As for the last point, although Brian Clark was not afraid, he was still extremely troubled.

The Central Intelligence Brain is the core of the global artificial intelligence system, with exceptionally powerful functions. If he is under its close surveillance, any action he takes in the virtual world will carry more than ten times the risk.

This is also why, despite Brian Clark being able to stir up storms in the virtual world, he doesn't dare to move even a single credit point in the real world.

This is a high-voltage line under strict monitoring, with risks far too great. If anything goes wrong and the Central Intelligence Brain discovers it, the punishment is direct physical erasure. Even if he manages to get the money, it would be dirty money, and he doesn't have any professional money laundering channels. If he tries to use it, he'll be found out, so he can only let it sit there and rot. Of course, as long as Brian Clark is willing, with his intellect, none of this would be a problem. The issue is that he has some kind of moral bottom line, inherited from who knows where, or perhaps a sense of pride, making him disdain earning such dirty money.

The room fell silent. After a long while, Brian Clark sighed, "Take care."

As soon as he finished speaking, the holographic screen in front of him went dark, and the power indicator on the sensory chair slowly dimmed as well.

Brian Clark got up, wanting to turn on the light, but the voice-activated lamp no longer responded. When he went to the tiny one-square-meter bathroom and put his hand under the faucet, no water came out. He checked the food delivery port, but the food selection panel was also dark and unresponsive.

No electricity, no water, no food—life had returned to the primitive age.

With a last bit of hope, Brian Clark checked his e-wallet and let out a mournful sigh. There were only twenty credits left. If he was frugal, he could survive for about five days, but what about after that?

Brian Clark sighed. This time, he had really gone too far. After playing in "Earth" for over eight hundred years, he had thrown the rest of his life into the abyss.

At this point, there were only two paths left: first, find a job; second, give up this body. In others' eyes, the second option was no different from suicide.

"Things haven't reached the worst yet. I'll try to find a job first. If it really doesn't work, then I'll take the second path." Although this body was broken, after so many years of use, Brian Clark didn't want to give it up unless absolutely necessary.

He moved to the door, looked at the dust accumulated on the doorknob, and gave a bitter smile. Eight hundred years in the game, with one day corresponding to a year, meant that nearly three years had passed in reality.

For three years, he only logged out once a day to take care of physical needs; the rest of the time was spent in the virtual world.

He opened the door, and artificial sunlight streamed in, a bit dazzling. Brian Clark raised his hand to shield his eyes.

To maximize the use of Earth's space, the cities on Earth have three layers. This is the first layer, the very bottom, built underground—essentially the slums of ancient times.

There are no blue skies or white clouds in the slums, nor any green plants. Guided by the principle of maximizing space utilization, this place is nothing but a jungle of steel.

Most of the people living here are those who survive on government subsidies, just muddling through life—Brian Clark is one of them.

Brian Clark himself didn't want to just muddle through, but because he had a genetic defect causing congenital alpha-type heart disease, his heart was extremely fragile and he couldn't do any kind of work.

This genetic defect could be repaired, but the credits required were astronomical, far beyond what he could afford. So, for his whole life, he could only drift along until death.

His so-called job search now was just a matter of going through the motions.

By the time his eyes adjusted, a self-driving hover car had already stopped at his door.

"At your service, sir." The door of the hover car slid open silently.

The hover car was part of the public transportation system, providing free service whether in the first-layer slums or the third-layer sky district.

Brian Clark got in, touched his stomach, feeling a bit hungry, and said weakly, "Give me some food. The cheapest one."

"One credit, sir." A bag of nutrient paste, as thick and snot-like as mucus, slid into Brian Clark's hand, deducting one credit from his wallet at the same time.

The government subsidy is two thousand credits a year, a true subsistence allowance. Just eating this cheapest food would consume more than half of it. If you want to eat better, there would be no money left for anything else all year.

After a few sips, Brian Clark pinched his nose and gulped the disgusting stuff down in one go.

After eating, tears streamed down his face.

In "Earth," he ate delicacies every day, all pure and natural. Compared to this disgusting food, it was truly heaven and hell.

Even worse, for survival, in the foreseeable future, he would have to eat this stuff every meal, every day. Just thinking about it was miserable.

With his stomach full, Brian Clark felt a bit more energetic and said, "Take me to look for a job."

The hover car's AI was connected to the brain of District 55, so it naturally understood Brian Clark's meaning. With a "whoosh," it accelerated and merged into the dense stream of hover cars.

Chapter Two: A Ray of Hope in Desperation

The hover car quickly arrived at its destination and stopped smoothly. The destination was a shiny metal building... a nondescript side door, above which glowed large characters: "Disabled Employment Guidance Center." All kinds of disabled people were coming and going at the entrance.