In the Blackstone Base, the only value of a powerless "waste" like me is to be pushed out to attract alien species and open the way for the strong.
When I was pushed and locked out by my former neighbor, I heard someone behind me chuckle: "Lin You, don't blame us, if not, blame you for being too weak."
I don't blame them.
After all, they would soon be crying and shouting, taking out the most precious weapons and supplies in their hands, kneeling at the door of my little shabby shop, just to beg me to sell them a bottle of clean water.
"Store manager, please give us another chance to trade!"
I leaned on the recliner, swinging my legs slowly, and looked outside the door at the base leader who had voted me out to die.
"Sorry, our store is full today." I yawned, "Come back in line tomorrow."
By the way, I forgot to mention, my grocery store is located in the middle of the most dangerous alien lair in the city.
Want to trade? Can.
Get to my door alive first.
