He said goodbye to his acquaintances and walked a long way, but could still hear Noah complaining: "…Don’t even mention my host. What’s so good about that kind of man besides being well-endowed and good in bed? He just won’t let go, even the condoms in stock aren’t enough for him!"

The man found Room 1008 to the southwest, knocked on the door, and after a long while finally heard a cold "Come in."

He pushed the door open and entered.

The moment he opened the door, the data in the room entered a loading state.

The surrounding streams of light dispersed, then converged again, assembling into a massive, brain-shaped light computer. Upon closer inspection, the flowing neurons and writhing synapses inside were all vast, ocean-like data operation trajectories.

This was the "light brain" of the main god system, connected to the databases of various world lines.

A snow-white-skinned youth sat in front of the enormous light brain, with two slender, silvery-white data cables laid out on the table before him. He was holding an old-fashioned cartridge game console, playing Tetris, his pale fingernails skillfully dancing over the red and green buttons.

He suffered from albinism, his hair and skin both a single shade of pallor.

Eric said, "Adam, I’m here."

Adam didn’t even look up, just grunted, "You again."

He successfully cleared a few lines, and the game console emitted the beeping sound of blocks being eliminated.

Eric stood barefoot on the matte, solid ceramic tiles, quietly waiting for him to finish the round.

Adam, still playing, asked, "What are you here for?"

Eric said, "I want to download a few movies."

Adam held the game console: "Heh."

Eric: "…"

He operated the game console with one hand, and with the other picked up the data cables from the table.

As the fine plug of the data cable approached his temple, it changed shape, with spiderweb-like fine silver threads extending from the tip, entwining and burrowing into his temple, directly connecting to his brain.

Soon, a dense digital light screen flashed across Adam’s eyes.

Adam said briskly, "Serial number."

Eric: "…" Damn serial number.

He replied, "Movies starring Little Ford."

The youth, fully absorbed in his game, heard these eight words and looked up as if he’d seen a ghost.

His finger slipped, pressing the down-acceleration key, and by the time he frantically tried to recover, the screen had already flashed "game over."

Adam cursed, flipped the game console face down on the table, crossed his arms, and looked at Eric: "Your new host? Why do you want his movies?"

Eric said, "And all his information."

"What do you need those for?"

Eric said, "To deepen my understanding and facilitate task execution."

Adam’s snow-white eyebrows pinched tightly together, seemingly displeased: "Eric, let me remind you, don’t get too close to your host. You know how dirty the human heart can be. If you don’t want to be formatted again, just behave and don’t break the rules set by the main god."

Eric knew Adam meant well.

When he was with his eighth host, Eric had once been reported by his own host, and the punishment was formatting.

After being forcibly formatted, Eric forgot many things, even the reason he was reported, and the database only retained some basic data about past tasks he had performed.

This didn’t affect Eric much; he was still the employee of the year, his diligence and work efficiency leaving other systems in the dust.

It was just that even he himself no longer remembered why he worked so hard.

It was as if he was rushing to keep an appointment, to find someone, but who that person was, where to find them—these pieces of information had all become fragmented data junk.

Eric said, "That’s the fifteenth time you’ve reminded me."

"If you don’t want to be destroyed, just do your job properly," Adam said. "…Sixteen times, to make it a lucky number for you. You’re welcome."

Eric good-naturedly touched the tip of his nose. "Are the movies downloaded?"

Adam: "…They’re done. Check your email."

"That fast?"

Adam tapped his forehead, paused for a moment: "I downloaded them before, there’s still a backup in the database."

Eric was curious: "Hm?"

"It was someone from the same world line as Little Ford, a die-hard fan of his," Adam’s tone carried a hint of exasperation, "Downloaded every single movie where Little Ford played a lead or supporting role, spent their whole life living for him—pathetic."

Eric didn’t think much of it, took a cartridge from his pocket, and tossed it to Adam.

"Pac-Man, released in 1983," Eric said. "Thanks for your help."

Adam treated it like a treasure, wiped the cartridge with his sleeve, and tried hard to suppress his smile so he wouldn’t look too happy: "At least you have a conscience."

Eric said, "Do me another favor."

With the gift in hand, Adam was finally in a better mood: "What is it?"

When Eric stated his request, veins bulged on Adam’s forehead: "Do you have any idea how troublesome that is?!"

Eric bent slightly at the waist, showing his request.

For the sake of the cartridge, Adam waved his hand dismissively: "Alright, alright. Receiving it won’t be a problem, but this is too hard to locate, there’s no way I can get it to you today."

"A few days later is fine too."

Adam pulled the data cable out of his head and picked up the game console again: "Alright, if there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed."

Eric smiled gently: "Understood."