novelnext Chapter 1 America Doesn't Believe in Tears
Chapter 1 America Doesn't Believe in Tears
The light from the computer screen was the only source of light in Leo Wallace's cramped apartment.
Outside the window, the sky over Pittsburgh is always that same grayish hue, tinged with steel, as if the last wisp of black smoke from the factory decades ago still lingers.
But at this moment, the color of the email on the screen was even more glaring than the sky outside the window.
From: Federal Student Aid Office
Subject: [Final Notice of Late Payment] Your Federal Student Loan Account is Seriously Defaulting
In the body of the email, a string of scarlet numbers was bolded and enlarged.
Total payable: $137,542.89
"One hundred and thirty-seven thousand, five hundred and forty-two cuts, plus eighty-nine cents."
Leo read it aloud in a low voice, each syllable sounding like he was chewing on shards of glass.
He sank deep into the ergonomic chair he'd bought from a secondhand market, and the chair groaned wearily, just like him.
The bookshelf on the left side of the table was crammed with all kinds of books.
The blue spine of "The Glory and the Dream" has been worn white, the cover of "Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox" has been flipped through so many times that the corners are curled up, and next to it are squeezed English hardcover editions of "The New Deal Era", "The History of the American Labor Movement" and "Das Kapital".
These are his spiritual nourishment, the very foundation of his academic world.
On the right, a nearly overflowing trash can was filled with packaging boxes of instant pasta and microwave pizza, as well as several crushed empty energy drink cans.
In this space of less than one square meter, ideals and reality are separated by an invisible abyss.
"I studied for four whole years, wrote a paper of over 100,000 words, analyzing how Franklin Delano Roosevelt used political maneuvering and the state apparatus to pull a great nation out of the mire of the Great Depression..." Leo's gaze fell back on the string of scarlet numbers, "...and in the end, I couldn't even pull myself out of the mire of student loans."
He moved the mouse and clicked the "close" button in the upper right corner of the email.
Then, he clicked on another browser tab—social media "X".
In the real world, he is Leo Wallace, a "loser" with $130,000 in debt, but here, he is the "Ghost of the New Deal".
When he switched to this identity, his tired eyes, which had been strained by lack of sleep and malnutrition, instantly became sharp and focused, as if he had been given a new soul.
On his homepage timeline, a verified media in-depth report was pushed to the top of the trending list.
The Washington Post: [In-depth investigation] Omni's "digital shackles": warehouse workers monitored by algorithms.
Omni Corporation, a business empire comparable to a combination of Amazon and Walmart, adheres to the principle of efficiency and has taken the application of AI monitoring and rigorous timing algorithms to the extreme.
In the report, one laid-off worker said, "Our working hours aren't calculated by the hour, they're calculated by the second. You feel like you're not working for the company, but being driven by an invisible machine."
Leo was filled with rage.
This is the ultimate form of the "scientific management" theory he read about in books—a digital plantation cloaked in high technology and reconstructed with fiber optics and code.
Taylor's stopwatch has been upgraded in the 21st century to become an omnipresent AI supervisor.
His fingers began to fly across the keyboard, and the historical knowledge and quotations he knew by heart were transformed into the sharpest bullets.
@NewDealGhost (New Policy Ghost):
Franklin D. Roosevelt warned us in 1936: "A government that, because of its constitution, watches as one-third of its people go hungry, cold, and poorly housed... is not a proper government."
Gentlemen, do not be misled by words like "innovation" and "efficiency." When a person's bladder capacity is directly linked to their commercial value and right to survival, this is not progress; it is the most utter contempt for human values.
We are standing in a new gilded age.
Omni Corporation is the most typical "economic royalist" of this era.
#OmniExploitation##DigitalShackles##NewEconomicRoyalists#
The moment I pressed the "Publish" button, it felt as if all my resentment and helplessness were released with that click.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
The number of likes and shares began to jump at a visible speed, giving him a fleeting sense of satisfaction.
It was as if his voice could truly penetrate the walls of this cheap apartment and shake that behemoth made of capital and algorithms.
His phone vibrated; it was a message from the coffee shop owner he worked part-time with, urging him to hurry up and take over the night shift.
Just before closing the door, he subconsciously glanced at his phone screen.
The number of push notifications has increased from a dozen to a bright red "99+".
……
The dawn in Pittsburgh was damp and chilly.
Leo's phone vibrated by his pillow all night; the tweet was completely out of his control.
The number of reposts exceeded 15,000, and the number of likes exceeded 50,000, and it is still climbing.
His follower count skyrocketed from 20,000 to 50,000, and his inbox was flooded with interview requests from the media and support messages from an Omni employee.
Of course, there was also no shortage of insults.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Get out of America!" one comment read.
Leo looked at these comments and felt no excitement, only a growing unease.
He was a historian, and he knew that once words are condensed into power, they will inevitably provoke a counterforce of equal magnitude.
With this unease, he entered the history department building at the University of Pittsburgh.
His doctoral advisor, Professor Davis, arranged to meet with him.
"Leo, have a seat." Professor Davis sat behind his huge mahogany desk, dressed in an elegant gray tweed suit, looking like someone who had stepped out of an academic journal from the last century.
"I've read your first draft of the paper. The viewpoints are very sharp, and you have an excellent research mind." He then changed the subject, "That's precisely why I feel it's a pity that you've wasted your talent on those old papers about Roosevelt's New Deal."
He pushed a beautifully produced brochure toward him: "Take a look at this, the Peterson Institute for Economic Growth. They have a very generous funding program—the leading role of the private sector in urban revitalization."
Leo's gaze swept over the small print at the bottom of the booklet—Main donor: Marcus Peterson, founder of Omni Corporation.
A feeling of nausea and absurdity welled up inside me.
"Professor, isn't this just Omni Corporation's corporate mouthpiece?" Leo looked up, staring directly at his professor. "You want me to argue for the legitimacy of exploiting workers?"
Professor Davis's smile faded.
"Leo, don't get so emotional. Academia is part of the real world. Learn to cooperate with reality, not fight against it. This grant can completely solve your student loan problem." He paused, lowering his voice, "Also, I heard you've been very active online lately. Some companies are very concerned about their public image."
"Words spoken online come at a price, Leo. They can affect your future employment."
At that moment, Leo felt a chill he had never felt before.
It turns out that even the ivory tower is not a pure land; the whispers of capital have already permeated every brick and stone.
"Thank you for your suggestion, Professor." Leo stood up and pushed the brochure back. "But I think I still prefer the old papers; at least they won't try to bribe me."
He didn't look at Professor Davis's face, which had turned ashen in an instant, nodded politely, and turned to leave the office.
Leaving the teaching building, Leo walked through the campus with mixed feelings.
He felt no thrill of victory, only a sense of humiliation and deep exhaustion.
He arrived at his part-time job at the "Daily Grinding" café.
It's the afternoon rush hour, and the store is bustling with people.
His manager, a middle-aged man named Dave, was busy behind the counter.
When Leo came in, Dave's smile looked somewhat unnatural.
"Leo, you've arrived."
"Dave, there are so many people today," Leo said as he walked toward the locker room.
"Yes," Dave wiped his hands, quickly caught up with him during a break between customers, pulled him aside, and lowered his voice.
"Leo, um... could you come to my office after get off work today?"
Leo noticed Dave's evasive gaze and troubled expression.
"Headquarters sent me an email."