The Struggle for Money

Chapter 18: The Struggle for Money

Staring at the confirmation window hovering before him, Kestrel felt an immense pressure weighing down on him. His expression remained tense as he finally made his decision.

However, upon opening the message, he was met with an ID that read: Are you kidding me? This is such a hassle! Kestrel glanced at TPAL beside him, his face filled with exasperation. "Damn it! You nearly scared me to death!"

"You coward. A simple friend request got you this rattled?"

Ignoring him, Kestrel leaned against the neon-lit funeral wreath, sifting through information about the battle from the previous night.

He knew very little about that space station. Perhaps, after falling into the hands of Gaofeng Corporation, a thorough analysis had been conducted, and new reports had emerged that might reveal things he had missed.

More importantly, he wanted to confirm—confirm whether any traces of him and TPAL had been discovered.

After a brief search, Kestrel indeed found several reports, some even offering exclusive live-streamed analyses. Just as he was about to excitedly click on one, he was abruptly halted by a cold, glaring notification: Insufficient Balance.

"You've got to be kidding me! They even charge for news?!" Frustration boiled within him.

"Well, looks like you'll have to get used to this place. In capitalism, money speaks." TPAL remarked from the side.

Reflecting on everything he had been through since awakening, Kestrel furiously dismissed the UI in front of him. "Damn this place."

Gazing out at the relentless rain, he turned to TPAL. "Maybe we should just leave. The world is vast—I refuse to believe it's all this rotten."

"Sure, you're the boss. But do you have the money for a ticket?"

Kestrel's eyes drifted to his account balance—a long string of zeros. His excitement instantly deflated. Whether it was accessing information or leaving, everything required money.

He cast a glance at TPAL. "Can't you get us some cash? Like, hacking into a bank or something?"

"The hell, man? I'm a robot, not a miracle worker."

"In the movies, robots do it all in an instant."

"Keep dreaming. In dreams, anything is possible. This world doesn't understand my programming language, and I don't understand this world's new languages. I'm lucky I can even connect to the network, let alone hack into it for money."

"Then learn the new language! Aren't you supposed to have advanced learning capabilities?"

"Sure—if you upgrade my memory and CPU. With my current processing power, even speaking this fluently is pushing my limits."

"Then earn some money!"

"How? I don't know the language!"

"Then learn it!"

"But learning requires money!"

"Then earn some!"

Five minutes later, Kestrel and TPAL sat in silence, staring blankly at the downpour outside.

At last, Kestrel truly understood what it meant for a lack of money to hinder even the bravest of men. Forget accessing information or buying a ticket—at this rate, they wouldn't even have money for their next meal.

As he gazed at the endless stream of hovering cars and private aircraft, his eyes landed on the suited professionals walking behind the glass walls. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Wait a minute—I can just get a job."

TPAL turned, the screen on his face displaying a skeptical expression. (￢_￢) "Are you serious?"

"Why not? I just realized something. The problem isn't that this place is rotten—it's the people we've been dealing with." Kestrel explained, his excitement growing.

"From the start, we've only been around criminals or reckless lunatics like PAUL. He dragged us into his world from day one."

"The company you keep shapes you. We need to distance ourselves from them before we become just like them."

With those words, Kestrel strode into the rain, turning back to TPAL with renewed determination. "Besides, Gaofeng Tech is a corporation, right? And corporations need employees. There must be normal, hardworking people in this city."

"Fine, you're the boss. What's the plan?" TPAL asked, stepping into the rain beside him.

"Use your CPU to scan for job listings. Find anything that fits my qualifications. Right now, our top priority is making money!"

Their systems swiftly combed through listings. To Kestrel's relief, at least job applications didn't require payment.

Unfortunately, every listing demanded qualifications he didn't possess—experience, degrees, specialized skills—all far beyond his reach.

Hours passed, hunger gnawed at him, yet he found nothing. Just as despair crept in, a customer service job posting caught his eye.

"Work hours: 56 hours per week. Trial period wage: 0.15 Dogecoin per week. Requirements: Brain augmentation modifications below 5%. Cortical stimulant injections under 100 doses."

"This… I can do this." The pay wasn't great, but there were no education requirements. It was a start—at least he could survive here. And more importantly, it would keep him away from the underworld.

As soon as Kestrel clicked "Apply," a large arrow materialized before him, guiding his path. "Destination: 39 kilometers ahead. Turn left in 200 meters."

"Let's go!"

Without a car and no money for public transport, he resorted to his alternative mode of travel.

Cursing under his breath, TPAL hoisted Kestrel onto his shoulders. His reverse-jointed legs shifted into wheels, and with a powerful thrust, they shot forward into the rain.

Buffeted by the wind, Kestrel yelled, "TPAL! First thing we're buying when we get paid is FOOD! I'm starving!"

In response, TPAL doubled his speed. "Here! Have a feast of fresh air!"

Half an hour later, the rain began to ease, and they finally arrived at their destination.

To Kestrel's mild disappointment, the "company" was nothing more than a dingy basement, littered with green trash bags.

But he didn't care. As long as it paid, it was good enough. If the place had been too high-class, he would've worried about not getting hired.

After drying off, he found his way to the HR office, only to discover two other applicants already seated on the worn-out bench.

A young man and woman—both impeccably dressed in suits—sat stiffly, anxiety evident in their faces. They kept lifting their disposable cups, only to put them down without taking a sip.

"So, this city isn't all PAULs," Kestrel mused. Offering them a friendly smile, he took a seat beside them. "See? There are normal people. Not everyone here is a lunatic."

Just then, the sharp clacking of metal heels echoed through the room.

A woman, her legs replaced with gleaming cybernetic high heels, sauntered in. She cast a condescending glance over the three applicants before settling behind the desk.

Arms crossed, she leaned back, her tone arrogant.

"Who's AA?"

Kestrel couldn't understand her words, but his yellow-tinted lenses flickered, and the automatic translator kicked in.

"M-Me!" The short-haired girl with violet highlights hurriedly stepped forward, visibly nervous.

The HR woman examined her like a commodity before lazily uttering, "Are you willing to have your uterus removed for the company?"

"Yes! Absolutely! You can rest assured—I had it removed the moment I came of age. No menstrual cycles, no complications—I guarantee it won't affect my work."