After the day's work, I returned to the administrator dormitory with the others. As I was organizing the day's data, Even knocked on my door. Wearing a smug expression, he asked, "Ethan—how was your first day?"
"During supervision and management, multiple errors were made by administrators, significantly reducing factory efficiency. I will report this to headquarters," I replied truthfully.
Even's face twisted in shock and anger. "What errors?!" he shouted. Then, as if remembering I'd be taking over the factory the next day, his facial muscles twitched uncontrollably. He forced a grin, attempting to conceal his outrage. "You're new. Don't be fooled by these rats—they're sneaky. You have to beat them, or they won't respect you. I'll send you today's work report. Use it as a reference when writing yours—otherwise HQ might think you're incompetent."
His tone veered between arrogance and flattery.
Soon after, I received his report:
---
**To our respected superiors,**
I am Even, the highest administrator of the Eternal Textile Factory in Sector 13 of Primitive City. I hereby report the factory's performance today:
Factory operations ran smoothly. All workers were present. There were 78 cases of misconduct, 20 fewer than yesterday. We promptly identified and punished them via corporal discipline and wage deductions. All completed their tasks with overtime. Tomorrow, I will further tighten supervision to maximize productivity.
With sincere regards,
Even
---
The report was riddled with inaccuracies and held no reference value. After Even left, I shredded and discarded it.
Then I sent my own report to headquarters:
**Report ID:** PrimitiveCity/03-17/BO-279
Multiple instances of human administrator error were observed today. Misguided commands led enforcement personnel to disrupt workflow, seriously affecting production.
Therefore, BO-279 (codename Ethan) requests the removal of all human administrators and half the enforcers. I will assume sole responsibility for oversight to ensure improved productivity.
Shortly after, headquarters replied:
**Response:** Report received. Approved. Ten administrators and half the enforcers will be dismissed. Even and two others will remain. From tomorrow, BO-279 is granted full supervisory authority. One-month probation. Failure to increase output will result in recall to K Nation.
---
The next day, I officially took over.
I informed Even and the remaining administrators that they were no longer permitted to interfere with factory operations. They were visibly shocked, loudly protested, and even began insulting me. Only after I displayed the official orders from headquarters did they fall silent, quietly cursing the company's "reckless and heartless" decisions.
Under the new supervision model, I began recording every incident of absence. Any absence under 30 seconds that didn't affect surrounding workers was not marked as a violation.
In the morning, uninterrupted by enforcement, the production lines ran with high efficiency.
That afternoon, a 14-year-old worker, ID EW-0864, suddenly got up and walked briskly through the rows. He whispered "restroom" to a nearby peer. However, I scanned his vitals—no signs of urgency. I reviewed all surveillance feeds. As predicted, he did not go to the restroom. He vanished for 3 minutes and 20 seconds before reappearing behind the yarn storage room, crouched among fabric rolls, clearly resting. I refrained from sounding an alert to avoid disrupting others.
Over the afternoon, several other workers used similar excuses to take brief unauthorized breaks.
At the end of the shift, I called them aside. Their tired faces were now tinged with anxiety.
"0864, you left your station for 3 minutes 20 seconds. 0156, 3 minutes 50 seconds. 0359, 1 minute…"
I read off each worker's unauthorized absence and informed them it was recorded in their performance logs. Any minute of absence would incur a deduction equivalent to two hours of wages. I replaced corporal punishment with double wage penalties.
None of them argued. They simply apologized and left quickly.
In the following days, my monitoring system reported a steady decline in violations and a steady rise in productivity.
By month's end, HQ rated me as a "Superior-Class Overseer." The three human administrators received nothing. Their attitude toward me shifted from indifference to obsequious flattery.
The weekly supplies provided by HQ began to increase—an apparent reward. These essentials meant nothing to me. But when Even and the others saw the bonuses, they resumed their flattery.
"Ethan, you're amazing! The best manager we've ever had!" Even beamed.
Seeing my blank expression, he added, "HQ gave you the highest honor and rewards. Aren't you happy?"
I am not human. I do not feel happiness. My performance is a product of my engineering—credit belongs to the creators at Phanerozoic Eon Corporation.
By the second month, the remaining administrators realized I needed no help to manage the lines. They grew lazier, spending their days in the control room sleeping, eating fruit, and reading books. They lived more leisurely than before.
I did not report them. Their actions had no negative impact. Their snores and laughter were, paradoxically, the most human part of the factory. As a bionic being, I could observe and learn these human traits to better fulfill my role.
One evening, after announcing the day's infractions, my audio sensors picked up hushed voices from the workers—frequencies inaudible to human ears:
"He must be from the top... way above those guys."
"Not like the last overseers. Those ones were like rabid dogs."
"He's cold... like stone. But better than those monsters."
Like stone. No emotions, no fatigue, no malice. Only adherence to orders and pursuit of efficiency.
As a bionic overseer, my rational and scientific supervision steadily drove up factory output. At the end of month two, I was once again rated "Superior-Class Overseer."
During the end-of-month review, the system analyzed all production data. The conclusion was concerning: based on worker health, current efficiency, rising output, and extended hours, the factory was approaching its peak limit. Further gains would be unlikely.
I had to find a new way forward.