Most of these people were adventurers who had returned from outer space missing an arm or a leg, and with empty wallets; a few were people with genetic defects like Brian Clark.

By the way, the Solar System Federation government has comprehensive laws to prevent interference with or modification of innate genetic genes.

The reason is simple: genetic mutation is the driving force of evolution. Nature’s imagination is limitless—who knows when a new kind of human might evolve.

The new humans have nothing to do with Abraham Lincoln; anyway, the current Brian Clark is a real tragedy.

Brian Clark shook his head and walked inside with a sigh.

After entering the guidance center, he sat down in front of a black consultant with sausage lips. Abraham Lincoln said dryly, “Uncle, I want to find a job.”

The black uncle was also disabled. It was said that he had an accident while mining in the asteroid belt, resulting in complete paralysis of his lower body and amputation. Half his body was directly fitted into the chair.

He mechanically checked Brian Clark’s information and said expressionlessly, “There’s one suitable for you: go wash dishes at the Golden Chrysanthemum All-Manual Restaurant, daily wage twenty credits.”

Twenty credits? That’s pretty high. Brian Clark had worked at this Golden Chrysanthemum several times before. Every time he saved up some credits, he’d go hang out in “Earth” for a few thousand years at a time.

The previous times all went smoothly, but he got carried away the last time and messed up.

“Big brother, can I have another one?” Brian Clark asked cautiously.

The job itself was fine, but the restaurant owner was a burly man. That wasn’t the main issue—the key was that he actually confessed to Brian Clark with ninety-nine artificial roses.

Brian Clark’s heart rate shot up by 30% on the spot. If he hadn’t reacted quickly and suppressed his emotions, his heart might have burst and that would’ve been the end.

Sigh, it’s all because he’s too handsome. Brian Clark thought, wallowing in self-pity.

“There are plenty of jobs, but none your body can handle.” The uncle spread his hands, indicating he was powerless to help.

Aside from the Golden Chrysanthemum’s owner with ulterior motives, no one was willing to hire him.

“I heard being an Order Keeper is a good job. Can I do that?” Brian Clark asked carefully.

Order Keepers, like the previous “Jiao Niang” and those two black-and-white imps, were a new kind of mercenary hired by game companies specifically to maintain game balance.

They were a legitimate profession recognized by the Central Brain, and currently the hottest job in the Federation.

Previously, the role Brian Clark played—Peng Zu—also had a name: “Destroyer.” It was a shady job, operating in the dark, and the mortal enemy of Order Keepers.

Now that he was under surveillance by the Central Brain, being a Destroyer was far too risky. He could only turn to the legal path of an Order Keeper.

The uncle still shook his head. “Forget it, you’re not up to it.”

The reason was still his heart defect.

The uncle was right. By normal standards, his heart couldn’t handle fighting, let alone provide enough energy to play hide-and-seek with the Central Brain.

Brian Clark sighed. “Alright. Let me think about it some more.”

He got up and left, slowly walking out of the guidance center. He didn’t get in a car, just sat on the steps of the parking platform at the entrance, resting his chin on his hand, staring blankly at the endless stream of cars on the street.

His physical disabilities had made him a complete wreck. The virtual world used to comfort his soul, but now that right had been stripped away too. On top of that, with a lifetime of astronomical debt he could never repay, Brian Clark felt the whole sky had turned gray, with not a single ray of light.

“Am I really doomed to endure that glass man’s existence? If his passion actually turns me, how will I explain it to my parents, wherever they’re enjoying themselves?”

“Is my life in the real world really over? No way, man, my body’s still a virgin—I haven’t even touched a woman’s hand and I’m supposed to throw it away? That’s just not right!”

If he added up all the time he’d spent stirring up storms in various virtual worlds, it would total tens of thousands of years. He’d seen enough of the beautiful, the painful, the bright, and the dark. It seemed like nothing new would ever happen in his life again.

Brian Clark sat dazed beside the rooftop for most of the day, when a thought suddenly popped into his mind: “Since I live so freely in the virtual world and so miserably in the real one, why do I even need this broken body? Without it, I can still live well, and the Federation would never be able to threaten me again!”

But then another thought jumped out: “That’s not good either. No matter how well I play in the virtual world, I know it’s fake. Play too long, and it just feels meaningless.”

Then a third thought: “In the virtual world, I live in luxury. If I have to eat paste every day in reality, how can I stand it? Today I’ve really hit rock bottom—there’s no choice but to give up.”

Brian Clark looked at the parking platform not far away, then at the robot security guard maintaining order nearby, thinking about how to avoid the robot’s interception, and then jump off the thousand-meter-high platform to finally end his broken body.

He observed for a long time. When the robot walked off in another direction, Brian Clark, now completely hopeless about the real world, sighed, stood up, and slowly walked toward the parking platform.

Jump down, and it would all be over. Then he would live forever in another world!