My name is Heba. I'm 1,324 years old, male, and still unmarried. I've worked overtime for 500 years and still don't have a place of my own.
I work on the outskirts of Hell City. From morning till night, my days follow the same routine of assassination, slaughter, and experimentation. I'm supposed to work 22 hours a day, with 2 hours of rest.
For some reason, I smoke, drink, and stay up late, yet the company doctor says I'm in great health and can keep working for another 500 years.
Of course, none of that is the point. Today, I finally got a new job, one that could free me from 500 years of unpaid overtime and 22-hour workdays!
"Senior, you can't rest yet! There are still about 1,324 targets on the list to take care of!"
Looking at the list in his assistant's hands, which seemed about as long as his own lifespan, Heba became a complete couch potato.
"I guess this is what they mean by digging your own grave..."
He'd barely escaped 500 years of overtime before falling into the hell of indefinite overtime... No, not this!
(The more you roast, the more motivated the author gets!)
