The air here is filled with a sickening stench of rot, like a mix of oil and sothing else, making even the air itself seem thick.
The factory covers a large area, twice the size of the one occupied by the Vortex Gang. Tall fences enclose several three-story warehouses. Before Brother Dao could follow the workers entering through the gates in the early morning, he saw the black wall in front of him.
No.
The wall wasn't black, it was light gray.
The reason it appeared dark wasn't soot but flies.
As one of the few species that have survived in large numbers until now, flies seem to be increasingly infesting Night City.
And here,
they covered the entire wall.
But the workers were oblivious, indifferent.
Their eyes were dull, expressions numb, showing almost none of the rich emotions typical of human beings.
Compared to people, perhaps they seed more like machines at this mont.
"Doug... the newcor?"
The foreman stopped Brother Dao, who was following the group, and Brother Dao knowingly took out a paper bill from his pocket and handed it over with a pleasing smile on his face.
"Yes, I've just arrived in Night City. My cousin recomnded for this job."
The foreman didn't even need to look; with a slight pinch, he knew it was 20 Orokin.
"Hmph... at least you know the rules. Go in. Line 7, Position 3."
"Rember to connect to the company's intranet, don't slack off, and make sure you go through the check before leaving each day."
The check he ntioned wasn't for hygiene but for synthetic implants, to prevent anyone from hiding a cara in their artificial eye or elsewhere to take secret photos outside.
Not only would they clear your implant records from the day, but they'd also search your whole body with instrunts.
The intranet also monitored whether workers had any contact with the outside world.
Brother Dao smiled slightly and shyly lowered his head, saying
"I know, I know, my brother already told before I ca."
He acted like a newly adult young man.
These terms were all written in small print on the employnt contract.
In the latter half of the 21st century, at processing factories no longer needed to associate with slaughterhouses or farms.
They had beco integrated centers.
Because they had eliminated the processes of breeding and slaughtering.
The three buildings within the factory: the one on the left was the artificial at cultivation center, the one on the right was the cutting and processing center, and the one in the back was the final packaging assembly line.
From production to sales, it's all done in one go.
Being new, Brother Dao, a 22-year-old who had never even read a book, couldn't enter the artificial at cultivation center; he could only work on the lowest level at cutting assembly line, earning 800 Orokin per month.
Not even as much as a novice player could earn in two or three days.
Of course, players' money was fake, just numbers set by Lin Miao.
The mont he entered the gate, he was profoundly shocked by what he saw before him.
Man, what can I say?
Because the first thing he saw wasn't anything else
it was shit.
And it was fresh.
The Taiping Continent incident had left them so unsettled that they couldn't eat for a long ti, leaving a psychological shadow over this stuff.
The pile of feces in front, although not as impressively massive as the wall-lined underground ones, was still nauseatingly mixed in various semi-solid and liquid forms.
And the most absurd thing was, just as he stepped in, he caught sight of a team of night shift workers taking a crap on a chute at the entrance.
Brother Dao's Adam's apple bobbed, his artificial eye flickered, and the captured scene was uploaded directly to the cops waiting outside.
[Terrible Warrior: Brother Dao, are you nuts? What grudge do we have? I haven't even had breakfast yet!]
[Terrible Warrior: Did I offend you in so way? What did I do wrong? Tell ! I'll apologize, just please, stop sending this stuff!]
[Terrible Warrior: I don't want to see old n's butts! Guah! My eyes!]
Yet Brother Dao had no ti to respond to Terrible Warrior; he just kept uploading pictures, launching a continuous ntal assault on him.
And more absurdly, perhaps it was shift change ti, a forklift drove over, and the workers reluctantly pulled up their pants and left when they saw it coming.
The forklift extended a chanical arm to pick up the chute and turned the corner to leave through another exit.
That direction led to the artificial at cultivation center.
"..."
Brother Dao seed to gain so understanding, swallowed hard, and continued walking toward the position assigned to him by the foreman, silently vowing never to eat artificial at on the market again.
Their work was quite simple: cutting the irregular large chunks of muscle delivered from the artificial at cultivation center into at blocks, grinding them into mince, and then bonding them to the shaped fat sh from the other side with adhesive.
Before entering, Brother Dao had curiously asked the foreman if there was a need to buy professional industrial implants here, but the foreman had rely chuckled and said
"Yes, but not now."
Brother Dao didn't quite understand but noted the words down anyway.
When he got on the assembly line, he found that the workers there were also divided into those with implants and those without, and the latter's work efficiency was almost double that of the forr, further enhancing his curiosity.
Apart from the implants, these workers were also soaked in blood and sewage, their skin showing an unnatural sallow hue. Many in the group without implants had bandages and adhesive plasters on their hands, with signs of acid corrosion on their fingers.
The work here was very simple: pushing the at blocks from the conveyor belt into the cutting slots, where sharp tal wires would slice them, then sent them to the next grinding process. Brother Dao quickly picked it up after a little practice and quickly matched the others' work efficiency.
Although the flies flying everywhere constantly disturbed his mind.
There were just too many flies here...
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