Above the Blood Moon

After the crowd dispersed, a small shop appeared across the back street. The shop was tiny, the door frame was crooked, and the sign was projected onto the street and flickered.

[Used goods recycling, parts repair, high-price purchase.]

There is another line of smaller text below:

We are hiring. Salary negotiable.

Jockley hadn't forgotten that he came out to find a job. He went over and pushed open the door, but less than ten minutes later he slammed the door shut and walked out, his whole body trembling.

Damn it, the owner of this secondhand recycling shop isn't looking for employees at all; he's looking for a sex slave who's available on call at any time!

Chokley stood on the side of the street, took a deep breath, and Big Yellow's voice rang in his ears, tinged with obvious schadenfreude.

"Why don't you give it a try, Master? You can exchange your fragrant spot for smelly Star Alliance Coins. I think this deal is actually quite worthwhile. (ﾟ∀ﾟ)"

Jockley gritted his teeth; the AI ​​robot's words made him realize from time to time that choosing the highest level of intelligence was a terrible mistake.

"If you say that again, I'll tear you apart and sell you. Just say you're a sweet, soft little AI, and I won't care what they do with you!"

"Why don't you just say you'd sell your organs? You just keep getting angry at me. (◔⊖◔)つ"

Jockley ignored it and continued walking.

The second job posting he found was in a three-story building made of shipping containers, which was also dilapidated, with a sign hanging at the entrance.

[Data entry center urgently needs night shift operators.]

Jockley went inside, and there was a large room with dozens of seats, each with a projection screen and a neural interface helmet in front of it.

About half the seats were occupied, all wearing helmets, their bodies stiff, their fingers rapidly tapping on virtual keyboards.

A man wearing an inexpensive suit and with his hair slicked back walked over, wearing an employee badge on his chest: HR-034.

Are you the job applicant?

Jockley nodded. This job looked much more familiar; it was just a clerical job, after all.

Having endured the grueling 996007 work schedule of the Chinese government, this veteran office worker felt confident in his ability to handle the job.

"Our company's working hours are 20 hours a day, seven days a week, with a monthly salary of 15 Star Alliance Coins. We require you to undergo brain hypnosis modification surgery, receive a stimulant injection every two hours to maintain your work enthusiasm, and voluntarily sign a five-year labor contract with a penalty of ten times your annual salary for breach of contract."

He paused, looking at Jockley.

"Are you a primitive human or an unmodified one? Why don't you have a prosthetic body?"

Jockley opened his mouth, but before he could answer, several people suddenly squeezed in from behind. They all looked very thin, with pale faces and bloodshot eyes.

"I can accept that!" someone shouted. "I have experience with neural network access!"

"I can do it too! I've undergone hypnotic transformation!"

"Choose me! I only need 12 Star Alliance Coins!"

"Pick me! I can work 30 hours straight without a break. Give me injections, as many as you want!"

HR-034 didn't even look at Choklee, and spoke directly to those people.

"You all line up over there to take the basic test. Those who pass will sign a contract and start your internship tonight."

The group cheered and rushed over like dogs that had just gotten a bone.

Jockley stood there watching them, then turned and left, thinking, "What kind of shit job is this?"

The third place is even more outrageous.

It was a company's temporary recruitment point, set up in a tent on the side of the street. Several hovercars painted with the company logo were parked outside the tent, and several security personnel in uniforms stood around, holding guns.

A man sat in the tent, dressed in a crisp uniform with the "Corsican Security Group" badge embroidered on his chest.

When Jockley walked in, the man was interviewing a job applicant.

"Can you accept asexual modification surgery?" he asked, his tone as if asking, "Can you accept working overtime?"

The applicant was a young man who looked to be in his early twenties. He paused for a moment.

"Asexual modification?"

"Yes." The recruiter nodded. "Because the target is the seventh new wife of a certain lord, and she needs a bodyguard. All bodyguards must undergo asexual modification, with the removal of relevant nerves and organs."

He paused.

"Of course, the company will provide a resettlement allowance of 50 Star Alliance Coins and a standard combat cybernetic body. However, you will need to take out a loan to purchase the cybernetic body yourself. The company can help you apply for the loan with an annual interest rate of 75%, payable in ten years."

The young man's face turned red.

"You should have said so earlier," he said, his voice laced with laughter. "I sold my dick a long time ago and bought a used robotic arm last year."

"Okay, next one."

Jockley stepped forward, and the recruiter glanced at him before asking directly, "Can you accept asexual modification? Can you accept a debt of 50 Star Alliance Credits?"

Jockley shook his head. The recruiter didn't even bother to say anything and simply pointed to the tent exit, so Jockley went out again.

The crimson moon began to set, moving from the center of the sky to near the horizon, its color changing from dark red to deep purple. The sky also began to darken, with the afterglow of artificial light sources and the flickering of various neon signs in the distance, but the ruins town was slowly falling into darkness.

After all, there are no streetlights here. In fact, if there were, they would all be destroyed within three days and then dragged to a recycling station to be recycled in exchange for a drink.

As Jockley walked down the street, he felt like he was going crazy. He had witnessed countless events that shattered his worldview and all sorts of bizarre job postings that day, leaving him utterly disoriented.

Hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and pain—a mix of emotions left Jockley feeling more lost than ever before.

When Jockley passed by the secondhand recycling shop again, the door was still open, and the projected signboard stood out in the dim light.

He stopped and looked at the sign and the dim light inside, swallowing hard; his throat was dry and sore.

Jockley pushed open the door and went inside.

When he came out again, in addition to the big yellow dog, he had another device on his head and wrist.

It was a very old, secondhand external neural network system, and his Covenant account had an extra 7.9 Covenants.

Jockley would never do something like selling his buttocks, but Big Yellow's words gave him an idea: since this city and this world have gone so crazy, it's not impossible for things like organ trafficking to happen.

As expected, although the shop owner wanted to ask Jockley if he could be his sex slave, Jockley resolutely refused and proposed mortgaging his organs instead.

So, under the shop owner's reluctant gaze, Jockley pawned one of his kidneys and genitals for 10 star coins and signed a pawn agreement with a third-party company.

Jockley paid a contract fee of 0.1 star coins and then used 2 star coins to exchange for a second-hand external neural network system. With this, he could open a savings account and conduct normal transactions and access information.

When I got back "home", it was already completely dark.

The crimson moon had completely set, and the sky was covered by a deep purple night curtain, with only the central area of ​​the Forgotten City in the distance still lit by artificial lights.

Jockley pushed open the door and walked into the small room.

He removed the external neural network disc from his forehead and pressed the unlock buttons on both sides of the head exoskeleton.

Click.

As the exoskeleton unfolded from his forehead to the sides, he removed the entire exoskeleton, revealing a pale face beneath, etched with exhaustion and hunger.

Jockley sat on the edge of the bed and opened the projection interface of the nervous system. At the same time, he sent a data cable to Huang's head so that Huang could input Chinese language.

A few minutes later, the interface of Chokley's nervous system was filled with Chinese characters, and it could automatically translate and modify the common human language.

This external neural network is somewhat similar to the VR he used to play with, except that the level of virtual reality is much more lifelike.

The moment his nervous system was activated, Jockley felt the whole world come alive.

Various pop-up windows kept popping up, and Jockley first checked the Star Alliance Coin account and personal ID account that he had just successfully registered.

Fortunately, opening these accounts was very simple and did not require him to show any documents, which gave this ancient man, Jockley, a strange sense of novelty.

After playing around with it for a while, he typed "food" into the search bar and a bunch of results popped up. The cheapest items were all nutritional pastes, 0.1 Covenant coins per tube. This was probably because no plants could be grown in this place, and most of the food was transported from elsewhere, which made food and water prices extremely high.

But Jockley really didn't want to eat the nutritional paste, so he continued scrolling down and finally found a restaurant that was still open to take delivery orders.

The menu only had a few items: Synthetic Meat Chop (0.3 Covenant Credits), Vegetable Paste (0.2 Covenant Credits), Compressed Biscuits (0.1 Covenant Credits/biscuit)...

Jockley stared at the screen for a long time, then he ordered a braised pork rice dish for 0.3 Star Alliance Coins. He clicked to place the order and confirm payment, and his account balance changed from 7.9 to 7.6.

While waiting for the food to be delivered, he sat on the edge of the bed looking at the water stains on the wall. Jockley didn't know what he was thinking, or maybe he wasn't thinking about anything at all.

A powerful hunger pounded in waves, and Jockley felt acid churning in his stomach, his intestines churning in an attempt to get food. A desperate, agonizing feeling almost brought tears to his eyes.

Objectively speaking, Jockley hadn't eaten anything for several days, and he desperately missed every meal on Earth, especially his mother's sweet and sour pork ribs, braised pork belly, and dumplings...

All sorts of things flashed through Jockley's mind, but the pain in his stomach constantly reminded him of them.

This is not Earth.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Jockley went to open it, and a robot was standing outside.

"Order number 774, braised pork rice," the robot said in a synthesized voice.

The insulated box was opened, revealing a plastic lunchbox and a small paper bowl containing clear soup.

Jockley took the lunchbox, closed the door, and went back to the bedside.

The plastic lunchbox contained rice, which looked like real rice and not synthetic. On top of it was a layer of dark brown, shiny meat, along with a few slices of pickled vegetables and half a braised egg. It seemed that creatures like chickens existed in this world.

The aroma wafted out, a very ordinary, even somewhat cheap, aroma, but Chokley stared at the lunchbox for a very long time before finally picking up the included plastic spoon, scooping up a spoonful of rice, and putting it in his mouth.

The rice was a bit hard, the meat was a bit salty, and the braised eggs were overcooked.

But this is hot, it's normal food, not a nutritional paste, not a synthetic porridge, not compressed biscuits.

It's braised pork rice.

Suddenly, Jockley felt a stinging sensation in his eyes.

He lowered his head and ate heartily, his mouth filled with rice and meat juices dripping from the corners of his mouth.

He wiped it off with the back of his hand and continued eating. He ate too fast and choked, so he grabbed the bowl of clear soup and poured half of it down to wash the food away, and then continued eating.

He finished the entire box of rice in five minutes, not leaving a single grain of rice, and drank all the soup.

Jockley put down the lunchbox, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and two lines of tears streamed down his face.

He didn't know why he was crying.

Maybe it was for that box of braised pork rice, maybe it was for the organs that had been mortgaged, maybe it was for this damned world, or maybe it was just because he was too tired.

He thought of his familiar, warm home on Earth, and his family waiting for him to come home for dinner.

Damn it, what did he do to deserve this?!

After crying for a while, Jockley wiped away his tears, stood up, and threw the lunchbox into a broken bin in the corner that served as a trash can.

He pushed open the door, went downstairs, opened the tavern door, sat on the threshold, and looked up at the sky.

The crimson moon had set, but a lingering dark red glow remained on the horizon, like dried blood. The stars were sparse, but a few different, twinkling stars could be seen in the distance, presumably those of the planets with other civilizations.

In the distance, the central area of ​​the Forgotten City was still lit up with various neon lights.

Jockley sat there for an unknown amount of time until a voice came from beside him.

"Would you like some?"

Jockley turned his head, and Dr. Art stood beside him, holding two cans of beer. He handed one of the cans to Jockley, who hesitated for a moment before taking it.

Art sat down next to him, pulled the tab on his can, tilted his head back and took a big gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then he let out a long breath and looked at the distant lights, talking to Jockley.

"You're new to the Deep Space Graveyard?"

Jockley nodded.

"It wasn't easy, was it?" Art laughed.

"There's no decent job in this godforsaken city."

Many people spend their life's blood and sweat to buy an interstellar ticket to this place hoping to obtain some remnants of a previous civilization, but the vast majority find nothing and become nourishment for others seeking to change their fate.

"Fifty years ago, Forgotten City had two million people, and it still has two million people today."

Jockley was too exhausted to confirm or refute. He opened the beer can and took a sip, while Art continued talking to himself in that casual tone.

"I have a job opening and we're short-staffed right now. If you're interested, come find me at the tavern counter after the Blood Moon tomorrow."

Jockley turned to look at him, and Ate also turned to meet his gaze.

"What mission?" Jockley asked.

"We'll see when the time comes." Art took another swig of wine. "Anyway, the reward should be enough to pay off your debts, if you're lucky enough to survive."

Jockley raised his hand to look at the lines on his palm, then nodded.

"it is good."

Art grinned, stood up, dusted off his pants, and turned to leave, but then stopped and said to Jockley with his back to him.

"Welcome to the Forgotten City, boy."

"I want to remind you that yesterday is nothing here, and tomorrow is never guaranteed; only today's deal is real."

There are only two rules: don't ask others what they've dug up, and don't venture alone into the Ruins Mountains when the red moon has set.

"I knew you would come back. I'll wait for you."