The unrest had died down. Manager Chun sat in his office, smoking a fine cigar and gazing out the window.
Honestly, he preferred local hand-rolled cigarettes to these things—cigarettes rolled from the inferior tobacco grown here. One drag sent that pungent heat into his lungs, and then he would slowly breathe it out.
But that wouldn't do.
Cigars were what high society smoked, while those local cigarettes were for old farmers out in the fields. He could only reluctantly give up his preference and imitate those "big shots" instead.
After all, his status was no longer what it had been.
What had he been before? A failure whose business had gone under, despised by his family and abandoned by his wife, a useless man merely eating his way toward death.
But now?
Never mind the entire Compound—at least these several hundred lives were in his hands. Whether they lived or died depended on a single whim of his.
Being above others felt great. Being above others with power over their lives felt even better.
What did it matter if he had to give up a little conscience for that...?
As Manager Chun gazed out over the factory grounds, a subordinate came to report.
"Manager, we've finished cleaning up the factory. The Trojan that guy left wasn't anything complicated. The tech team cleared it out in under half an hour, and it didn't cause much damage." "Thanks for the hard work."
When Manager Chun turned around, that familiar, perfectly genial smile appeared on his face again.
It wasn't that he wanted to smile like that. After the "boss" had modified him, that smile had sunk into his bones. It had practically become an instinct.
Then he continued.
"I feel bad making them work overtime in the middle of the night. How