The mist descends, disasters run rampant, and humanity huddles on the last isolated refuge in China.
And me? I’m 37, a wage slave at a logistics company. Other people just chant “996,” but I really work “007”!
When a client panics at the sight of zombies, I pull out my gun and grumble, “One bullet costs one point. Can you expense the zombies?”
Here’s the bottom line: never mess with an overworked wage slave, especially one in the apocalypse who has to earn money to raise his daughter!
[At the Negotiating Table]
With a tide of zombies all around, the client won’t stop rambling and fishing for reassurance.
I say, “Mr. Zhou, a friendly reminder: from now on, my consulting service costs 10 points per question.”
The client shuts up instantly, his face paler than when he saw the zombies.
The zombies nearby: “??? Don’t we deserve some respect?”
[The Reunion]
In the middle of a crisis, I rescue a comrade I haven’t seen in ten years. He’s thrilled and wants to fight alongside me.
I pull out a prepared contract. “Looking forward to working with you. First, sign this Temporary Employment and Risk Allocation Agreement. You get 5% of the proceeds, and you’re responsible for your own injuries or death.”
The result: My comrade stares at the contract, which is thicker than a brick, and falls into deep thought.
[The Final Battle]
The final boss, a god, descends, radiating an overwhelming aura capable of destroying the world. Everyone is in despair.
I open my quantum watch and start calculating at top speed. “Under Article 3 of the Supplementary Provisions to the Company’s S-Rank Supplier Excess Risk Compensation Regulations, I should get this much for killing a god...”
The result: My calculations make the god’s scalp tingle, and even its divine might diminishes by a third.
All of humanity: “Hold on, you call this the final battle?! This is a project audit!”
