The Bitter Taste of Reality

Chapter 19: The Bitter Taste of Reality

Kestrel nearly choked on his water, coughing violently as his face turned crimson. He pounded his chest with his fist, his wide eyes darting back to the desk, half-expecting that he had misheard.

Yet, the girl named AA did not appear the least bit offended. Instead, she straightened her back with unwavering confidence, as if discarding her uterus was some kind of badge of honor.

"What the actual—" Kestrel's pupils quivered, his mind reeling in utter disbelief at the scene unfolding before him.

Meanwhile, the interview pressed on.

"Excellent. Now, for the next question. As you may be aware, our company's working hours are notably short—merely eight hours a day, half the standard workload."

"Therefore, are you willing to maintain a Level 6 state of neural excitation during your shifts?"

AA hesitated. "Are you asking me to… take stimulants?"

"Stimulants? What nonsense! These are non-addictive performance enhancers—we call them 'work supplements'!" The stiletto-clad HR woman slammed the desk, sending a shiver down AA's spine. "If you're unwilling, there are plenty who are!"

"But I have no money… I'm still paying off my student loans—I can't afford work supplements."

The HR woman barely spared her a glance, her attention seemingly more focused on the holographic patterns shifting across her manicured nails. Her tone softened ever so slightly.

"No need to worry. Our company offers low-interest loans to assist new employees. Once you receive your first paycheck, you'll be able to repay it immediately."

AA clutched at the hem of her shirt, her expression contorted in silent struggle.

Kestrel, however, had seen enough. He rose to his feet, disgust curling in his chest. These conditions—were they expecting fools to line up for this?

Just as he was about to conjure an excuse to leave, the man sitting beside him suddenly stood up.

"I'll do it!" the man, a dark-skinned candidate, declared with enthusiasm. "Not only am I willing to take work supplements, but my pineal gland and hypothalamus have already undergone Level 2 modifications. I don't even need sleep anymore! If you give me this job, I'll work an additional five hours for free!"

Kestrel felt a chill creep up his spine. His gaze flicked toward the door, inching toward it with the silent determination of a man escaping a nightmare. This place was beyond disturbing—he needed to get out.

"And you?" The HR woman's piercing gaze finally landed on him. "Compared to these two, how much are you willing to sacrifice for the company?"

Kestrel halted, turned back toward her, and smiled. He gave a slow nod toward the other candidates, then, with a dramatic flourish, hurled his paper cup to the ground. His hand shot out, finger jabbing toward the HR woman.

"Sacrifice? Sacrifice my ass!"

"What the hell is wrong with you people?! Cutting out uteruses?! Taking out loans to pop pills for work?! You're not just capitalists—you're goddamn demons! Even Satan himself wouldn't dare tattoo your face on his skin! He'd be too scared to open his eyes and look at you!"

The HR woman remained unbothered, her smirk laced with condescension. "Sir, Metro City is a beacon of freedom. Our company has the liberty to set its own conditions, just as you have the freedom to reject them. Fair, isn't it?"

"Fair? FAIR?!" Kestrel let out a bitter laugh. "You're out of your damn mind! I swear, people like you are the reason streetlights were invented—to hang traitors like you from them!"

At the sound of his escalating outrage, the other two candidates instinctively distanced themselves, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire and risk failing their interviews.

The HR woman sighed, clearly unimpressed. With a flick of her fingers, she uttered a single word.

"Security."

A hulking figure clad in an ill-fitting suit pushed open the door, his sheer presence causing a tremor in the air. He loomed at an intimidating 2.5 meters, built like a human war tank.

"Sir, your interview has concluded. Please exit the premises." The security guard's voice was eerily polite, yet his eyes betrayed a readiness for violence.

Kestrel didn't need X-ray vision to know that beneath the suit, the man was armed to the teeth with cybernetic combat enhancements.

Kestrel let out a mirthless chuckle, pointing first at the security guard, then at the HR woman.

"Security? You call this security?!" His laughter grew hollow. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable."

Stepping out of the building, Kestrel wasted no time. He accessed his system and searched for the city's labor bureau, intent on filing a complaint. A massive red '404 ERROR' sign flashed in his face.

"What the hell?!"

Before he could question further, his neural interface automatically retrieved the explanation:

"Metro City is a land of unrestricted liberty. Every company and individual has the right to maximum freedom. Labor bureaus infringe upon corporate autonomy, thereby obstructing the free market. As such, they are deemed unnecessary and have been abolished."

Kestrel's eye twitched. "You have got to be kidding me. This whole place—this whole goddamn place—is insane!"

TPAL approached him casually. "What happened? Was the salary too high, so you decided to fire the company instead?"

Kestrel ignored him, turning back toward the building with a look of utter exasperation. "Bullshit! I refuse to believe every single person in this city is like this! TPAL, search for another job—there are over 30 million people here. There has to be something normal!"

Finding a job that met Kestrel's criteria was no easy task. By the time they located another opportunity, night had already begun to fall.

This time, Kestrel was the first candidate to arrive. The HR representative—a stern-looking woman—gave him a once-over before delivering her question in an icy monotone.

"Are you willing to have your uterus removed for this company?"

"The hell?! Are you blind?!" Kestrel shot up from his seat, nearly knocking over his paper cup. "I'm a guy, for fuck's sake!"

"Ah, my apologies," the HR woman replied, unfazed. "Gender reversal trends have made identification more challenging. In that case, let me rephrase—would you be willing to undergo castration for this position?"

With a loud 'crack,' Kestrel's fist connected with her face in a display of unfiltered, righteous fury.

Two hours later, Kestrel staggered through the rain, his face bruised, his spirit depleted. Each weary step felt heavier than the last. The events of the day had shaken him to his very core—more than anything he had endured before.

How? How had nine-to-five office workers become even more terrifying than lawless criminals like Paul?

He couldn't wrap his head around it. Was this truly his world? How had things spiraled into this grotesque parody of civilization?

A loud explosion jolted him from his thoughts. Fireworks lit up the sky, illuminating a neon sign—'Club 69.' Somehow, in his dazed wandering, he had stumbled back to the very club Paul had once brought him to.

Just then, the doors swung open, and from within emerged a familiar face—AA. She looked shattered, hollow, as if her soul had been siphoned away. The moment she stepped into the downpour, her fragile composure crumbled. Clutching her face, she broke into heart-wrenching sobs.

Kestrel had enough problems of his own. He had no time to concern himself with others.

And yet… as the sound of her cries grew more anguished, he let out a weary sigh and turned back.

He crouched before her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

AA lifted her tear-streaked face, her lips trembling as she pointed a shaky finger back at the club.

"They… they said I wasn't qualified to be a sex worker because I don't have a uterus… I still haven't found a job… I—I don't know what to do..."