System Determines Eagle Nation is a Hive City

Fu Haoran stared at the rainy New York night outside the window and twitched the corner of his mouth.

[Environmental scan complete]

[Structural assessment: confirmed as Hive World]

[Social morphology: savage growth, low moral and legal constraints, extremely high resource conversion efficiency.]

"You call this a Hive World?" he said to the air. "System, are you glitching?"

The system immediately took offense, and markers began overlaying themselves on his retina.

The silhouette of the Upper East Side skyscraper was traced with a crimson outline—[Upper Hive Spire (Nascent)].

Brooklyn's dilapidated blocks were stained with a gray undertone—[Lower Hive Slum (Early Stage)].

A homeless man curled up at the subway entrance had a label pop up above him—[Hive City Underclass].

Even the bulletproof glass at the corner convenience store flickered for a moment—[Basic Fortification].

Class stratification, clear at a glance.

But the next image wiped the smile off his face.

Above the head of a drug addict on the street corner, the system prompt flashed [Nurgle Cultist (Mental Contamination 40%)].

The Wall Street buildings reflected the rain, and a label jumped out: [Tzeentch Cultist Gathering Area (Information Fraud Index 90%)].

Fu Haoran was silent for three seconds, then glanced at the roadside again.

The queue in front of the food bank, the billboards for the plastic surgery hospital, the filthy steam rising from the sewer grate... scenes he had once taken for granted now all carried the horrifying familiarity of a Warhammer Hive World.

"All we need now is the Machine Cult, the Adeptus Arbites, or a bunch of people shouting 'Four-Armed Emperor' to complete the Hive World family portrait," Fu Haoran quipped.

As soon as the words left his mouth, a system prompt forcibly interrupted:

[Triggered long-term side quest: King of the Hive City (Prologue)]

[Quest description: A great ruler never stops at a single city or territory. How could a Planetary Governor be content with owning only one Hive World?]

[Quest requirements: Within thirty days, establish a stable industry in this Hive World.]

[Quest rewards: Unlock cross-world industry management interface; Universal Points +1000; Storage space expanded to 5000 cubic meters.]

[Failure penalty: Revoke Planetary Governor status (The trash doesn't deserve to be Governor)]

Fu Haoran stared at the words "The trash doesn't deserve to be Governor" and laughed.

"...Still that hellish flavor, always pushing you to the brink."

They say that after too much pressure, a person just goes numb.

That was Fu Haoran now.

"Whatever, I'll stick to the plan."

"Step one, make money. The faster, the better."

Fu Haoran swiped quickly on his phone.

News, financial reports, gossip... the information stream scrolled by.

Suddenly, his gaze locked onto a headline: <World's Richest Man Steve Jobs' Condition Worsens, Transferred to Palo Alto Private Sanatorium>.

Pancreatic cancer, terminal stage.

The world's richest man, worth billions, yet driven to a dead end by an incurable disease.

"You're the one." Fu Haoran curled his lips, raised his hand, and summoned the silver-gray Medical Servo-Skull.

Palo Alto, Private Sanatorium.

High walls, dense surveillance.

Fu Haoran drove up to the main gate.

The red light in the Servo-Skull's eye flickered faintly, a probe extended, tracing a pale blue trajectory through the air.

[Signal interference initiated]

[Surveillance coverage implant complete]

[Security system backdoor opened]

The gate slid open silently.

Taking advantage of the night's cover, Fu Haoran drove straight in, bypassing the patrolling security guards all the way, and soon reached the VIP ward area on the top floor of the main building.

Behind that heavy door at the end of the corridor was his target.

The Servo-Skull on his shoulder flickered again, and the sound of the door lock turning came from the door.

Fu Haoran pushed the door open and entered, seeing the world's richest man, Steve Jobs, lying on the hospital bed, emaciated beyond recognition, with sunken eyes and a sickly, waxy yellow skin tone.

The monitoring instruments emitted a regular, cold ticking sound, as if they were counting down.

A male nurse was adjusting the IV drip, and a bodyguard stood in the corner.

Both of them looked up at the sound, saw the stranger and the floating mechanical skull, froze for a moment, and instinctively moved to act.

But the Servo-Skull reacted faster.

Pfft.

Pfft.

The two went limp and collapsed to the floor.

Jobs turned his head and saw the unfamiliar young Asian man at the door, along with the floating mechanical skull that looked like something out of a futuristic creation.

A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes, then dissolved into deep exhaustion as he indifferently looked away.

Someone who could appear here like this could kill him with ease.

But he was dying, and when even death no longer held any fear, what was there left to lose?

"Mr. Jobs." Fu Haoran walked to the bedside, his voice as calm as if stating a fact. "Let's make a deal."

"One billion USD, in exchange for your recovery."

Jobs's pale lips moved, but no sound came out.

A madman?

A charlatan?

That was his first thought.

But there was no fervor in the other man's eyes, only a calm confidence of victory.

"Is he a lunatic?"

Jobs didn't want to bother, and Fu Haoran didn't feel like asking either—he went straight for the machine!

The Servo-Skull precisely aimed a glinting probe toward his neck.

Jobs closed his eyes.

Not in resignation, but... out of curiosity.

This might be the last time he experienced something unknown.

The moment the needle tip pierced his skin, the anticipated pain never came. Instead, a warm current spread rapidly from the injection point throughout his entire body.

It was an indescribable feeling.

The persistent, pervasive dull ache and fatigue from long-term illness were being gradually dispelled by this warmth.

Jobs didn't know that his heart rate, blood oxygen, blood pressure... all the curves were slowly climbing toward the green safe zone.

The Servo-Skull retracted its probe and silently floated back to Fu Haoran's shoulder.

"The treatment is done. You'll see the results tomorrow. By then, wire the money to this encrypted account." Fu Haoran finished speaking and gently placed a card on the bedside table.

The door closed softly.

The hospital room fell back into silence, broken only by the steady, rhythmic beeping of the instruments.

Jobs soon sank into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Jobs was awakened by a long-lost, ferocious sensation—hunger.

He opened his eyes. No familiar morning pain, the oppressive feeling in his chest was gone, and his body felt much lighter.

He instinctively sat up—and it was effortless?!

What followed felt like a dream.

Ten minutes later, scrambled eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and fruit filled the mobile table.

Jobs picked up his fork and began to eat ravenously.

No nausea, no burning sensation!

Jobs ate faster and faster, the clatter of knife and fork almost like wolfing down his food, the rims of his eyes unconsciously turning red.

"Sir! Stop immediately!"

The attending physician rushed in with a group of medical staff, his face pale, followed by several hospital executives who had heard the news.

This was their golden goose—if something happened due to binge eating, not only would the hospital suffer massive losses, but their careers would be completely ruined!

"Your digestive system simply can't handle this!" the attending physician's voice trembled as he tried to step forward. "Long-term chemotherapy has nearly shut down your digestive function. This is too dangerous!"

The medical staff moved to stop him, but Jobs's bodyguards instantly blocked them. Several of the guards were already stunned by their boss's transformation and now only obeyed Jobs's orders.

Jobs slowly set down his knife and fork, picked up a napkin, and wiped his mouth.

His movements were slow, but his gaze swept sharply across every medical staff member and executive's face—fear, confusion, disbelief.

Finally, his eyes settled on the attending physician.

"Dangerous?" Jobs spoke, his voice still hoarse but carrying an undeniable 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 thorough examination. From head to toe, every single metric."

"I want to see the data—black and white, plain and clear."

"Until I see that report..." His gaze swept across the room, "Not a single word of what happened here gets out. Understood?"

The attending physician opened his mouth, but under the icy stares of all the bodyguards, he could only nod stiffly.