"No need to waste time interviewing one by one; all of you together."
Behind the golden wooden table, the tall and slender orange-haired woman, even while seated, seemed to be looking down upon the three people standing before her.
Of course, what was even more striking was the naturally exuding arrogant demeanor about her.
"Hello! My name is Ikus; besides what's on my resume, I can cook, clean, polish glass, and I can even voluntarily undertake corpse disposal."
"Uh, I'm Khaji, with rich internship experience—no training required, I can start working immediately."
Putato was completely bewildered, watching the two beside him introduce themselves.
This seemed to be a reception hall, yet its furnishings were extremely simple, featuring only a staircase leading to the upper floor and yellowed walls adorned with advertising slogans.
[Do not ask what the Office can do for you, but what you can do for the Office]
[If you don't work hard in the Office today, tomorrow you'll be a slave in the Syndicate]
[Our "Good Office" is a happy, dedicated family]
Wasn't he eating hotpot? Where did he transmigrate to? Is this still Earth?
Thump! Thump!
The woman impatiently tapped the table, snapping Putato back to reality.
"Hey! What are you waiting for? If you think you're incompetent, get out!"
"My name is Putato." He hastily replied, sensing this place wasn't very welcoming.
"Fine, I'm too lazy to hear your names. What tangible benefits can your internships bring to the Office?"
She flung three resumes onto the table, impatiently urging them forward.
Putato maintained his composure outwardly, but inwardly, a storm raged.
How could transmigration be so abrupt? And to The City!
However, the most pressing matter was this extremely important interview—an opportunity bought by the original body's owner after going bankrupt!
Although Putato couldn't understand why something like this needed to be purchased, as a working man, he knew it couldn't be wasted; he absolutely had to secure it!
"I, I don't need an internship salary. To be trained by the Office is my great fortune!"
"Furthermore, I deeply resonate with the dedication spirit of Good Office, and I am willing to be on call 24 hours a day!"
Khaji prattled on, oblivious to Putato's wide-eyed astonishment beside him.
Was this an interview, or a desperate self-sale?
"What he said is nothing! I, Ikus, am willing to pay to study at Good Office. To learn even half a concept from Mr. Goodman would be my fortune!"
"Furthermore, I'm willing to pay to reside at the Office, and accept any dosage of Enkephalins to boost my spirit for work!"
Ikus spread his arms, rattling off a list of stimulants, incredibly excited, physically pushing both Putato and Khaji aside.
This time, even Khaji was dumbfounded, having never encountered such a fervent devotee.
"What about you? What can you offer? Can you agree to let the Office use your kidney as collateral to help stabilize its cash flow?"
The woman nodded satisfactorily at Ikus, then lifted her chin toward Putato.
Damn it!
Putato barely swallowed his expletive. Primarily, two Office members wielding blood-stained longswords had just returned, and he feared this insidious Office might actually follow through and gut him.
"I slept too soundly last night; both my kidneys were apparently gouged out by rats."
Hearing this, the woman immediately lost interest, waving her hand at Putato and Khaji as if shooing away useless, irritating flies.
Ugh, he genuinely wanted to punch this woman and this entire Office into oblivion.
Putato, angry to the point of laughter, was about to turn and leave, but seeing the gloomy look on Khaji's face, he felt a pang of shared misery. He reached out and patted his shoulder in comfort.
"Let's go, Bro. This trash Office will likely collapse tomorrow anyway, saving us the trouble of finding another job."
"As the saying goes, Heaven bestows talent for a purpose; gold will always shine through."
Khaji's eyes regained their spark, staring at Putato in surprise.
It was only then that Putato roughly assimilated the original body's owner memories. The original body's owner, sharing his name, was from The Backstreets District 23, currently fretting over securing stable employment.
"But I've already failed 108 interviews. Am I really that ineffective?"
Putato could hear the tremor in Khaji's voice. Are there truly this many Offices in this godforsaken place?
One must understand that an Office requires certification from the Association, demanding cumbersome procedures and extensive preparation; otherwise, many Syndicates would have already transitioned into registered Offices.
No wonder the competition is so fierce!
And why is this guy staring at me unmoving?
"Bro, do you need to use the restroom?"
"Destiny brought us here; let's go together, and let this Office choke on its own garbage."
Under the orange-haired woman's unfriendly gaze, Putato ushered Khaji toward the Office restroom.
"Damn it, they even installed a timed alarm in the restroom—what an utterly backward Office!"
Putato kicked at the LED time display on the locked door, only then realizing Khaji was still staring blankly at him.
Wait a minute, please don't tell me this guy is also... male?
Click.
Putato, who had rushed into the restroom stall, took a deep breath, meticulously collecting his thoughts.
First and foremost: he was in The City. He would set aside other complex matters for now and focus solely on surviving in this bizarre reality saturated with strangeness.
According to his inherited memories, he was currently completely broke.
After being evicted by his landlord today, this Good Office interview was his final, desperate attempt at securing stable ground.
"Bro, what are you doing in there?"
Putato frowned, only now realizing there had been no sound or movement beside him while he was lost in thought.
Kicking the door open, Putato saw that the restroom entrance was locked, though he didn't know by whom.
"No way, it's not haunted, brother, don't scare me like this."
Putato turned around and found Khaji sitting slumped on the toilet, head bowed as if he had already fallen asleep.
The Office restroom felt like a wild, desolate grave—silent yet intensely chilling.
Puzzled, Putato reached out to rouse Khaji, but with just that gentle push, Khaji's entire body tipped over off the toilet seat. There was a hideous, terrifying gash across his neck.
Khaji's mouth was agape to its absolute limit, silently wailing in a way only visible through the wide stretch of his mouth.
"Bro! You're in this state, how come there isn't a single sound escaping!"
"Don't you feel any pain at all!"
Putato hastily supported Khaji, about to shout for help, his hands instantly slick with blood, causing his nerves to tremble violently.
"Woo woo!"
Unexpectedly, the dying Khaji actually reached out and cupped Putato's face, instantly smearing crimson across the lower half of his face.
"Let go, or I'll take your head with me! If I don't save you, you won't have a life to live!"
Putato nearly roared, an uncontrollable fury boiling up at Khaji's apparent reckless disregard for his own life.
If not for the severed connection at the other party's neck, he would have directly slapped him away.
"Mmph mph!"
Putato stared in disbelief. In Khaji's eyes, there was no will to survive, no fear of impending death, but rather an anxious yet expectant look, urging him onward.
"What do you want?! Speak clearly!"
"Mmph mph mph!"
Khaji merely urged him intensely. Putato could feel the strength draining from his hands, forcing his brain to race.
Calm down, Putato!
Think carefully. This person and I are just strangers who met by chance. What could he possibly be hoping for?!
"You are useful, you are important."
Putato ventured this tentative thought, and saw Khaji's hand finally release its grip, his eyes filling with relief.
Putato sat down heavily on the blood-stained toilet seat, his white shirt, specially prepared for the interview, now dyed crimson with blood. He took deep, ragged breaths.
Khaji was hunched over in the corner, blood continuously flowing from the small knife he still clutched.
"What in the actual world is this!"
Scratching his head, Putato suddenly felt fortunate that this was The City. After all, a dead person here wasn't a major catastrophe; if he ran fast enough, perhaps no one would bother investigating.
However, seeing Khaji's demise, he still gritted his teeth, unable to comprehend why such a seemingly decent person would commit suicide.
He might as well collect the body for this fallen brother.
"What's that glowing?"
Putato pulled out the card from Khaji's chest; it seemed to be his business card.
Then, countless blood-red, twisted characters appeared on it, etched like wounds on raw hide.
[I can't do it, I don't even qualify to sweep the floor!]
[I'm useless, I lack the capability to secure a decent job!]
[I don't know my value—what good am I for anything!]
"Bro, I'm your ally now; you need to at least recognize faces for your revenge!"
The glaring text startled Putato, almost causing him to drop the card. But the sudden upheavals since his transmigration had surprisingly allowed him to remain calm under duress and think rationally.
Recalling game lore, Putato immediately suspected this might be a Distort phenomenon triggered by extreme negative emotion.
To explain it using game terminology, a Distort would instantly upgrade a combat power 5 piece of cannon fodder into a Boss unit—equivalent to a massive, super transformation.
"No, that's not right. Lobotomy Corporation is still operating, and the Seed hasn't even been released yet. How could you Distort, Bro?"
"But The City originally contained all sorts of strange phenomena distinct from Distort; it seems nothing here should be considered too bizarre."
One must understand that in this place, there was a large Syndicate whose modus operandi involved following the instructions of a series of weaving machines, and there were corporations capable of manipulating time or tearing space.
Before Putato could fully grasp the situation, the lettering on the business card transformed from crimson to brilliant gold.
[I cannot, but you absolutely can!]
[I place my full trust in you, just as you placed yours in me!]
[Work diligently, and you will undoubtedly stand at the apex of The City!]
"Bro, even in death, you cannot forget about the importance of work!"
The card instantly faded to a pale white, displaying Putato's name and likeness on the front.
In that instant, Putato understood the function of this artifact.
As long as he secured a position somewhere, or achieved a promotion, he would receive work rewards, which he could then utilize to ascend to the pinnacle of The City.
Putato genuinely wanted to toss the work card onto the floor, but he carefully tucked it into his pocket instead.
After all, this was the final wish of a deceased man. He offered a silent promise toward Khaji's body.
...
Office Reception Hall.
"Why are you still lingering here? Even the restroom requires a usage fee."
The orange-haired woman swiftly processed documents on her desk, not even bothering to lift her head.
Bang!
A thick stack of banknotes was suddenly slapped onto the table by Putato, startling the woman upright from her chair.
"You are deliberately inviting death."
Immediately, an Office member wiping a greatsword approached, but Putato's expression remained resolute.
"Hmph, I wish to pay a fee to experience a half-day internship at Good Office. If I am satisfied, I will gift the Office two kidneys."
Hearing this, the swordsman's eyes sharpened; he recognized the arrival of another internal conflict enthusiast.
The orange-haired woman, however, quickly snatched the money, showing no concern for the fresh bloodstains marring the bills.
"Deal. Here is your internship contract."
Never before had he secured a position so rapidly!
Putato, contract in hand, swaggered back toward the restroom. In any case, no one from the Office would dare enter the restroom during working hours.
Noticeable changes had indeed appeared on the card.
[Congratulations on your appointment at Good Office]
[Acquired Work Talent: Good Person]
"I truly never anticipated that my cheat ability would be bestowed by you, and you even provided the initial capital."
"Don't worry, I prioritize repaying kindness and enacting vengeance above all else. I am destined to stand at the pinnacle of The City!"
Putato's left hand gently closed Khaji's eyes, then he continued to examine the card closely.
[Work Talent: Good Person]
[Description: You bear an uncanny resemblance to Goodman, a man of virtue.]
[Effect: Your affinity and persuasiveness levels are greatly enhanced.]
Goodman was the director of Good Office. It seemed this work talent was perfectly synchronized with the organization he was just appointed to.
"But what use is this talent now?! Is it so I can go out and get myself riddled with holes?!"
Putato paced back and forth within the restroom stall, desperately trying to figure out how to dispose of Khaji's blood-soaked corpse.
If it remained here, those bastards from the Office would surely rush the body to some shady clinic to harvest organs.
Boom!
A violent crash and tremor made Putato stumble and fall.
Outside, screams mingled with fearful pride, followed by the sounds of intense fighting.
"Could Good Office be under attack for revenge?"
Putato carefully retreated, looking around, only to find that this restroom had no windows for escape.
Now, he was sweating profusely, completely unsure how to act decisively.
"Ah-haha, all you rookies, explode for me!"
"Is—Is that black tea? I really want to drink it."
"You—all of you, pay attention, don't let anyone escape. It seems someone is still hiding in the restroom."
Oh no.
Putato clearly didn't dare to venture outside. How did the other party know?
The sounds of fighting outside quickly subsided, replaced by the approaching metallic footsteps.
Putato held his breath, clutching Khaji's blood-stained small knife in his hand, ready to counterattack at any moment.
Whirr!
A roaring, spinning chainsaw tore through the wooden restroom door, sending countless splinters flying.
The moment Putato saw the approaching figure, he felt his heart go cold. He didn't even attempt the attack he had planned; it was simply useless.
A golden-colored full-body Prosthetic exuded a cold, hard, utilitarian style. Only the energy source on its chest and its two bionic eyes glowed with dazzling white light.
"Sure—surely, there's still a fish that got away."
Consta, wielding a chainsaw, stepped into the restroom, his steel-like towering figure sealing off all of Putato's hopes of escape.
This was the Syndicate [Brotherhood of Iron], a group of iron-men who had undergone full-body Prosthetic modifications.
Putato's small knife in his hand appeared utterly ridiculous, even somewhat cute, in front of the opponent's steel plating and chainsaw.
Following close behind, Arnold examined Putato, finding him somewhat peculiar.
"What—What's going on? Could another Syndicate be assaulting the Office like us?"
Before Putato could react, a mechanical hand gripped his neck tightly. The superhuman strength instantly left him breathless.
This is it! This is it!
Putato wanted to beg or explain; after all, he had nothing to do with Good Office, but he couldn't even speak now.
A feeling of helpless dread filled his heart. Was he going to die in a toilet like Khaji?
"Bast—Bastard, we successfully raided this place. Hand over your stolen spoils of war quickly."
Absolutely not! He still hadn't become the pinnacle of The City!
Putato struggled with all his limbs, desperately signaling that he had something to say, causing Consta to slightly loosen his grip.
His oxygen-deprived brain raced. Putato frantically searched for any bargaining chip he could use to survive.
"I have a way to generate more capital."
Even though Putato used all his strength to speak, his voice was as faint as a fly's buzz.
He dug deep into his mind for any clue that could sway them.
"Really—Really? Tell us."
Mo, carrying a cannon, jumped over, finally allowing Consta to release Putato.
Putato landed and gulped fresh air in large breaths, the relief of surviving mixed with the scorching pain in his neck.
"Boss—Boss, it's all handled. Next, we should withdraw, or running into the Association won't be good."
"This—This guy is probably just trying to stall for time."
Hearing this, Putato jumped up in surprise.
"Commissions! Good Office still has many unhandled commissions, all of which represent capital!"
Mo was disappointed again, turning to leave.
"I—We are a Syndicate, clients won't accept us, and debt collection is incredibly troublesome."
Seeing Consta raise his chainsaw again, Putato shouted excitedly.
"I have Office connections!"
"We can sell the existing commissions to them at a discount, and the money can be instantly credited!"
Putato's echoing voice throughout Good Office stunned all three Prosthetic individuals.
Mo turned around in surprise.
"But I have one condition."
"You—you're in no position to bargain. It's good enough that we're allowing you to live."
"I want to join the Brotherhood of Iron!"