"Another day full of energy!" Zhang Qiang muttered to himself, facing the company mascot on his computer screen – a gear always smiling. His company, "Efficiency First," had recently implemented a "Flexible Work System PLUS," which was beautifully named "Time Freedom, Efficiency First."

The core of this system was "invisible overtime": employees could handle work at any time as long as they completed their tasks on time. The company no longer had clear working hours; employees could use their own time to work. To encourage everyone to join, the company also launched an app called "Time Bank," which could record employees' working hours and give corresponding "time coin" rewards, which could be exchanged for goods in the company's welfare mall.

Old Wang walks into the company gate at 7:30 am sharp every day, like a robot with a set program. He likes this routine because it gives him a sense of control, at least within the company. The company is a large internet enterprise, known for its "wolf culture." Old Wang has worked at this company for five years, rising from a naive intern to a department head, but he still feels like he's running an endless marathon every day.

The morning meeting is the moment that gives Old Wang the biggest headache. The department manager, a middle-aged man always dressed in a suit and with a beaming smile, would always shout at everyone with his magnetic voice: "Keep going! Everyone, keep going!" This voice echoes in the meeting room, like an invisible spell, making everyone feel like something is burning in their chest, but no one knows exactly what it is.

Old Zhang was carrying a heavy combination lock suitcase, like he was holding a box of gold bars. In fact, it contained the company’s year-end bonus for employees – 300,000 yuan in cash. He carefully stepped into the elevator, the suitcase creaking, as if whispering its value. He was alone in the elevator. Old Zhang looked down at the old-fashioned mechanical watch on his wrist. It was already 6:30 PM, and the annual meeting was about to begin.

"Welcome to Mr. Ostrich's live stream!"

　　Old Li had been feeling that something was off lately.

　　It started with the way his colleagues looked at him, a mix of awe, envy, and a hint of barely perceptible fear. It was as if they were looking at a lucky guy who'd suddenly gotten a promotion and raise, and yet also like they were looking at a ticking time bomb. Old Li was just a regular programmer, coding diligently every day. His only hobby was having a bowl of steaming hot beef noodles at a small stall near his neighborhood entrance after work.

Old Wang's greatest pleasure after retirement was flushing the toilet every morning. His toilet wasn't an ordinary one, but a high-tech smart toilet that could automatically detect the composition of human excrement and record daily health data. Old Wang felt this thing was more reliable than his good-for-nothing son.

Today, a bright red warning flashed on the toilet's display screen: "Solid waste exceeded, please clean immediately." Old Wang frowned, wondering if he had an upset stomach from something he ate last night. He pressed the flush button, and the toilet emitted a muffled hum, but the water seemed blocked and refused to go down.

Li Ming, a programmer toiling away at a software company in Beijing, found his greatest pleasure each evening before bed in scrolling through the "international ledger" – a spontaneous "account reconciliation" activity organized by netizens from different countries that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere. This "reconciliation" was essentially a group of people from various nations posting their daily expenses on digital payment platforms and "cross-checking" with each other.

Initially, everyone was just having fun, comparing spending levels in different countries. But gradually, it evolved into something of a ritual. Li Ming looked forward to seeing the daily statement of "John," an American netizen. John's statements were always peculiar. One day he'd buy a $3.99 bag of "air," and the next he'd spend $25 on a virtual hat in some virtual space.

Old Liu is an early warning operator at the city's Earthquake Early Warning Center, or more precisely, the "Chief Duty Officer" of the early warning team. The reason for the addition of "chief" is not because he has superior technical skills, but because he is the most senior and has the thinnest hair, making him the team's acknowledged "fixture."

Every morning at eight o'clock, Old Liu sits down in front of his outdated computer. The screen displays various fluctuating curves, like a heart monitor in a hospital. Old Liu's job is to stare at these curves, waiting for the line representing an earthquake to suddenly twitch.

Old Li was a senior employee of the "Color Analysis Department," or rather, a former senior employee. He was responsible for analyzing the color changes of phone screenshots, the company's most important business. Since the iOS18 update, phone screenshots gradually turn redder with usage time, and the depth of the red color is actually linked to an employee's "contribution value." The deeper the red, the faster the promotion, and the bigger the bonus.

When Old Li first joined the company, he thought it was a stupid rule. He tried to find the logic behind it, but was told, "Logic? Isn't this technological progress? Who can explain quantum mechanics? Just accept it." He wanted to argue, but seeing his colleagues frantically taking screenshots, he swallowed his words.

"Team Leader Li, the weekly report?"

I looked up and saw the intern, Xiao Zhang, standing timidly in front of my desk. His eyes were fixed on the ominous red patch on my screen, as if staring at a piece of bleeding meat.