a nearby store to buy a black umbrella, and then took the umbrella to the house of Jacob Herzog. As the governor-general of the EU in South Africa, Herzog's contact information is completely public, so that if the citizens are dissatisfied, they can complain to him immediately.

Outside of the neighborhood where he and the old Jake Land are located, there is a completely different scene outside. Since the 19th century, the EU's mining in southern Africa has benefited local residents, making South Africa develop rapidly and become EU's largest construction in Africa. One of the results is that this honor has made the governors-general of other regions particularly jealous. However, compared with publicity, successive South African governors-general must have spent more money on the construction of luxurious villas. McNeil looked at the houses modeled after European castles and gardens in surprise. He hadn't seen a similar luxury scene for a long time. The luxury of the blue zone is just in comparison with that of the yellow zone. In fact, everyone is living a hard life. McNeil could not imagine that he would have the opportunity to see this non-existent building—what a waste of resources.

Of course, he was not allowed to enter, so he opened his umbrella and stood on the periphery watching the guards at the door. Within a few minutes, one of the guards became vigilant, touching the pistol on the belt with one hand, and slowly approaching McNeil.

"Quefaites-vous ici, monsieur?"

McNeil didn't say a word, just continued to hold the umbrella, like a decorative sculpture at the door.

"Sir, can you understand English?" The guard looked suspiciously at McNeil, who was pretending to be dumb. "Have you never learned French?"

"Sorry, I haven't studied French myself." McNeil was a little ashamed. "I'm looking for Governor-general Herzog. I have urgent information to tell him."

The guard looked crazy when he saw this man wearing an expensive leather jacket, perhaps he was a habitual offender who came here for extortion. He ignored the unknown liar, and returned to his post to continue on duty. Unexpectedly, immediately afterwards, he and his colleagues witnessed the uninvited visitor standing motionless outside for an entire afternoon, which aggravated the doubts in their hearts. In the evening, three lengthened cars drove up along the other end of the path, and the guards hurriedly stepped forward and told the driver about the incident. Needless to say, the driver also assumes the responsibility of defending the politician.

The guard who dismissed McNeil during the day ran to him:

"His Excellency the Governor-general wants to talk to you."

McNeil held up his black umbrella without a hassle, recalling his fading memories in his mind. In McNeil's life, he has witnessed a similar trial in which Logan Sheppard, the son of Mark Sheppard, was suspected of intentional murder. Logan Sheppard's wife was killed by a robber, but the court decided to acquit the criminal due to lack of sufficient evidence and jury factors—the man died in the street a few days later, and everyone suspected it was Logan is taking revenge. When James Solomon analyzed what happened to McNeil, he relentlessly pointed out that it was a dangerous attempt by Mark Sheppard himself to challenge the established law. Whether Sheppard's gambling with his own son as a bait is successful is not a question McNeil needs to think about. His current task is to convince Governor-general Jacob Herzog.

Several guards beside the car unanimously drew their pistols, and as long as McNeil showed signs of hostility, they shot him on the spot.

Jacob Herzog has just turned sixty this year. His hair is completely gray and his body is still healthy. With a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose, he looks thin and full of energy. The Governor-general looked at the strange young man and said slowly:

"I have to remind you that the rights granted to citizens by the law are not used by you to waste time."

"I have a way of acquitting Major Adalbert Herzog."

Governor-general Herzog pinched the black-framed glasses that were about to slip off his nose, and retorted unhurriedly:

"If I work hard for this kind of thing, I can go directly to my friend in Paris. Okay, my good citizen, it's late, don't waste our time."

"This is not a simple criminal case. If you leave it alone or ask someone to intervene behind the scenes, I'm afraid you will get a terrible result." McNeil has no fear. "I'm wondering, do you have complete confidence in this, or don't think about it at all?"

Herzog smiled and said sarcastically:

"Listen, no matter what direction I want things to go, I can find someone who is more qualified to intervene than you. You should promote insurance or wealth management products instead of discussing with the governor-general of South Africa about the cases."

McNeil watched the convoy drive into the villa area, feeling a moment of loss. Naturally, others will not value him at all.

"His Excellency is right. You are very suitable to be an insurance salesperson or help a bank sell financial products." The guard patted his right shoulder sympathetically, "Don't be discouraged, everyone is begging for food, and there will be opportunities in the future. "

"Then, I hope you forward this letter to Governor Herzog." McNeil took out a crumpled piece of letter paper, which was filled with densely packed fine prints. "His Excellency probably thought that citizens find him to make trouble. I am not surprised."

McNeil walked along the way back, and the street light suddenly went out halfway. He thinks he is unlucky; this may be a planned emergency power outage or accident. In any case, he must move forward in the dark. Unfortunately, McNeil did not know the layout of the city. He came here for no more than a week. How can he compare with the local residents? Unwilling to give up, McNeil wandering around the block, finally completely lost. He made up his mind to return to his temporary residence first. The security in the slum was not good, and he was worried about the safety of Old Jake.

Suddenly, a harsh gunshot came from McNeil's ear, breaking the silence of the night. He heard the direction of the gunfire and moved towards the source of the noise, and unexpectedly bumped into a stranger who had emerged from a side alley. McNeil got up from the ground, ignored the dust on his body, and asked the stranger who could not see his face:

"What happened?"

"I don't know, maybe the indigenous people have rebelled, or else the ABs have rebelled. The ghost knows how long our place can last." This person said grimly, "You should also get out of here. Leave it to the militia or the army."

McNeil's reason told him to stay away from the battlefield as soon as possible. However, the blood that never died awakened the remaining fighting spirit in his heart. He has been away from the battlefield for decades, and his instinct tells him that he should fall on the battlefield like a soldier, not relying on various equipment and the liquid in the bottle to linger. Now, he has an excellent opportunity before him to return to his old line, perhaps to fight for justice, or just to satisfy his barbaric nature.

"I am a member of the army." McNeil said sternly. "Who is messing around here?"

The indifferent aura stunned the stranger. He looked at the fierce opponent in the faint moonlight, and stammered:

"Aboriginal, it's an aboriginal... the aboriginal slipped in."

McNeil bypassed the frightened passer-by and headed for the next block. In South Africa... No, the relationship between conquerors and natives is very bad throughout Africa. A similar situation also happened in the Britannian Empire. The lords from Europe squeezed everything in Africa recklessly, leaving only backwardness and poverty for the indigenous people. Some people are absorbed into the civil service or the church and army, while others can only live on reservations throughout their lives. Their only survival value is to play the original character of the cannibal character according to the script written for them by Paris, in order to demonstrate the greatness and glory of the conqueror-even unable to progress.

"You know, the Council only wants the indigenous people to dance in the village, and will never allow them to wear suits and work with us." The old Jake Land commented on the behavior of the governors-general.

McNeil was close to the fire, and a gun battle was taking place here. Unidentified armed men advanced under the cover of night and opened fire on the guards guarding the block. In contrast between the two sides, the opponents of the guards are naturally better. These indigenous people have obtained rifles and explosive weapons from unknown sources, and the guards retreat again and again. In fact, the guards do not care about the sabotage of the indigenous people in the city, but if such sabotage is at risk of endangering the true owner of the city, they must resolutely stop it.

"It's a miracle that the residents here can survive with frequent gun battles." McNeil approached the guard's line of defense from behind. "It is difficult for Paris to rule on such a restless land. Masters."

However, McNeil made another mistake. Before he could get close to the main line of defense of the guards, he was spotted by others wandering around. When he felt a hard object on his back, the battle-tested former commander reflexively asked:

"Which unit are you from?"

"The Third Battalion of the Fifth Guardian Division." A voice with a strong native accent replied, "Who are you?"

"Minuteman," McNeil replied briefly. In the past few days, he learned from the old Jake that there are militia organizations in almost all parts of Africa, and they are not built according to the usual organization and sequence, which gives him a chance to impersonate a militia.

"This is not a problem that the militia can solve. You didn't even bring a gun." The guard behind came to McNeil, and McNeil saw his dark skin that almost blended with the night.

"I'm from the Governor-general." McNeil said without hesitation. "You have to suppress the situation before it gets out of control."

The black guard looked at McNeil suspiciously, and finally gave up his intention to continue the questioning. He was afraid that he would really offend some great person, even if the man in a leather jacket in front of him was really just an unknown person, he could not be offended by a native like himself.

TBC