I think, therefore, WE exist?

And here we are again, a new morning, a fresh start, another chance to begin anew. All you need is willpower, determination, focus, goals, money, mental health, and blah blah blah. Hey, do you really think anyone here in Horizon City cares about that crap?

Everyone just wants to live whatever life they can—or rather, survive.

People are already grateful enough to make it home alive without suffering an attack from some lunatic psychopath or ending up as a cannibal's menu. Or worse, becoming targets for religious fanatic groups.

Oh, and did I mention the agents from the mega pharmaceutical corporations? Occasionally, they violently assault citizens, drag them into alleys, immobilize the poor bastards, and inject dubious substances into their bodies, all while monitoring their reactions from a distance.

Or how about the wealthy old folks who decide to replace compromised organs—maybe a kidney or liver—just so they can go back to abusing alcohol and indulging in sumptuous dinners with foods that destroy their health? Or perhaps they want a younger heart to avoid the risk of cardiac arrest.

And let me tell you, you actually look pretty healthy… hehehe. If I were you, I'd be cautious when walking around and avoid places with few people. Maybe use makeup to make yourself look pale and sickly, limp a bit—whatever it takes to defend yourself, right?

Speaking of doing what one can, there was our hero of the day, James Thompson, determined to prevent anything bad from happening to his "not-so-beloved" coworker Larry, the light-fingered guy from the stocking team.

James left home an hour early to ensure he'd arrive before Larry and the others, so he could have a better chance of choosing which department he'd be responsible for in cargo transport. That way, he could keep a close eye on Larry.

After a difficult trip on the public transportation bus, where some cursed vendor always insists on yelling about the damn products they're selling throughout the entire journey, while stealing more space with their junk, making everyone even more uncomfortable than they already were, James somehow, managed to arrive at his work without going crazy or become deaf because of the vendor's yells

"James, you truly are the pride of us low-tier contract workers when it comes to hard work, punctuality, and exemplary conduct," the morning supervisor praised James. Well, it was more like an insult wrapped in words, considering that instead of a sincere smile and a handshake, all you could see on the supervisor's face was disgust and disdain for James.

James glanced at the supervisor, offering an awkward smile. Without looking directly into his superior's eyes, he kept his gaze fixed on the badge hanging from the man's chest. "Good morning, Supervisor Matheus. It's always great to be here bright and early, and its good to be part of the wonderful TPN megacorporation family. In reality, it's a tremendous privilege!"

"Great, James! Since you know it's a privilege to be part of the TPN megacorporation, I don't think you'll mind if I double your target for today, right?" That asshole Supervisor Matheus said after patting James's head as if he were some kind of pet! What audacity from that filthy pig.

"Of course not, Supervisor Matheus. I'll be more than happy," James replied, taking the magnetic card he would use to link the day's tasks and the "extras" provided by Supervisor Mateus to his daily electronic target. It appears that the original plan went down the drain, much like James morning shit flushed down into a toilet.

After validating and linking that absurd load of tasks and goals to his own list of obligations for the day, James headed wearily to the men's locker room.

Although it seemed absurd, James went through this kind of crap every damn day. Anyone else would have snapped, tried to take their own life, attempted to harm the supervisor, or even attacked the company if they had the capacity.

And speaking of capacities… 'Hey, James… what do you think about sketching a memorable death for that bastard Matheus in your little yellow notebook, huh?'

James, walking with tired steps, stopped petrified by the intrusive thought that sliced through his mind. "My God, why am I thinking something so horrible?" James looked around, making sure no one had heard him.

His reputation as strange was already enough; if anyone saw James muttering words to the wind, they'd start calling him crazy, and he'd undoubtedly pay another visit to the damn Labor Guidance Department.

Still, that kind of thought felt repulsive to him.

Poor, poor James… How can someone as upright as you have such intrusive thoughts, right? Hahaha. But wait, were these thoughts really yours?

James stopped again, this time in front of the locker room door, and considered that possibility… "Could this Yellow Draft Notebook, this cursed thing, influencing my thoughts?"

That's a question James wouldn't have an easy or quick answer to.