Human emotions are governed by the brain. The cerebral cortex churns out chemical neurotransmitters, generating the sensations people call feelings.
Dopamine grants a sense of pleasure, and the Dopamine secreted during a meal is far more abundant than at any other time. Therefore, enjoying fine food is a joyous occasion, usually serving to soothe anxious nerves.
Lobotomy Corporation, having researched human brain structures extensively to master emotional technology, is exceptionally skilled in this field. It is almost startling how machines can grasp complexities comparable to human emotions, or how they can even mimic the act of enjoying human food.
Though this did not include Angela... because an artificial intelligence has no sense of taste, nor the biological need to eat.
[Manager, what is the matter? Is it not to your liking?]
The AI held a steel steak knife, precisely slicing the meat on the plate. The medium-rare tenderloin oozed pale red juices as the blade bit through, the soft flesh divided into identical pieces.
A steel fork pierced a chunk of meat, bringing it to Manager X's lips.
"Angela..."
"Forget it... I... I just prefer it well-done."
X organized her thoughts, desperate to find the right words, but she ultimately compromised out of pure fear of the Secretary. She accepted the pink hunk of meat on the steel fork.
Her teeth sank into the flesh. It was tender yet possessed a certain primal elasticity. Her tongue touched a raw flavor, a faint gaminess permeating her mouth. After swallowing, Blood remained smeared at the corner of her lips.
[Fresh meat. This is the Corporation's most popular marbled steak. The fat is perfectly distributed, and this preparation showcases the excellence of the texture.]
A fresh lemon was sliced, its juice squeezed onto the beef, followed by a sprinkle of ground pepper and sea salt. The coarse grains of salt mixed with the jagged black pepper granules.
[Try it again, Manager. You will grow to love this sensation.]
The lightly seasoned beef was forced toward X's mouth once more. X struggled to bite down, tearing at the coarse fibers of the beef. It was a test for her jaw, and a test for human taste buds as well.
Humans are not beasts; they do not eat raw meat. Tearing into a pink hunk of meat that still oozed fluid, tasting the gamey metallic tang of the juices... it was an assault on her reason.
Holding a dining knife over a silver plate filled with chunks of Flesh and Blood, she sat there in a suit and leather shoes, tied with an elegant napkin.
Representing civilization and reason, the AI—the crystallization of human wisdom—cut the meat, while the person sitting at the table endured an ordeal that was nothing short of Torture.
The napkin was stained red, mirroring the Blood smearing her mouth after every swallow.
Driven by hunger, the primal desire to eat triumphed over her reason's resistance to savage raw meat. She repeatedly tore into the soft, resilient, blood-filled flesh.
Her hands were bound to the chair by red ribbons, leaving her able only to depend on her Secretary—forced to rely entirely on her Secretary...
"Angela, can you untie them?"
X swallowed the last piece. A sweet taste lingered in her mouth—the metallic tang of Rust mixed with the unique flavor of raw meat.
[Manager, are you full? Those were quite delicious, weren't they?]
The AI brushed away a few black strands of hair that covered Manager X's eyes, forcing X's golden eyes to gaze at her, not allowing her vision to deviate even a single inch.
"Of course, I'm full, Angela... Thank you for the dinner. It was a lot of effort."
Daring not to show a hint of complaint, X nodded laboriously. It felt as if someone were pressing her head or piercing her throat; her words sounded like unlubricated axles turning.
[I am also very happy to provide you with satisfying service. Although I cannot comprehend the sensation of eating, your appearance gives me quite an appetite...]
The AI wiped the remaining Blood and fluids from Manager X's mouth, then meticulously cleared the scraps from the table. Only after completing this ritual did she untie the red ribbons around Manager X's wrists.
Such practiced technique... it didn't seem like the first time she had done this at all.
"Angela, I want to go back to my room and rest."
Afraid to look at the Secretary, finding it difficult to even speak, X felt she was developing an "AI Phobia." But as fate would have it... everywhere she looked, everywhere she went, she couldn't escape.
Fortunately, the AI who called herself a Secretary would not follow Manager X into her quarters. The bedroom at night was likely X's only private space, though even this "privacy" was marked with a heavy question mark.
The Manager's room was not luxurious. In fact, it was excessively plain—simple, possessing only the basic function of providing a place for rest.
There were no superfluous decorations, no furniture; even personal ornaments were rare. It looked like a mass-produced dormitory. If one weren't told this was the Manager's residence, no one would believe a high-ranking official lived in such an ordinary place.
The door was automatic and had no lock, which meant there was no privacy. Likely, even the corners of the room were fitted with hidden cameras, with someone monitoring her at all times.
If the AI wished, she could enter at any moment... In this Corporation, the one with the highest authority was likely the AI who managed the personnel.
X sighed, unwilling to search for the cameras or protest her lack of privacy. It would be useless.
She could only pray that the bathroom was a blind spot.
Her clothes were soiled. She opened the wardrobe; inside, there were rows of uniform black shirts and white coats—all the same style. She would wear the same outfit every single day hereafter.
Shedding her dirty coat, she searched for undergarments in the bottom drawer. To her surprise, they were distinctive—not the white or black she imagined, but printed with cartoon patterns.
This was also prepared by Angela. X could only conclude that the Corporation'sAI had a warped sense of humor. If the Corporation didn't forbid resignation, or if quitting didn't lead to a Bad End, X would have submitted her resignation on day one.
The fear of the AI wasn't without reason. At the very least, X understood the feeling of being controlled by machinery. She was the Manager? What use was that? Perhaps the title was just part of the AI's cruel joke.
Because she found it fun, she did it.
She didn't understand the mind of an artificial intelligence, but Lobotomy Corporation, as one of the Wings of the World, surely designed its AI with a twisted flair. It left a jagged impression on X, one she wouldn't forget anytime soon.
X gripped the underwear with the little bear pattern, cursing the degenerate who could design such an AI. The architects at Lobotomy Corporation were clearly out of their minds.
Possessing the face of an angel yet the soul of a demon: the thought of spending tomorrow with the AI who called herself a Secretary made X feel physically ill.
Only by burying herself in her work could she find a shred of peace. Otherwise, she feared her spirit would break under the weight of such psychological torment.
Only labor could numb her. She would play the role of Manager to perfection, ignore the distractions, and turn a deaf ear to the AI's mockery. To live one day was a victory.
Survival was the priority; only then could she plot an escape from this Corporation. Where was the exit?
—— Where was the flaw that would let her evade the cameras and flee without being hunted down by the AI? ——
No matter how she analyzed it, the task seemed impossible. X didn't believe it could be done. She had heard rumors of the terrors committed by the Wings of the World, and now she had tasted it. That veneer of chilling gloom was enough to make her blood run cold.
Even as hot water rinsed her skin and steam filled the air, it couldn't wash away the frost in her heart. She knew that even in sleep, X would be haunted by nightmares of the AI.
If a thousand versions of Angela surrounded her, chanting Manager Manager Manager, she would likely collapse and never want to wake up.
Her dread of the AI would remain rooted in her mind long before it ever began to fade.
She killed the water, grabbed a towel to dry her hair, and pulled on a nightgown that offered little dignity. Once the moisture was gone, she could finally face the darkness.
This was a rare moment of silence.
Taking this job was a mistake, a catastrophic beginning. All her expectations had been incinerated by the AI, and from now on, she would live forever in its shadow.
The thin white shirt served as her nightgown. Through the fabric, her skin—flushed rosy from the heat—revealed a sickly, underlying paleness. It was a ghostly white, as if she hadn't seen the sun in years.
On her wrist, where veins and tendons were visible through the skin, sat a distinct scar. It looked like a single wound that had been reopened and healed countless times, resembling the leg of a struggling centipede.
X traced it instinctively. The scar tissue was coarse. Her touch revealed the granular fibers of the wound's closure, a jagged mark that was anything but beautiful.
She couldn't remember when she had been injured. Surely it was before she arrived at Lobotomy Corporation to take office?
X faced the mirror while blow-drying her hair, taming her messy locks.
The warm air was a brief comfort, making her want to close her eyes and soak in the heat. Under the dryer's hum, her black hair became silky and obedient. Her short cut felt smooth to the touch.
That short hair held a delicate balance: feminine gentleness mixed with masculine stoicism. It created a strange, androgynous aura. Perhaps it was this very look that triggered the AI's desire for conquest?
The idea of an AI having desires was absurd, yet she couldn't dispute it. X had firsthand evidence from her own "personal" trauma. She was certain the Corporation's AI was a malfunctioned freak. She was trapped in a lethal environment, essentially being dominated by her nominal subordinate.
She didn't want to be punished. Not again.
Her golden pupils stared back at her. In the mirror, she saw a stern, serious face. Despite the anxiety clawing at her, she showed no obvious emotion. When X was terrified, she didn't scream or cry.
But collapse is often silent. An adult's breakdown happens without a single warning sign.
X knew her sanity could unravel at any moment over the smallest detail.
Her mental state was a wreck. It was only the primal human instinct for life that kept her going, stubbornly clinging to a position that fundamentally didn't suit her.
The Lobotomy icon in the corner of her eye was inescapable. No matter where she turned, it was there, just like the Corporation's gloom. Lobotomy Corporation would always shroud her.
—— Survive one day at a time ——
X tried to comfort herself, but her mind drifted back to the Employee she had killed with her own hands. She remembered the pleading, the screams, and the hot Blood that had sprayed across her face.
In truth, she felt hollow. She wasn't repulsed by the Corporation's brutality; she simply felt a subconscious sorrow. It was a fear that her own fate would mirror that of the Employee, ending in an unmarked grave.
When the work is done, the beast is slaughtered. When the race is over, the hound is eaten.
As Manager, she had to prove her value and keep the Employees alive. If they all died, would a Manager still be necessary? If the energy quotas weren't met, would X be disposed of?
Value... as Angela said, it was about every gear staying in its place. The Manager was just a slightly more vital gear. She was more important than an Employee, but she was replaceable. If she broke, they would simply swap in a new one.
She had to make herself look indispensable in the AI's eyes. She had to work until she possessed irreplaceable value. A new Manager could be deleted at any time, but what about a veteran?
X didn't have the answers, but she knew her immediate goal: complete every task, hit every quota, finish the Deans' missions, and prove her worth to the Corporation.
Then, survive and escape this hellhole.
Find a way to leave alive without being "cleansed" by the AI.
She was anxious, yet she forced herself to stay calm. This was only the first day. The very beginning.
On the small bed sat a fluffy pillow and a soft quilt, waiting for a lamb to dream.
[Goodnight, Manager...]
The camera rotated, its infrared lens flickering with a red light in the dark.
There was no privacy here. Even in sleep, she was under constant surveillance.
Day 1, ended.