[Eden City - East District Underground Clinic]
"Welcome back, Superman."
Ryan Randall moved away the shadowless lamp, revealing his familiar bald head, and flipped up his surgical magnifiers. "Do you believe in religion? Sorry to disappoint you, but no little angel is as reliable as an old man like me."
John wanted to get up but couldn’t move, feeling incredibly weak.
"Tsk tsk tsk, the numbers are jumping."
Ryan’s auxiliary robotic arm was covered in blood.
"I haven’t pulled an all-nighter for surgery in a long time, not sure if I could save you without the drogas... so don’t mess around, the lingering propofol is causing your dizziness and phantom limb pain, it’s normal."
John’s mind was gradually clearing up.
[Чтозачёрт! (Damn it)]
The prosthetic eye plugin translated a Russian phrase.
John turned his head toward the source of the voice and saw—Talia sitting astride on a metal stool, one arm in a cast.
"Later, Nando brought a group to meet us, and all the medics at the camp rushed to the scene to save you, but what happened?"
Talia lifted the bottle and took a swig.
"Your first words upon waking were about running, mumbling something about finding Ryan Randall in the East District. How the hell should I know who Randall is? Nando also disagreed with transferring you, but your injuries were severe, and I figured the surgical environment in the city would be better than at the camp..."
Talia smuggled John out.
She unlocked Silver Rider 577’s bio-lock using John’s body, drove a supercar straight to the busiest area in the East District, and both guns and cash were enough for a junkie to take them to Ryan’s store. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novelꜰire.net
Ryan chuckled twice after hearing it all.
He snatched his bottle back from Talia’s hand.
"Sounds really touching, but the real situation is ten thousand times worse, and I don’t know if this Russian beauty even has a brain, dragging a patient with tubes across half the city. You almost died in the passenger seat of your own supercar, you know?"
Talia had no rebuttal.
Her prosthetic eye flickered, it seemed Nando was calling back, and she pursed her lips before leaving the room to argue in the hallway.
John had no memory of any of this.
He adjusted the height of the surgical chair, seeing dense surgical incisions and stacked bloody cotton balls.
"How bad is my condition?"
"Plug in the data cable to see the scan results yourself: burns, fractures, extraction of two fragmented sniper bullets from your chest, disrupted circuit in the equipment, signs of nervous system disconnection..."
The doctor let out a sudden chuckle.
"In my Nightingale days, I often treated patients with excessive electric stimulation, but you clearly take things to a more extreme level. Don’t be tempted to touch the bandages, the skin underneath is all burned and hasn’t been replaced with synthetic leather yet."
"Because I need your consent for this."
Ryan knocked on the metal tabletop.
On it was a large sealed box with the Plato logo.
[Prosthesis: Subdermal Armor [Plato UFP]]
[Area: Epidermal System]
[Function: Prototype stage universal product, enhances skin cell cohesion, making it difficult to penetrate, significantly reduces bullet damage and protects blood vessels.]
Nando had visited the clinic.
He was genuinely afraid that Talia would torment John to death; after confirming with Ryan that John was out of immediate danger, he also sent this gift.
It was also the mission’s reward.
Ryan conducted a test on the item:
A product of the Plato Laboratory, created to convince the board, which generally means it’s the best set in terms of quality and performance. Even if it goes to mass production later, there would be "various factors" leading to corner-cutting."
"It really is a good thing."
Ryan was very calm. "But can you handle it?"
The doctor wasn’t clear on John’s specific condition, but he knew that most cyberpsychos died from rejection of implants.
John’s symptoms were different from what he had seen:
Emotionally stable, normal metrics.
No continuous proliferation of scar tissue, normal postoperative recovery, and no abnormal pain or inflammation in surrounding tissues.
John decided to undergo the surgery.
His only worry was the Black Light going berserk and draining his body. The symptoms of cyberpsychosis were bizarre, but he’d never heard of anything similar to his own.
"I’ve been burned several times; I’ve long wanted to install subdermal armor. The only thing that makes me hesitate is the quality of prosthetics. I don’t want to undergo frequent surgeries, and another thing was what you mentioned last time... something about reverence for the body?"
"Something like that."
"Indeed, avoid using street-grade merchandise, and don’t easily install implants with unclear origin. After all, scavengers have no moral bottom line, second-hand and nearly new, have you heard? When they sell it to you, the original owner might not even be cold yet."
Ryan had been a doctor for many years.
He had seen many cases where severe rejection occurred after prosthetic replacements, even leading to blindness and partial paralysis.
"Since you’ve decided, let’s get started."
Ryan began making preoperative preparations.
"The implant area this time is quite large; it will involve transplanting onto most of your skin. You’re after top-quality, so I’ll use the best synthetic leather available on the market. By the way... want to swap your gun while we’re at it? I sneaked a few good models from Nightingale."
"Screw you, are you addicted to craftwork?"
"Heh, if you don’t want it, I’ll sell it to someone else. The surgery will take some time; I’ll re-administer propofol for you, and while you’re asleep, if you have a last word, say it early. I don’t make patients sign any guarantee agreements."
"Is there any real value in emergency insurance policies?"
John asked sincerely.
The doctor sneered twice. "You’ve got quite the sense of humor."
He opened the sealed box, took out the implant inside, and placed it in the buffer solution for preoperative soaking.