Three years ago.

Budapest, Europe.

"All I can say is that life is a colorful performance show, and I... am the kind of person who likes to show off."

At the Eoubs branch observation meeting, Sergio stood out with his extremely superior control performance in the C-level operative selection meeting, and will compete with several other C05s.

And now, it's time to announce the list of new C01 personnel in the adjudication department.

The data used for reference includes the completion rate of control tasks, the degree of recovery of unstable populations, the number of personnel who do not suffer unnecessary casualties, and overall characteristics, strength, and physical fitness.

Sergio sat in the sofa chair. For some reason, perhaps because the atmosphere was too oppressive, he suddenly remembered signing the employment contract in the adjudication department when he first joined Eoubs.

Those idiots locked him to a broken folding chair, the seat cushion still bearing the excrement of the previous moron—thankfully, there was no poop. They also tore off his only decent piece of clothing—because the inspectors said they needed to "check the goods" in case someone had malicious intentions and slipped a bomb or something.

That reason is absolutely ridiculous. What idiot would bother sending things there? Wouldn't it be uncomfortable? So it can only be a demonstration.

While cleaning him up, the man said that his "results" would be included in the evaluation report, determining the resources and compensation he would receive after joining Eoubs.

At that moment, Sergio stared blankly at the clothes lying on the ground. They were covered in blood, had been stepped on several times, and were even stained with a lot of excrement. He didn't care what the guy was still saying. He just wondered if he could still wear them if he found them. This was the only expensive piece of clothing the old woman had given him.

Then, the person in charge of the inspection threw a contract on the dirty metal table and told him to sign it quickly.

Sergio had just finished his implantation experiment and was completely exhausted. He struggled for a long time but couldn't sign his name—it kept saying "signature error"—so the man could only grab his hand and press his fingerprint on it.

The tablet indicated that the process had been successfully completed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, nodded symbolically, and said, "Welcome to Eoubs."

What will happen to me next?

"He'll most likely die in the control mission," the man said irritably.

He turned around, lifted Sergio's chin again, looked at that still youthful face, partly to make his body more visible under the light, and said, "Hmm... you should die a beautiful death. These days, there are always vases that get smashed."

He found it a rather uninteresting insult, but he was too weak to resist at the time, and he was already used to it. He thought to himself, "Oh well, these damn rich and powerful people are nothing. It's just a matter of putting them on chains and having them fight and kill on stage."

But as he ventured deeper into the nightmarish prison of Eoubs, he suddenly began to miss the simple deaths of some people.

Now he knew that the higher-ups at Eoubs wanted to choose a better consumable, something to be tasted, devoured, and played with to death—and not just life itself.

In order not to be played to death first, he had no choice but to fight for this opportunity by any means necessary.

"Looks like you're determined to win." A voice pulled Sergio back to reality.

He pulled out a booger from his nose and turned his body in that direction, but without making much noise; just enough to see the two idiots talking.

"To this day, we have finally received our due compensation, and this is all thanks to everyone."

The man continued, his voice sounding very gentle, like a female orator.

Sergio couldn't remember where the other person came from, but perhaps he had met him at some banquet. In places like this, anyone who smiles at you might be the one who wants to eat you.

The speaker was his brother-in-law, who had recently been wielding power in a ridiculously absurd way. He had even suspected that there was such an idiot within Eoubs, otherwise how could he be living so comfortably?

Fuck you, he can't stand your pretentious attitude.

Sergio took a deep breath, completely ignoring the chilling atmosphere around him. Those idiots looking over knew they had no chance of being elected, and everyone understood that the bastard would get C01's authority, but it didn't matter; he would handle it.

"Yes, that's awesome."

He cleared his throat.

"Everyone knows I like to play with abstract things, but I'm also very loyal. Yesterday, someone talked back to me because she heard something she shouldn't have heard and threatened to kill herself. Guess what? Of course, I agreed."

"She was crying and begging for mercy as she was being killed, saying that she was wrong."

"All I can say is... such degrading language is intolerable."

"So I had someone sleep with her, and then I hanged that bitch from the ceiling."

After Sergio finished recounting this mess, he took a photograph from his pocket, which showed a still-shocked head. He carefully spread the photograph out on the table.

The other people who came to join the fun kept quiet and didn't say anything, but that person—Stanford—had his brows furrowed so deeply that they looked like age spots. The scene was too blurry and bloody to make out his true appearance.

"By the way... that person's name was Chris. Although she's dead, she was absolutely stunning. It shouldn't be too late now. Anyone want to do some post-dinner exercise?"

Sergio had just finished speaking.

Stanford was completely stunned; he was frozen in place, clearly unable to process what was happening.

"Sir, there is a letter for you."

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