7: Chapter 7 The system determines that the US is the capital.
Fu Haoran stared at the rainy New York night outside the window, his lips curling into a smirk.
[Environmental Scan Complete]
[Structural Determination: Confirmed as a Hive World]
[Social Morphology: Savage growth, low moral and legal constraints, extremely high resource conversion efficiency.]
"You call this a Hive City?" he said to the air. "System, you haven't glitched, have you?"
The system immediately expressed its disagreement, and markers began to overlay on his retina.
The silhouette of the Upper East Side skyscrapers was outlined in crimson—[Upper Hive Spire (Embryonic)].
The dilapidated blocks of Brooklyn were dyed in a gloomy gray—[Underhive Slums (Early Stage)].
Labels popped up over the homeless curled up at the subway entrances—[Hive Dwellers (Dregs)].
Even the bulletproof glass of the corner convenience store flickered—[Basic Defensive Fortification].
Class stratification, clear at a glance.
But the next set of images made his smile vanish.
Above the head of an addict on a street corner, a system prompt popped up: [Nurgle Cultist (Mental Pollution 40%)].
The Wall Street buildings reflected the rain, and a label jumped out: [Tzeentch Cultist Gathering Area (Information Deception Index 90%)].
Fu Haoran remained silent for three seconds, then glanced back at the roadside.
The long lines in front of the food bank, the billboards for plastic surgery clinics, the foul steam rising from the sewer grates... scenes he was once accustomed to now all carried the terrifyingly familiar vibe of a Warhammer Hive City.
"Add in the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Adeptus Arbites, or a bunch of people shouting for the Four-Armed God-Emperor, and we'll have a complete Hive City family portrait," Fu Haoran complained.
Just as he spoke, a system prompt forcibly interrupted him:
[Triggered Long-term Side Quest: King of the Hive (Prologue)]
[Quest Description: A great ruler never stops at a single city or territory. How can a Planetary Governor only possess one Hive World?]
[Quest Requirement: Establish a stable industry in this Hive World within thirty days.]
[Quest Reward: Unlock Cross-World Industry Management Interface; 1,000 General Points; Storage Space expansion to 5,000 cubic meters.]
[Failure Penalty: Stripped of Planetary Governor status (Trash is not fit to be a Governor)]
Fu Haoran stared at the words "Trash is not fit to be a Governor" and laughed.
"...Still that same grimdark flavor, always pushing people to the brink."
They say that after too much pressure, a person becomes numb.
That was exactly how Fu Haoran was now.
"Whatever, I'll follow the plan."
"Step one: get money, as fast as possible."
Fu Haoran swiped quickly on his phone.
News, financial reports, gossip... the information stream scrolled by.
Suddenly, his gaze froze on a headline: 'World's Richest Man Steve Jobs' Condition Worsens, Transferred to Palo Alto Private Sanatorium.'
Late-stage pancreatic cancer.
The richest man in the world, with a net worth of billions, yet driven to a dead end by a terminal illness.
"You're the one." Fu Haoran curled his lips and raised his hand to summon that silver-gray Medical Servo-skull.
...
Palo Alto, Private Sanatorium.
The walls were high, and surveillance was everywhere.
Fu Haoran drove up to the main gate.
The Servo-skull's eyes flickered with red light, and a probe popped out, tracing a faint blue trajectory in the air.
[Signal Interference Activated]
[Surveillance Overlay Implantation Complete]
[Security System Backdoor Opened]
The gate slid open silently.
Fu Haoran drove straight in under the cover of night, avoiding patrolling 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 a lock turning came from the door.
Fu Haoran pushed the door open and saw the world's richest man, Steve Jobs, lying on the hospital bed. He was emaciated beyond recognition, his eye sockets sunken, and his skin an ominous waxy yellow.
The monitoring equipment made a rhythmic, cold ticking sound, like a countdown.
A male nurse was adjusting the IV drip rate, and there was a bodyguard in the corner.
The two of them looked up at the sound, saw the stranger and the floating mechanical skull, and were momentarily stunned, instinctively preparing to take action.
But the Servo-skull reacted faster.
*Pfft.*
*Pfft.*
The two men went limp and collapsed to the floor.
Jobs turned his head and saw the strange young Asian man at the door, as well as the floating mechanical skull that looked like a creation from the future.
A trace of surprise crossed his eyes, which then turned into deep exhaustion as he shifted his gaze away indifferently.
Someone who could appear here like this could kill him as easily as flipping a hand.
But he was dying; even death was no longer scary. What else 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 US dollars in exchange for your recovery."
Jobs' pale lips moved, but no sound came out.
A madman?
A charlatan?
That was his initial thought.
But there was no fanaticism in the other's eyes, only a confidence that victory was already in hand.
"Could he really be a madman?"
Jobs didn't want to bother responding, and coincidentally, Fu Haoran didn't want to ask either—he went straight to the machine!
The mechanical skull precisely aimed a cold, glinting probe toward his neck.
Jobs closed his eyes.
Not in resignation, but... curiosity.
This might be the last time in his life he would experience the unknown.
The moment the needle tip pierced his skin, the expected pain did not arrive. Instead, a warm current spread rapidly from the injection point throughout his entire body.
It was an indescribable feeling.
The pervasive dull pain and exhaustion that had tortured him for so long were being driven away bit by bit by this warm current.
Jobs didn't know that his heart rate, blood oxygen, and blood pressure curves were slowly climbing toward the green safety zone.
The mechanical skull retracted its probe and quietly floated back to Fu Haoran's shoulder.
"The treatment is over. Tomorrow, you will see the results. When that time comes, wire the money to this encrypted account." After Fu Haoran finished speaking, he gently placed a card on the nightstand.
The door closed softly.
Silence returned to the ward, save for the rhythmic and steady ticking of the instruments.
Jobs soon fell into a deep sleep.
...
The next morning, Jobs was awakened by a long-lost, fierce sensation—hunger.
He opened his eyes; there was no familiar morning agony, the heavy feeling in his chest had vanished without a trace, and his body felt much lighter.
He instinctively sat up—he actually did it without any effort?!
What happened next was like a dream.
Ten minutes later, fried eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and fruit covered the mobile dining table.
Jobs picked up a fork and began to swallow in large gulps.
No nausea, no burning sensation!
Jobs ate faster and faster, his cutlery clattering as he almost gorged himself, his eyes involuntarily turning red.
"Sir! Please stop!"
The attending physician rushed in with a group of medical staff, his face pale, followed by several hospital executives who had come after hearing the news.
This was their golden goose. If an accident happened because of overeating, not only would the hospital pay dearly, but the careers of all these people would be completely over!
"Your digestive system simply cannot handle this!" the attending physician's voice trembled as he tried to step forward. "Long-term chemotherapy has left your digestive functions near failure. This is too dangerous!"
The medical staff tried to step forward to stop him but were instantly blocked by Jobs' bodyguards. The bodyguards had already been shocked by their boss's change and would only listen to Jobs' orders now.
Jobs slowly put down his fork and picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth.
His movements were slow, but his gaze swept sharply across the terrified, confused, and incredulous faces of every medical staff member and executive.
Finally, his gaze settled on the attending physician.
"Dangerous?" Jobs spoke, his voice still raspy, but carrying an unquestionable strength. "I feel excellent. Better than I have in the past three years combined."
He paused and gave a clear command:
"Now, I want the most comprehensive check-up. From head to toe, every single metric."
"I want to see the data, the data in black and white."
"Until I see that report..." His gaze swept across the room. "Not a single word of what happened here is allowed to leak out. Do you understand?"
The attending physician opened his mouth, but ultimately, under the cold stares of all the bodyguards, he gave a stiff nod.