This basically foretells the author's ending.
Roughly being wrapped into a sausage, now probably waiting to dry in so sewer.
If you hold too much conscience while working in corporations, you probably won't survive long.
While silently mourning for the experinter, Brother Dao glanced again at the sample materials soaking in the containers around him—at, fat, and nutritional liquids of different ratios, ticulously arranged, with the tables and floors polished to a shine. Though the place was kept immaculately clean, the stench of blood persisted.
Is it human blood?
Or rotting flesh?
Even though the at displayed a fresh, healthy red hue, Brother Dao looked at them as if they were tumors continuously writhing and growing, rooting themselves in every consur.
Disgusting, nauseating.
He wanted to blow the place up, but he knew doing so was aningless—it would only raise unnecessary alarms, prompting the company's leadership to prepare in advance to avoid exposure.
Ten minutes had passed, and Brother Dao estimated the security personnel who went downstairs would return soon.
"Miss Miao, are you done yet?"
"I'm done ow, a man who rushes a lady while she's getting ready will never be liked by girls ow. I've deleted all the access records."
After silently complaining about how troubleso won are, Brother Dao decisively unplugged the USB drive, turned off the computer, and walked out of the laboratory.
As a professional journalist, he needed to show these idiots, whose brains have been hardened by money into star-rage, what it ans for a knife to murder without shedding blood.
————
Derek went to see a doctor.
The kind of free clinic doctor derided as a black-market hack by the upper class.
Their techniques were clumsy, taking ten to twenty minutes just to adjust a prosthetic, constantly needing to consult with seniors—they were essentially apprentices. Derek had seen many a prosthetic doctor, even in the black market, who were far superior.
Doctors of this level wouldn't even be fit to enter the doorway of his detective agency in the past.
But... on that doctor's face was a smile, and he said:
"There's nothing abnormal with your body, but the Swig inhibitor you're using contains addictive elents. Long-term use will reduce its effectiveness, requiring higher doses to work. Therefore, I recomnd you lower the frequency and concentration of this inhibitor. Maintaining a positive mindset is better than any dicine."
There was no promotion of a company's drugs.
No deliberate fear-mongering to charge a hefty dical fee.
It was rely a doctor's most basic concern and respect for a patient.
Derek had encountered countless people, discerning between false smiles of politeness and genuine smiles of sincerity.
Yet, despite it being his first visit, and despite no symptoms being found on him or any attempt to con money, the doctor's smile was satisfied, as precious as acquiring sothing rare...
Derek nodded, stood up, and gave his seat to the person behind him.
"Thank you..."
Leaving, he was filled with confusion.
Does such selfless giving and helping truly exist in this world?
This week, at the Stone Ridge Mountain industrial base, Derek felt a social atmosphere starkly different from Night City, centered around the rcenaries. While they carried guns, laughing and bantering all day, they treated the workers there with respect, devoid of any discrimination or oppression. Even if there was, it would be promptly warned off by the machines.
Though the rules were strict, they were within understandable scope. Surveillance was abundant, but as long as one stayed honest, it wouldn't disrupt one's life. Workers' wages weren't high, but living there was more than adequate.
He had seen gangsters venturing to rob a Trauma Team's dical supply convoy at the behest of a poor mother and daughter from their community, only to be ultimately beaten to death on the streets. Derek judged it a reckless ignorance. But when soone genuinely cared for him, a subtle satisfaction quietly erged, accompanied by a tinge of sha.
That satisfaction sprang from being respected, being seen as a human being.
Not due to status or power, but rely being regarded as a normal person, regardless of poverty or wealth.
And he felt ashad of his ill-intentioned suspicions.
It's been a week, and Horizon Corporation's goods have reached Washington, while really company's stock price is so low it's unrecognizable. He still hasn't sent the photos and videos Full Foods Corporation asked for. If it weren't for maintaining contact, they might think Derek had taken the money and run.
"..."
In the end, he transmitted the data to Full Foods Corporation, taking the money to resolve their problem.
"Everything you wanted is here."
"Hoho, so much? You fild the whole production process?"
"Yes, from recycling, cleaning, crushing, lting, and reshaping—all of it is here, along with their sample inspection reports for each batch."
"You got all that? Impressive, but claiming a 98% pass rate—this company really knows how to boast."
Derek didn't ntion that the inspection reports for each batch of finished products were publicly available on their website for anyone to check, with the product pass rate hovering around 98%, and each bottle of sold water traceable back to its production batch and handler.
Not ruling out the possibility of forgery.
"I've fulfilled my promise, I have other matters to attend to."
"Hmm? Aren't you going to travel to Europe with all that money in hand? I rember that being your habit."
Derek didn't respond. He felt there were still so unknown secrets lurking here, with curiosity driving him to stay in Stone Ridge Mountain to explore them.
Are you all just pretending?
He wanted to uncover the truth.
After Derek turned and left, the dical departnt player who had treated him previously returned to the tent, unable to contain his wild laughter.
"Haha! I reached dical Level Mastery LV1! I can apply for the formal dical exam now!"
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