I see, so the Administration was the one that set the limits for the Reapers. I guess it was to preserve their sanity or something. Which makes sense, since it was no longer a safeguard beyond Wraiths.
When he noticed that I hardly said anything, Phillip made a frustrated face before sitting down arrogantly. He put his feet on the table as he pulled out what looked like a pack of cigarettes.
Unsurprised by this bastard's lack of manners, it was probably because those in there with us were slaves that he stopped pretending. Phillip knew when to act professional, so I never had a problem with his behavior. Personally, I found it annoying when people fawned over me.
As he lit his cigarette, he offered me the pack. Even though I was depressed and stressed, I usually used computer gaming as a vice. So I drank occasionally, but hardly ever smoked.
"No, thank you," I said.
