"Radiation will damage your DNA and cause deformities in your limbs."

"We seem fine, though?"

The Tanzanian official Moss was painstakingly trying to explain these problems to his fellow countrymen.

But it was all rather meaningless.

Because of Wakanda's influence over the African Union, most officials in the member states were educated intellectuals—at the very least, not illiterate.

Moss himself had studied in France. He was fluent in French, English, and the local dialects. Though his field of study wasn't nuclear energy, he still understood radiation and worker protections.

His fellow countrymen did not.

These ragged workers were willing to do whatever job was available. Working at the Mkuju River didn't pay much more than other labor, but it was steady.

For the sake of stable income, many were willing to sell their souls. Mining was just a bit harder work—they honestly didn't think there was any problem with it.

One worker scratched his head, chuckling: "It's not like it's you down there. You just wave your fingers and money comes in."

As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers together, hinting that officials like Moss could make money just by moving their hands.

Moss was so angry he was lost for words—he nearly wanted to slap his fellow countryman.

Here I am worrying about your workplace safety, and you accuse me of corruption and lining my pockets?!

The worker grinned and continued: "Come on, brother, don't get mad. What are you really doing here?"

"Did you not listen to a single word I said just now?!"

"You're not even wearing protective gear yourself."

Mid-sentence, the worker suddenly fell silent—

Because a robot walked past Moss. It was being operated by Leo.

Just moments ago, Leo had fitted the camp's detection equipment onto this makeshift robot to monitor radiation levels.

The radiation levels at the worksite were all well over the limit. Worse, radon gas could be detected even outside several mine shafts—clearly far beyond acceptable levels.

Radon is a radioactive gas; normally, such areas should have been sealed off. But it was obvious the mining company hadn't done that.

Leo handed Moss a set of protective gear meant for mine management.

"Radiation is over the limit. Outside is tolerable, but inside it's much worse. Better put this on."

Looking around, even the Atlas Group soldiers had added extra armor plates to their exoskeletons.

Now the worker had nothing to say.

He had just been called up from the pit and didn't know what was happening. But if even the leaders were putting on protective suits, then maybe the problem really was serious.

Leo glanced at the bewildered workers. He knew that just dumping "knowledge" on them wasn't going to improve their safety awareness in such a short time.

As he headed toward the pit, he said quietly:

"Put on the protective suits and wait in the rest area. I'll take some photos for you—then you can squeeze some compensation out of these companies."

The workers froze for a moment, tempted, but then looked at Moss, who was also stunned.

Moss waved his hand irritably: "Go on!"

Then he followed Leo.

"Mr. Li! Mr. Li, what's the situation here?"

"Not good. Radon leakage. Radiation levels in the soil outside are also high. They must've buried excavation waste on-site, and not deep enough."

"And the people?"

"If this were before, I'd say there was no saving them." Leo pried aside some collapsed beams. "Radiation levels are way over the limit. The worst part is they barely use any respiratory protection. Once radioactive dust enters the lungs, the damage is permanent."

This was far worse than silicosis—and, like silicosis, essentially incurable.

Breathing in radioactive dust meant a lifetime of internal radiation exposure from the lungs.

But it wasn't completely hopeless.

"Now, if technology advances in the future, they could get lung transplants. They'd be able to live long lives."

Pulling away the debris, Leo saw mine tunnels that had collapsed due to excavation mistakes.

It was obvious that Uranium-10 had cut costs to the absolute extreme.

Africans might not be the most efficient labor force, but they were cheap—$100 bought their work for a month. And being far from the cities meant the labor regulators couldn't really intervene.

On the other hand, uranium mining required technical expertise, especially in its applications. If the Tanzanian government drove these foreign companies away, they wouldn't be able to monetize these resources.

No money meant no development. Without development, the state couldn't function.

The former Minister of Mining had probably known all this, but simply didn't care.

Moss's expression turned melancholy: "We'll have to shut this place down."

"Not realistic," Leo replied as he advanced with his detector in hand. "Some of these people have been working here since 2005. They thought they'd landed a good job. They got married and had kids back then."

"That sounds good."

"No, it's bad. Their own health problems take time to show, but the children are different.

Many already suffer from congenital diseases and minor deformities. I asked around—some of the veteran workers know this job isn't normal. But they need a steady stream of money to keep treating their kids."

"This—" Moss was stunned. "Do they know?"

Here's the English translation of the passage you sent:

"We don't know yet, but we'll know soon. Didn't you arrange for someone to explain it to them?"

Everyone has their own logic and way of understanding. Once knowledge aligns with that, their minds can be upgraded.

Suddenly, an angry roar echoed from outside the mine:

"...I'll kill...those bastards!"

Moss fell into deeper silence.

He had studied in France—where people would never be treated like this.

Force them to work a few extra hours in a day? They'd take to the streets and smash city hall. Send them underground in a thin vest?

What a joke. With that much energy, why not just spend a little money on proper workplace safety instead of fighting endless lawsuits?

But he knew full well: his countrymen lacked skills, lacked knowledge, and lacked foresight. Summed up simply, they lacked education. Many of their ways of thinking lagged far behind the modern world.

To expect them to think, work, and fight for their own interests the way people in developed countries did—

That wasn't possible. And likely never would be.

They were too far behind—not just technologically.

Leo picked up a piece of brown rock from the rock wall. Using the hydraulics in his arm, he squeezed gently, crushing away the surface and brushing off the dust to reveal a glassy luster inside.

The Mkuju River deposit existed in his world too, and from the look of it, the ore quality wasn't much different here.

"Good quality... But don't worry too much. If you take Africa's current electricity consumption as a reference, this vein will last you decades."

"Decades...?"

"That's only the proven reserves. There could be more inside. And if you add a bit of plutonium to the reactor, that number could stretch even further..."

At that moment, Leo received an urgent transmission.

[Sender: T'Challa]

[T'Challa: Leo, the U.S. military has landed in Somalia! They have planes...zzzt...this morning—]

[zzzt]

Leo froze. The U.S. military had already occupied Somalia?

Why would T'Challa be the one to know this?

Planes?

Before he could think it through, the long-range comm was cut off—and replaced by Frank's voice.

[Frank: Boss, looks like there's something up in the sky.]

[Frank: Transport planes! They're going to airdrop!! Prepare for combat, grip your—zzzt—]

[ALERT! Enemy attack!]

Outside the mine, Frank was on watch in the guard tower, rifle in hand. With nothing happening inside the camp, his eyes drifted to the sky.

Africa's skies were brilliantly blue, with excellent visibility—especially on a sunny day like this.

Leo often had him record scenic videos using his cybernetic tuner, and Frank enjoyed it. He could send them home for his wife and kids to see.

The high-powered optics built into his helmet let him lock onto hawks in the upper air currents—he'd even filmed his own version of Wild Kingdom.

"Spring has come... the season of mating..."

Frank swept the skies again. Luck was with him—he quickly spotted a moving object.

But that didn't look like a bird...

It looked familiar. Too familiar.

Zooming in all the way, Frank's heart sank.

He knew that machine.

It was a U.S. military transport plane—the very type he'd once ridden in.

Hanging from its belly were Iron Soldiers. The aircraft swept over the camp—

They were air-dropping directly into the site!