As a programr who is not a hacker, West Fire Grass has always worked diligently, taking orders from Youzi Chef and Brother Dao to make money, and then investing all the money into technology and V.
He feels his work is noble and glorious, even if the content is a bit inconvenient to bring out.
On Brother Dao’s radio station, there’s a collection of his works, which has a fairly high click rate.
[Swan Lake Dancer: Huang Ban Family] (Use your imagination)
[Cossack Dance Dancer: Huang Ban Sanlang]
[Starring in A Midsumr Night’s Silver Dream: Huang Ban Sanlang]
In short, many abstract works are from his hand, especially targeting Huang Ban Sanlang specifically, filled with malice.
On the killer list of Huang Ban Corporation, he estimates he ranks in the top five, on par with Morgan Black Hand.
But what West Fire Grass probably never imagined is that soone would look for him offline to do sothing even more abstract.
Logically, this kind of thing should not be done by him, but abstract people do abstract things, and if it happens to you, what can you do?
Moreover, the other party’s power is not sothing he can contend with, and besides, it’s in the ga, dying doesn’t matter, just treat it as a special task.
But just like a butterfly doesn’t know that flapping its wings will cause a storm on the other side of the sea.
————
Jasieya had been working honestly on the construction site for a week, during which the workers there, under Rita’s initiative, had even raised funds for her.
When she held more than a thousand Orokin in her hand, Jasieya only felt it was as heavy as a thousand pounds, scorching hot like freshly baked iron.
She had received more money before, but none felt as substantial and heavy as this thin wad of cash.
If there had been such a sum of money at ho back then, maybe her parents wouldn’t have sold her to the "Queen," and she wouldn’t have had to engage in those cruel and bloody training sessions.
And her ’mother,’ who was in the hospital waiting for surgery money, mysteriously disappeared the day after receiving the ’dical expenses.’
She even joked with Jasieya before leaving,
"I didn’t expect to make a little extra from those suckers, thanks to you, Jasieya, your acting is great, keep it up."
In this world, many people earn money by deceiving others’ consciences, and eventually, everyone loses their conscience, separated by ten Pacific Oceans.
But in such a cold environnt, if one encounters a passionate conscience, how many people would bear to push it away?
"....."
Jasieya said nothing that day, just quietly went back to the construction site and thanked each worker.
After all, she needed to integrate here as much as possible to extract the intelligence the boss required.
Working through the morning, until lunchti.
Jasieya ordered a plate of tomato stew with braised beef and mashed potatoes in the cafeteria, ready to enjoy her al.
Although none of these three foods were grown from the ground, entirely artificial without a hint of nature, Horizon Corporation’s artificial food places great emphasis on taste, even better than organic food.
This food would cost hundreds of Orokin in Cuba, but here it is part of the company’s daily expenses.
Every worker has a monthly al allowance of 300 Orokin, pooled together to decide a week in advance what to eat, then purchased uniformly from Horizon Corporation’s food and agriculture departnt, completely transparent in the process, with exact spending and leftovers clear as day.
If there’s any left over each month, it either gets distributed among the workers, or used for extra als or gatherings.
No one worries about the leadership embezzling this money.
Such a thing is unimaginable not only in Cuba but around the world.
She was enjoying her lunch when she noticed the worker sitting across from her eating while leafing through a small booklet.
"Jarvis, you’re still reading at this ti?"
"Yes." The middle-aged man, who was obviously nearing forty, nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving the pages.
"’Maintenance and Repair of Engineering Machinery,’ written by our company’s engineer Hassan."
"You’re really impressive."
Jasieya couldn’t help but admire.
"Back ho, everyone idles about. With a bit of money, they’d buy booze and drugs, make themselves drowsy, then sleep it off, only waking to find sothing to eat when hunger strikes, doing this day after day."
"I was just like you described."
Jarvis swallowed his food, closed the book, and looked at Jasieya.
"That’s how the poor and holess live in Night City."
His tone was full of sighs, thick with the sense of age.
"We used to look for food in garbage cans every day, finding ways to make money, one or two Euros, no matter what we got, we’d spend it imdiately, get ourselves drunk, then find any bridge to sleep under for a night, waiting to wake up when hunger beca unbearable.....
Because we didn’t know if we’d live another day, the whole world was dark, muddled and confused, and once we stopped, our minds would inevitably think of things, and when you can’t see a future, having a thinking brain becos a painful thing.
So we could only use those things to make ourselves drowsy, so we wouldn’t think of anything, using alcohol and drugs to numb our brains, so if you don’t think, you won’t feel pain."
What he said seed simple, but only those who have really lived those days know what kind of feeling it is.
In the dark, unable to see the road ahead, with no hope, no future, only watching oneself walk with despair, not knowing what will co first, death or tomorrow.
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