Nancy Clark could sense from the few words exchanged that the original host was considered mentally ill—this seemed to be common knowledge, not a secret at all. At least, her amnesia and forgetting the rent seemed perfectly normal in the other party’s eyes.

Nancy Clark simply decided to play the lunatic. “Mm, I’ve been having headaches lately.”

Sure enough, Mrs. Harris believed her and didn’t ask further.

Nancy Clark: “I’ll definitely pay you the rent by the end of the month. Please don’t look for someone else to view the place yet.”

There were still many things about the original host that Nancy Clark hadn’t figured out. If she got kicked out, she wouldn’t even have a place to stay.

Mrs. Harris gave her a meaningful look. “Don’t turn my house into a haunted place.”

Nancy Clark frowned. That day, she’d come home covered in blood and had accidentally bumped into Mrs. Harris. In her eyes, Nancy Clark might have seemed like a failed suicide.

Before leaving, Mrs. Harris said, “Take care of the bills at the door.”

Bills? Nancy Clark poked her head out and saw all kinds of payment notices stuck to her door—water and electricity, property management, maintenance, taxes.

Nancy Clark tore down a thick stack of payment notices and did a quick calculation. She owed various management departments about eight thousand new coins. Eight thousand in bills, twenty-four thousand in rent, plus future expenses.

Starting off in debt—she almost wanted to die and start over.

She hugged the bills and went back inside. She’d been a couch potato for so long that she’d stopped thinking about her main quest. Avoidance might be shameful, but it worked. The system hadn’t given her any prompts for days.

Nancy Clark sat in front of the computer. The huge screen would have been considered high-tech in her era, but now it was just an antique.

So outdated—aside from District 103, not many people still used this model. But because it was old, Nancy Clark had no trouble operating it.

She opened a job search website.

Given her extensive “work experience,” there had to be plenty of quick-cash jobs out there. Worst case, she could go back to her old line of work.

The job site listed all kinds of professions, some of which Nancy Clark couldn’t even understand. Scrolling down, there were tens of thousands of job openings. So many jobs! Nancy Clark thought optimistically.

Someone was hiring mercenaries. Nancy Clark’s eyes lit up—she almost wanted to recommend herself on the spot.

Me, professional, pick me.

Low maintenance, fast worker, guaranteed employer satisfaction. But as soon as she clicked in, a pop-up appeared: minimum requirement, third-class citizen or above.

Damn! She was stuck at her citizenship level.

In this wasteland world, every citizen underwent a genetic screening at birth and was classified accordingly. Unfortunately, Nancy Clark failed the screening and was labeled “defective,” making her a fifth-class citizen.

She then noticed a filter button in the upper right corner. The website could automatically filter suitable jobs for you. She entered her personal info, citizenship level, and education, then clicked to match jobs.

Whoosh—

After the page refreshed, hundreds of pages of jobs disappeared, leaving only one page.

Nancy Clark: “……”

On that page, ten jobs prioritized males. This damn world was discriminatory too. Only six jobs were left for her, all in nursing, maintenance, housekeeping, and the like.

Nancy Clark looked through them one by one. Wait, this job looked good—three hours for five thousand new coins, plus commission?

This was… a cleaning job?

Nancy Clark read carefully. The information was very simple. Garbage cleaner—the job was to sweep trash. As long as you worked three hours, you’d get five thousand new coins, with commission awarded based on specifics.

The site automatically calculated the average salary—an astonishing… twenty-five thousand? What kind of trash paid twenty-five thousand to clean? Collecting corpses?

Average salary twenty-five thousand, no restrictions on age, gender, education, or citizenship level? Was this a trap for suckers?

Federal law required all job postings to be truthful—fake postings meant jail time. Even if it was corpse collection, it was worth a try. Nancy Clark clicked the apply button.

Whoosh—

The website set off a burst of colorful fireworks. Congratulations, you’ve successfully applied.

Whoosh—

You have been hired by our company.

Nancy Clark: “……”

Hired on the spot? No interview? One hundred percent acceptance rate—were they afraid people would back out? But it was too late for her to regret it now, because there was already a new email in her inbox. She’d received an offer.

……

Start time was 6:30 p.m., work location was near the incinerator in District 103, and the company was called District 103 Cleaning Center.

Nancy Clark paused when she saw the company name—turns out it wasn’t some fly-by-night operation. She followed the navigation to the company entrance. No security check, just a robot guide.

The robot pressed the button for the 49th floor. The building had 360 floors in total—the tallest must pierce the clouds.

Ding—

The elevator doors opened to both sides, and Nancy Clark froze at the sight—a tangled mess.

The lobby was noisy, every desk piled high with documents. The employee closest to Nancy Clark was losing his temper. “Don’t talk nonsense—just tell me if you can get it done!”

Two others were arguing, faces red and necks bulging. “How is it my fault? The approval hasn’t come down—how is that on me? Can you be reasonable?”

“Which bastard started the A-level program and left me to take the blame!”