Fu Haoran stared out at the rainy New York night and curled his lip.
[Environmental scan complete] [Structural classification: Confirmed Hive World] [Social structure: Unrestrained growth, weak moral and legal constraints, extremely high resource conversion efficiency.]
"You call this a Hive City?" he said to the empty air. "System, are you bugging out?"
The system immediately protested, and markers began to overlay his vision.
The outlines of the Upper East Side's skyscrapers were traced in crimson—[Upper Hive Spire (Prototype)].
The run-down streets of Brooklyn were tinted a gloomy gray—[Lower Hive Slum (Early Stage)].
Labels appeared above the homeless people huddled by subway entrances—[Hive City Underclass].
Even the bulletproof glass at the corner convenience store flickered—[Basic Fortification].
The class divisions were impossible to miss.
But what came next wiped the smile off his face.
Above a junkie on the corner, a system alert appeared: [Nurgle Cultist (Spiritual Corruption: 40%)].
The Wall Street buildings gleamed in the rain, and a label popped up: [Tzeentch Cultist Gathering Area (Information Fraud Index: 90%)].
Fu Haoran fell silent for three seconds, then glanced toward the roadside.
The long line outside the Food Bank, the plastic-surgery clinic's billboard, the foul steam rising from the sewer grates... Scenes he'd once taken for granted now all carried the eerily familiar feel of a Warhammer hive city.
"Throw in the Machine Cult, the Adeptus Arbites, or a bunch of people shouting about the Four-Armed Emperor, and we'll have the whole Hive City set." Fu Haoran quipped.
As soon as he finished speaking, a system alert cut him off:
[Long-term side quest triggered: King of the Hive City (Prologue)] [Quest description: A great ruler never stops at one city or territory. How could a Planetary Governor own just one Hive World?] [Quest requirement: Establish a stable industry on this Hive World within thirty days.] [Quest rewards: Unlock cross-world industry management interface; Universal Points +1000; storage space expanded to 5000 cubic meters.] [Failure penalty: Revoke Planetary Governor status (a good-for-nothing doesn't deserve to be a governor)]
Fu Haoran stared at the words "a good-for-nothing doesn't deserve to be a governor" and laughed.
"...Still got that hellish vibe. It really knows how to drive a man into the ground."
They said that when people were under too much pressure, they eventually grew numb.
That was exactly how Fu Haoran felt now.
"Forget it. I'll stick to the plan."
"First step: make money. As fast as possible."
Fu Haoran swiped rapidly across his phone screen.
News, financial reports, gossip... The feed rolled by.
Suddenly, his gaze stopped on a headline: <World's Richest Man Steve Jobs's Condition Worsens; Transferred to Private Sanatorium in Palo Alto>.
Late-stage pancreatic cancer.
The world's richest man, worth billions, yet cornered by a terminal illness.
"You'll do." Fu Haoran curled his lip and raised a hand, summoning the silver-gray Medical Servo-Skull.
Palo Alto, Private Sanatorium.
High walls surrounded the grounds, and security cameras were everywhere.
Fu Haoran drove up to the entrance.
The Servo-Skull's eyes glowed faintly red. A probe extended, tracing a pale blue line through the air.
[Signal interference initiated] [Surveillance override installed] [Security system backdoor opened]
The gate slid open without a sound.
Using the cover of night, Fu Haoran drove straight in, avoiding the patrolling guards along the way. Before long, he reached the VIP ward on the top floor of the main building.
His target was behind the heavy door at the end of the corridor.
The Servo-Skull on his shoulder flashed again, and the lock began to turn.
Fu Haoran pushed open the door and saw the world's richest man, Steve Jobs, lying in bed. He was emaciated, his eyes sunken, his skin an ominous waxen yellow.
The monitoring equipment let out a steady, icy beep, like a countdown.
A male nurse was adjusting the IV drip, and a bodyguard stood in the corner.
At the sound, both looked up. Seeing the stranger and the floating mechanical skull, they froze, then instinctively moved to act.
But the Servo-Skull was faster.
Pfft.
Pfft.
Their legs gave way, and they crumpled to the floor.
Jobs turned his head and saw a strange young Asian man in the doorway, along with the floating mechanical skull that looked like something from the future.
A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, then gave way to deep exhaustion. He looked away indifferently.
Anyone who could get in here like this could kill him with ease.
But he was dying. Even death no longer frightened him. What did he have left to lose?
"Mr. Jobs." Fu Haoran walked to the bedside, his voice calm, as though stating a fact. "Let's make a deal."
"Ten billion dollars in exchange for a full recovery."
Jobs's pale lips moved, but no sound came out.
A lunatic?
A charlatan?
Those were his first thoughts.
But there was no fervor in the other man's eyes, only the confidence of someone certain of victory.
Could this man really be crazy?
Jobs didn't feel like dealing with him, and Fu Haoran didn't feel like asking questions either. He went straight for the machine!
The mechanical skull precisely aimed a probe gleaming with cold light at his neck.
Jobs closed his eyes.
Not in surrender, but... out of curiosity.
Perhaps this was his last chance in life to experience the unknown.
The instant the needle pierced his skin, the pain he'd expected never came. Instead, a warm current spread swiftly from the injection site throughout his body.
It was an indescribable sensation.
The constant dull ache and exhaustion that had tormented him for so long were slowly driven away by the warmth.
Jobs had no idea that his heart rate, blood oxygen, and blood pressure... were gradually climbing back into the safe, green zone.
The mechanical skull withdrew its probe and floated quietly back beside Fu Haoran's shoulder.
"The treatment is finished. You'll see the results tomorrow. When you do, transfer the money to this encrypted account." Fu Haoran finished speaking and gently set a card on the bedside table.
The door closed softly.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the steady, even beeping of the equipment.
Jobs soon fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Jobs woke to a feeling he hadn't known in ages—a fierce hunger.
He opened his eyes. The familiar morning pain was gone, the heaviness in his chest had vanished, and his body felt much lighter.
He sat up without thinking—and did it with no effort at all?!
What happened next felt like a dream.
Ten minutes later, fried eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and fruit filled the rolling table.
Jobs picked up a fork and wolfed down his food.
No nausea, no burning sensation!
He ate faster and faster, his knife and fork clattering as he practically devoured the food. His eyes reddened without him noticing.
"Sir! You have to stop!"
The attending physician rushed in with a group of medical staff, his face pale. Several hospital executives who'd hurried over after hearing the commotion followed behind them.
Jobs was their biggest benefactor. If anything happened to him because he'd eaten too much, the hospital would be hit with a massive bill—and their careers would be over.
"Your digestive system can't handle this!" The attending physician's voice trembled as he tried to approach. "Long-term chemotherapy has nearly crippled your digestive function. This is far too dangerous!"
The medical staff tried to intervene, but Jobs's bodyguards stopped them at once. They'd already been stunned by their boss's transformation, and now they would follow only his orders.
Jobs slowly set down his knife and fork, then picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth.
His movements were slow, but his gaze swept sharply over every member of the medical staff and every executive—their terrified, confused, disbelieving faces.
Finally, his eyes settled on the attending physician.
"Dangerous?" Jobs said. His voice was still hoarse, but carried an unmistakable force. "I feel fantastic. Better than I have in the last three years combined."
He paused, then gave a clear order:
"Now I want the most comprehensive examination you can do. Head to toe. Every single measurement."
"I want to see the data, in black and white."
"Until I see the report..." His gaze swept the room. "Not a word about what happened here is to leave this room. Understood?"
The attending physician opened his mouth, but under the cold stares of all the bodyguards, he finally nodded stiffly.
Before you continue