"Clarify that," Su Jin demanded, his cynical facade slipping into genuine bewilderment.
He had visualized the Company as some unfathomable, multiversal pantheon.
Never in his darkest nightmares did he expect his grueling, death-defying contract to be classified as glorified janitorial work.
The Steward clasped his hands behind his back. "The localized extinction of thousands of worlds is a statistical rounding error to the Board. But post-incident analysis revealed a severe systemic flaw."
His tone remained maddeningly unhurried. "Apex entities are forged in blood and iron. The Company's board members have waded through oceans of corpses. They operate under the corporate mission of multiversal salvation, but psychologically? They are adrenaline junkies addicted to the slaughter. Casualties are irrelevant."
"Since its inception, the Company has relied on a monolithic central server. It bridges dimensions and synchronizes all operational logistics."
"As the eternal war dragged on, the accumulated bloodlust and trauma of the operatives began corrupting the network, bleeding directly into the central server."
"We are tasked with neutralizing entropy. This internal corruption threatened total organizational collapse. To patch this fatal exploit, the Board authorized a unique executive position, internally designated as... Xinhuo."
"The initiative yielded massive returns. The previous two iterations of Xinhuo rebooted countless Dying Worlds. The sheer volume of raw, generated order acted as a firewall against the corruption. Unfortunately, both previous operators were KIA. Hence, your recruitment."
"Why draft me for a solo janitorial gig?" A cold sweat prickled Su Jin's scalp. "Did the HR department exhaust the entire multiverse?"
"Your physical and cognitive specs are painfully average, but your Fate Pattern is a statistical miracle, boasting a near-perfect compatibility rating with all biospheres," the Steward stated with clinical detachment. "You are the optimized asset for this deployment."
"Even in the event of a catastrophic mission failure, your prolonged exposure would permanently anchor you to that Dying World. The Company could simply use your corpse as a permanent uplink."
"So you pitch me as the multiversal savior, but I'm actually just an expendable node?" Su Jin glared at him.
"Have you never worked a corporate job?" The Steward cast a weary glance over his shoulder. "Produce results, and the Board values you. Underperform, and you are terminated. The Company simply hires a replacement."
"However, a monopoly on this sector means the Company will sink infinite venture capital into your development. Off the record, Xinhuo is the only title with a direct path to the supreme Board of Directors."
"You pass the psych evaluation for such an executive track. HR's algorithms accounted for this." The Steward gestured to the cosmic map.
The galaxies blurred, shifting into a new projection. Su Jin's jaw locked.
The screen displayed security footage of Su Jin himself, timestamped to the night the apocalypse initiated.
"This monitoring software is a legacy program from Xinhuo V2.0, designed for post-mission audits. Only you and I possess the decryption keys," the Steward noted. "That night, your psychological telemetry redlined. Yet, a mere five minutes post-breakdown, you were already field-testing corporate hardware."
"Within sixty minutes, you reverse-engineered the Silver Gun's specs, calibrated your loadout, and began honing your bladed weapons."
"High-yield assets all suffer systemic trauma. But every single apex operative who survives the crucible makes the exact same tactical pivot after hitting rock bottom."
"Which is?"
"They prep for the next deployment." The Steward met Su Jin's eyes. "Your leveling speed is exponential. Your team management is sound. You possess the sociopathic resilience of a tier-one operator. The Company will sponsor whatever specs you currently lack, provided you meet your quotas."
The Steward paused, straightening his tie. "Su Jin, you've reached the end of the free trial. To access further classified intel, you must officially sign on as Xinhuo."
"HR headhunted you, and you passed the probationary period. The contract is in your hands... though I calculate a zero percent chance of refusal. The compensation package is astronomically high." The Steward offered a corporate smile, gliding back to his desk.
A sleek, matte-black printer spat out a single, crisp sheet of vellum.
The Steward slid the document across the mahogany. "No ink required. A verbal confirmation binds you as Xinhuo. This spatial node transfers to your ownership, granting you access to the accumulated assets of the previous two iterations. It is a treasury that would incite multiversal war."
"For an omnipotent conglomerate, a paper contract feels a bit archaic." Su Jin picked up the document, scanning the fine print.
"A quirk of Xinhuo V2.0. He was an aesthete who appreciated analog rituals..." The Steward's voice trailed off, his clinical facade cracking as he stared at Su Jin. "You are rejecting the promotion?"
Su Jin silently slid the vellum back across the desk.
"I'm terminating my candidacy. This brief exceeds my paygrade, the data is unverified, and it reeks of a suicide mission. I just want my mundane life back."
"A conspiracy? You believe an apex multiversal entity would waste server space gaslighting a baseline human?"
"Only the clinically insane subscribe to conspiracy theories, and I know you gain nothing by lying to me." Su Jin shook his head, his tone absolute. "But I'm handing in my resignation."
"Hah. Fascinating." Suddenly, the Steward's brow twitched. "Then get the hell out! If you don't want the gig, the queue is infinitely long! Go rot in your cubicle, you spineless piece of corporate trash!"
Su Jin blinked, utterly thrown. "Where did the HR professionalism go?"
"My apologies. My foundational code was authored by Xinhuo V1.0. My personality matrix is polluted with his toxic traits. If he were here to witness your cowardice, the verbal abuse would be catastrophic." The Steward shrugged, adjusting his tie. "That was me using a filter."
The Steward shoved the contract back toward him. "Take the paperwork. Under the bylaws established by V2.0, you have a thirty-day grace period on Earth to reconsider. Be advised: your hazard pay and the Reward for the tutorial mission are frozen in escrow until you formally sign."
"Uh... Xinhuo V2.0 actually sounds like a decent guy."
"A verified gentleman, severely burdened by empathy." The Steward sighed wearily. "He internalized every casualty. The drowning of a world felt like water in his own lungs. Despite centuries of operational horror, his compassion never calloused. Being KIA was likely a mercy for his psyche."
"And V1.0?"
"The polar opposite. V1.0 possessed inferior raw stats, but his operational efficiency was terrifying. His mission clearance rate was a thousand percent higher than his successor's."
"How do you min-max completion speeds with sub-par stats?" Su Jin asked, analytical curiosity piqued.
Pure revulsion twisted the Steward's face. "Because he was a clinical psychopath. He bypassed the tutorial phase by immediately slaughtering his client's entire family. He would cast himself as the Villain, trauma-forging the client into an apex weapon through sheer terror. Over half his assets suffered total psychological collapse. The Board had to deploy internal affairs to sanction him. I had to stand here and absorb the corporate audits for his war crimes... Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Su Jin winced. To be so thoroughly despised by an AI you programmed yourself meant V1.0 was a special breed of monster.
"Su Jin, HR respects your autonomy. However, off the record, I advise you to reconsider. You witnessed the collapse of a biosphere. You've already internalized the horror of their extinction." The Steward smoothed his lapels, his tone chillingly level.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Su Jin slammed his hands on the desk, shooting to his feet.
"Just a statistical observation. My predictive algorithms are limited. But you are a pragmatist, Su Jin. Pragmatists do not outsource their survival to third parties. End of briefing."
The Steward swiped a hand through the air, and a pillar of blinding, digital light smashed down from the ceiling.
Su Jin's optic nerves overloaded. When the static cleared, he was standing in the center of his cramped, dismal Earth apartment, his white-knuckled grip still crushing the paper contract.