A rapid and steady voice — her assigned Local System — spoke inside her head:
NOTIFICATION
Transference complete. Welcome to Maxproxemix, Citizen-Doctor Qi Meifen. Your grace period has zero point six cycles remaining.
She blinked. 0.6 Cycles — that was only a bit over fifteen hours, by Earth standards, and she hadn’t even gotten out of the transfer capsule yet. Too short. Far too short. A subtle tension tightened in her freshly engineered muscles. Pulling the slick cables from her arms and stepping onto the grated floor of the transfer bay, Mei tried to shake the sense of vertigo that came with occupying a body grown on another world.
A cluster of data windows overlapped in front of her eyes:
INFORMATION
Name: Qi Meifen
Position: Cultural Exchange Specialist
Assigned Department: Admin – Complaints & Appeals
Efficiency Rating: NaN
Time to Next Evaluation: 50.50165 Millicycles
Less than a minute before her first evaluation? That was impossible. She hadn’t even been given time to orient herself. An upward swipe of her hand—an Earth habit that transferred awkwardly into the neural interface—dismissed the windows. But more notifications replaced them in an instant.
NOTIFICATION
This cycle's goals:
1) Fully integrate Admin—Complaints & Appeals protocols.
2) Your efficiency rating must exceed 25% by the end of your grace period.
Failure to complete will result in immediate termination.
Have a safe and productive cycle!
Mei’s heart leapt to her throat. She hadn’t even started her orientation. All she knew was that she was assigned to some department that handled petty disputes, requests for reassignments, and probably more. From the briefings she had received back home, the “Disposables” did not typically question the Empire’s directives, but apparently a planet of four quintillion people — even artificially loyal ones — still generated an impossible number of inquiries and minor disagreements.
Her new body’s sense of balance steadied, and she left the transfer bay. The corridor outside was sterile metal, lines of subtle lights guiding her to an lock that would open into the Admin superstructure. A disposable humanoid, pale, with deep-black eyes—stood at attention by the door, wearing the unmistakable green-grey uniform of the Admin Department. Its ghoulish face broke into a sincere smile the moment it saw her.
“Citizen-Doctor Qi Meifen! We are honored by your presence,” it said, voice tinged with mechanical cheeriness. “I am your designated Floor Attendant. We hope you had a pleasant transfer. The Subdepartment of Complaints & Appeals is waiting for you.”
The disposable’s friendly, unwavering gaze made Mei uneasy. She remembered from the cultural exchange materials that these Disposables were genetically engineered for unconditional contentment and loyalty. Even if they lived in cramped bunkrooms stacked a hundred tiers high, they would still have that same servile smile on their faces. And all of them seemed proud—delighted, even—to be serving the Provider Empire. She tried not to think too much about that as she followed it down the corridor.
NOTIFICATION
Admin—Complaints & Appeals system is now online.
Your efficiency is now being rated.
Incoming Cases: 8,223… 10,927… 15,447…
You have 28 millicycles to begin your first batch.
A cold sweat broke out on Mei’s brow. The attendant gestured for her to enter a massive, ring-shaped chamber crammed with blinking screens. Rows upon rows of Admin staff — mostly Disposables, from the looks of them — were stationed in the pits below. Countless luminous cables draped from the ceiling, each connecting to a different operative’s neural port. The entire place was abuzz with the hum of machinery, faintly resonating through the metal floor. Overhead, endless stacks of datanodes soared hundreds of meters, a testament to Maxproxemix’s vertical architecture.
“Right this way, Citizen-Doctor.” The attendant presented her with a seat at a vacant console. She gingerly eased herself into the seat, noting the complex harness system. The second her back touched the padded support, the harness clicked shut around her torso and arms, locking her in place.
SYSTEM ALERT
Efficiency Processing Protocol Engaged
Your next evaluation is in 1.5 millicycles.
Mei didn’t even have time to protest before the neural interface overrode her normal vision. Another wave of data: disputes, complaint forms, appeals from many corners of the planet. She recognized the format from her orientation files. Each entry was summarized in less than two lines:
- Disposable Unit (local)414-223-556-190 requests reclassification from sanitation to microfactory maintenance.
- Supervisor #89 appeals the resource allotment for Sub-Block 17.
- Nutrient paste complaints from Section 12089-T32.
- Machine Overhaul schedule dispute between Industrial Ward 10059 and Ward 10060.
All demanded her decision. And the system wanted them fast.
“What am I supposed to do?!” Mei blurted. She tried to recall the information from her training program, which had been a dizzying overview of Maxproxemix’s Admin policies. Her interface clacked and whirred with incoming instructions, half-floating in her peripheral vision. The harness beeped, reminding her that time was ticking.
Her eyes darted left to see a line of decision macros available within the interface. The recommended approach was to press one macro for “Approved,” another for “Denied,” or a third for “Defer.” The trouble was each case needed some reasoning behind it, and the system automatically rated her choices for efficiency.
Neural Interface: Warning - You have 1 millicycle to respond.
“Approve…Deny…D—”
-TIME EXPIRED-
A harsh red message flooded her entire visual field.
You have failed to respond in time. Efficiency Rating -1% New Efficiency Rating: 0.96% Warning: Grace Period Reducing
A dull ache coursed through her head, likely a mild electroshock feedback from the harness. No permanent damage, she hoped. But her rating plummeted further. She still had more than two dozen cycles left of her grace period, but if her efficiency rating remained that low...
“You must expedite your decisions, Citizen-Doctor Qi.” The mechanical voice of the local Schedule Master spoke quietly next to her ear. There was no malice in its tone—only compliance and a slight tinge of concern. “We exist to serve. Work safely. Work efficiently.”
She grimaced. “I don’t even know the correct responses. This system is insane! Less than a second per case?”
New Batch Incoming…
Number of Cases: 20,524
Mei bit her lip. The harness beeped its persistent countdown. She tapped into the macros, scanning quickly:
Two microfactories requesting the same heat quota. She glimpsed a reference to the Department of Flow’s guidelines. The recommended macros were “Deny B” or “Approve Both.” Her gut said that “Approve Both” might lead to meltdown, but “Deny B” could cause workforce slowdown. She guessed the planet was big on maximizing output. With no time to weigh it, she just slammed Deny B.
A complaint from a Department of Flow official about disallowed coolant usage. She recognized the department’s significance. Approve the official’s appeal or deny it? She Approved with no further thought.
Another dispute about overtime in sub-block D45. She had an odd feeling about that, but time was draining away. She pressed Deny with a trembling finger.
The system churned, analyzing her quick decisions.
NOTIFICATION
Block completed. Efficiency Calculation… Base Rating: 1.1% Estimated Gains: +1.3% Penalties: -0.5% Net Efficiency: 1.9%
Her heart sank. Barely an improvement.
SYSTEM ALERT
Next batch incoming in 2 millicycles.
She swallowed. This was the new normal: a relentless onslaught of decisions. For the next hour—she had no sense of time beyond the cycle readouts—Mei hammered the macros, sometimes approving, sometimes denying, sometimes deferring, all while vaguely trying to follow the planet’s labyrinthine regulations. Still, she felt like a pilot flying blind, scanning only the bolded phrases and hoping to avoid catastrophic errors.
Her neural interface kept a running tally of her performance:
NOTIFICATION
Active Efficiency: 6.5%
Pending Cases: 342,001
Time to Grace Period Expiration: 0.5781 cycles
Six-point-five percent. Abysmally low, but at least she was crawling upward. She forced her breathing to steady, though sweat dripped from her temples. The harness had begun to chafe, and dull sparks of feedback pricked her spine whenever she missed a case’s timer.
“Your break is now scheduled,” the Schedule Master announced cheerily. “You have 20 millicycles to rest.”
Mei’s eyes widened. She barely had enough time to slump back in her seat. The data feed vanished, leaving her in a haze of too-bright overhead lights and the distant roar of the superstructure’s machinery.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
She fought the urge to scream. Thirty seconds was hardly a break. But she reminded herself that she was here by choice. A prestigious cultural exchange, her superiors had called it back home. She could bring back invaluable knowledge of the Provider Empire’s technology. A chance to see the famed planet that sustained four quintillion souls in its miles-high labyrinth.
Yet here she was, inundated by a thousand tasks per second, battered by the fear of failure.
LOCAL SYSTEM (Soothing Tone):
12 millicycles remaining on break. Efficiency is suboptimal.
Recommendation: Use break to review processing macros.
Remember, your grace period is limited.
Mei closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “I can do this,” she whispered. Even if it felt more like a survival mission than an educational sojourn. If she could push her rating just high enough, she’d buy herself some breathing room—maybe find a moment to explore this claustrophobic planet-spanning fortress.
She opened her eyes with renewed determination, ignoring the sweat and the dryness in her throat.
BREAK TIME END
Returning to Admin—Complaints & Appeals system.
The HUD blinked into life again, an onslaught of new cases flooding her interface. She steeled herself and pressed on.
0.57... She had just half a cycle to drag her efficiency out of the depths. And beyond that loomed the intangible presence of the Provider that ruled Maxproxemix, a near-godlike figure who siphoned energy from a black hole to keep every assembly line running. Compared to that, her floundering attempts at administrative triage felt downright trivial.
But for Qi Meifen, the next few seconds of blistering decisions would mean everything. She braced herself, determined to survive this crucible of endless issues — one batch at a time.
===
Qi Meifen exhaled slowly as the Admin—Complaints & Appeals interface resumed its relentless assault. The neural interface fired up, and the data feed lit up in her vision like an aurora of bureaucratic chaos. She noted her last recorded metrics:
STATUS SUMMARY
Efficiency Rating: 6.5%
Pending Cases: 342,001
Time to Grace Period Expiration: 0.5779 cycles
She hit the macros without delay. Most people back home would scoff at the idea of processing thousands of decisions in the blink of an eye. But on Maxproxemix, that was the standard. Every human—natural or engineered—was expected to keep pace with the world’s monstrous demands. And Mei’s neural interface was, by any ordinary measure, advanced enough to handle the data flow. Still, it was an unending torrent.
She tried to settle into a pattern. Her finger hovered over the macros, reading the bullet points at inhuman speed:
- A dispute about nutrient paste quality? Deny.
- A complaint about a missing shift break in sub-district 45A? Approve.
- An appeal from a microfactory Supervisor for additional manpower? Defer.
Defer. Approve. Deny. She found a rhythm, pushing aside the creeping doubt that no mortal could truly keep up with this volume. All the while, glowing green or red text appeared in her peripheral vision, reflecting how the system evaluated each of her choices.
Occasionally, she saw a flicker of improvement in her stats:
NOTIFICATION
Batch Processed.
+1.2% Efficiency
Current Efficiency Rating: 7.7%
Every small bump made her heart lift a little—only to sink again as the next wave arrived, each bigger than the last. Despite her best efforts, the planet had over four quintillion residents, and even if only a fraction of them filed daily complaints, it was enough to bury her in forms.
A tenth of a cycle later, she sneaked a glance at her progress:
STATUS SUMMARY
Efficiency Rating: 10.1%
Pending Cases: 1,288,904
Time to Grace Period Expiration: 0.4612 cycles
She was inching forward, but far too slowly. By the time she reached the required 25% threshold, the grace period would be long gone—assuming she didn’t burn out first.
LOCAL SYSTEM ALERT
Multiple high-priority cases incoming. Prepare to override standard macros.
Mei gulped. High-priority meant the system was testing her comprehension of local policies. No quick “Approve” or “Deny” would suffice; she’d have to attach a justification or risk a severe penalty. She glimpsed complex references to the Department of Flow’s heat routing, departmental resource budgets, and dozens of sub-clauses in Maxproxemix’s legal code.
Case #56777: “Emergency rerouting of coolant from Wards 12–15. Overcapacity meltdown predicted.”
She had to choose among reassigning coolant from a different ward or shutting down partial production. She quickly chose the former after locating a nearby facility to route coolant from.
Case #56778: “Complaint from M-Factory 854 regarding defective Disposables requesting emotional break.”
Emotional break? That was unheard of—Disposables were engineered to be content. She hesitated, scanning the recommended decisions. The official stance was typically to disregard such emotional anomalies as malfunctions and replace the bad product… but an internal voice told her ignoring it could cause bigger problems down the line. Still, time was ticking.
She took a gamble, hitting Approve to investigate further.
WARNING: Delay in High-Priority Case #56779
Efficiency penalty imminent.
Her gaze snapped to the next line, mind racing. She hastily flicked through the macros:
- Deny.
- Deny.
- Approve with reservations.
- Defer…
All the while, her rating droned in her mind:
Calculating… Efficiency at 10.9%… 11.2%… 10.8%…
Every uncertain decision shaved off potential gains. She clenched her teeth, forced to keep going, battered by stress. The overly friendly attendant she had met upon arrival occasionally passed by, offering vacant smiles. It had become her sole respite in a sea of mechanical monotony—though it no longer said anything more supportive than “We exist to serve.”
Eventually, the system projected an ominous red countdown in the corner of her vision:
NOTIFICATION
GRACE PERIOD: <0.1 Cycle Remaining
Current Efficiency Rating: 18.4%
WARNING: Grace Period end will trigger reevaluation of assignment viability. Current trend indicates insufficient performance.
Her chest tightened. She hadput everything into these tasks, but her 18.4% rating was nowhere near the required 25%. There was no way she would cover that gap in the final decicycle.
Her mind drifted for an instant—why do they even require 25%? She had read the orientation materials: it was the minimum standard for a living entity to remain assigned on Maxproxemix. The planet’s entire existence revolved around efficiency. If you couldn’t keep pace, you were replaced. Disposed. Recycled. Everything was used to feed the machine—including the bodies of the underperforming.
A bead of sweat traced down her temple. She tried to block out the fear and keep working. She hammered through another wave of disputes. She gleaned a meager bump:
Current Efficiency Rating: 19.3%
Her heart soared in a burst of desperate hope. But the red countdown in her vision drained faster.
- 0.05 cycles…
- 0.04 cycles…
- 0.03 cycles…
As her rating crossed the 20 percent threshold, the system poured on even more high-priority cases, as if sensing her mental exhaustion. Summaries about “Critical coolant shortage,” “Energy misallocation,” “Unscheduled shift expansions”—on and on. She processed them with frantic speed, no longer sure if her choices made sense.
LOCAL SYSTEM ALERT
Multiple errors detected in justification for recent decisions.
Efficiency Rating Penalty: –2.0%
Her rating plummeted.
Current Efficiency Rating: 18.4%
No. She could hardly breathe. The clock slid down toward zero, and the final millicycles of her grace period vanished.
NOTIFICATION
GRACE PERIOD EXPIRED
ASSESSING ASSIGNMENT VIABILITY... STAND BY...
Time froze. Mei’s vision blurred, each data window replaced by a single directive that blazed across her ocular display:
ASSESSMENT OUTCOME
Energy Usage vs. Output Final Efficiency: 17.3%
DECISION: UNVIABLE
In that moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. She’d come all this way, crossed light years, downloaded her consciousness into a clone, only to fail at an impossible standard. A hush seemed to fall in the chamber around her. Countless disposable administrators kept laboring at inhuman speeds, but Mei’s station went dark.
The harness retracted from around her body with a soft click. She was free—though there was nowhere to go. A wave of dizziness struck as the neural interface forcibly disconnected from her mind. She tried to stand, feeling a pit in her stomach, a dull certainty of what was about to happen.
Sure enough, the friendly attendant from came forward, wearing the same welcoming smile. It inclined its head politely. “Doctor Qi Meifen, your grace period has ended. It was an honor to serve with you.”
There was no malice—only a gentle courtesy. Before she could protest, the attendant raised one small device—a euthanizing tool that glowed with a faint hum—and pressed it to her temple. A burst of white heat flared through her skull. She felt her consciousness flicker, her vision shattering in a fractal swirl of static.
She never felt herself crumple to the floor. Didn’t feel her body being hauled away. The last things that registered were fleeting after images of the attendent’s unwavering smile. “We exist to serve.”
She was dead. Terminated. The system had no further use for her inefficiency.
In the absolute darkness that followed, time and form lost all meaning. A sense of non-existence gripped her. Then—without sight or sound—she experienced a bizarre impression of being dissected, her mind picked apart and analyzed just as her biological materials were sorted and repurposed with the same meticulous routine that governed every corner of Maxproxemix.
A sudden flash. Qi Meifen, or something that had once been Qi Meifen, saw text swirl before her in a void of digital haze. The familiar lines of Maxproxemix’s central operating system reasserted themselves:
REINSTATING CONSCIOUSNESS…
INDIVIDUAL DESIGNATION: “QI MEIFEN”
STATUS: UNASSIGNED
Her mind reeled, half-formed memories crackling like static. She had died—she was certain of it. But a smoldering echo of her consciousness was evidently circulating within the planet’s data vaults.
A message demanded her attention.
MAXPROXEMIX LOCAL MESSAGE
FROM: Maxproxemix Administrative Core
TO: Qi Meifen
Greetings, Qi Meifen.
We at Maxproxemix would like to formally thank you for your recent contribution to the Admin—Complaints & Appeals Department. Although your assignment was regrettably terminated prior to meeting the minimum required efficiency standard, you did successfully render services for a total of 0.6 cycle.
Below is the detailed breakdown of your compensation:
Your final balance of 249.75 credits has been transferred to your Maxproxemix personal account.
Thank you again for your time and efforts, and may your next assignment—if any—bring higher productivity and satisfaction to all.
– The Maxproxemix Administrative Core
“We exist to serve.”
And just like that, she was pulled again into the vast machinery of Maxproxemix—her consciousness flickering somewhere between life and data, awaiting an uncertain fate in a place where everything—from wasted heat to terminated employees—was recycled.