Chapter 11: Treatnt
“Huh?” Sun Jack’s jaw dropped, utterly stunned by the absurd scene unfolding before him. “This... this actually works?”
A life-and-death crisis, resolved by money? Was that all it took?
Grinning ear to ear, Song 6PUS gave him a thumbs-up. “Bro, now do you see why I risk my life to make money? Because money literally buys life!”
“Then... why didn’t they do the sa?” Sun Jack gestured toward the broken bodies of rcenaries scattered in the ruins behind them.
“Because they didn’t have money,” Song replied with a shrug.
“So... being broke ans you deserve to die?”
“Exactly. No money, no survival.”
“Being broke ans you deserve to die?” Sun Jack asked again, incredulity creeping into his voice.
“Yep. Broke equals dead,” Song repeated matter-of-factly.
“F***.”
Looking at the corpses in the ruins—rcenaries who had died like ants—Sun Jack felt a new understanding of this world take root in his mind.
“Hurry up, I only bought us three minutes,” Song reminded them.
Using the ti that Song’s money had bought, they managed to reach the rotting garbage heap just as the red lights began glowing ominously in the sky again.
The three of them collapsed on the trash pile, their chests heaving as they looked back at the scene behind them.
Shuttles descended one by one from the massive aircraft carrier, efficiently beginning the cleanup of the battlefield.
“Well, at least we made it out alive,” Sun Jack muttered, spitting another mouthful of blood onto the ground and gulping down air.
“Look here, folks! This is corporate policy in action!” Song 6PUS announced, whipping out his streaming setup like a war correspondent.
“This... is the corporation?” Sun Jack murmured, his eyes blank as he stared at the distant chaos. He was gaining a new understanding of what the word corporation truly ant in this world.
Whatever had happened in the past, Sun Jack now realized this world was nothing like the one he once knew.
“Jack, your body temperature is rising. You’re severely infected—we need to find a doctor,” Tapai said, attempting to help him over the garbage heap.
Song 6PUS stopped him with a wave. “Bro, it’s over seventy miles to the tropolis. If you try to carry him there, his corpse will be rotting by the ti you arrive. Relax—I’ve already called a dical center. They’re sending a ship over right now.” ??àΝ????Ё??
“Then why didn’t you call them earlier?” Sun Jack asked weakly, his head lolling as his vision darkened.
“What 7 you say? We were fighting back there! Do you think the dical center would take a job in the middle of that chaos? They’re in this for profit, not charity. Nobody’s going to take a loss-saving life.”
“F***.” Hearing this, Sun Jack felt his last shred of hope for this world crumble.
Monts later, a red laser bead down from the sky, carving out a rectangular landing zone in front of them. A white shuttle adorned with a red cross descended from the clouds, landing with precision in the designated area.
The ship’s doors opened, and two doctors in white coats stepped out, flanked by four tall, slender white robots. They swiftly approached the trio.
“Zone secure. Rescue can comnce.” The robots split apart, transforming rapidly into chanical stretchers. Their soft, prosthetic limbs gently but efficiently lifted Song 6PUS and Sun Jack onto the stretchers.
In his dazed state, Sun Jack felt a sharp prick in his forearm.
“User 10314C1 secure. Biological signals connected. Life monitoring panel activated. Adrenaline injected. Dopamine, 70 milligrams; norepinephrine, 110 milligrams; blood fibrinogen, 800...”
The cold, chanical voice continued to report. What should have been the loss of consciousness instead gave way to an unexpected clarity as Sun Jack’s senses slowly returned.
Lying on the operating table, Sun Jack lowered his gaze to his opened abdon. He watched in stunned amazent as crab-like chanical arms worked with precision, cleaning and sterilizing his grueso wounds down to the tiniest crevice.
Once the cleaning was complete, the arms began stitching him back together at an incredible speed. Even the stitches themselves were so fine and seamless they resembled intricate embroidery.
He felt no pain throughout the entire process. It was as though the wounds belonged to soone else entirely.
Sun Jack was once again awed by the technological marvels of this world. Wounds as severe as his were being treated as if they were nothing more than a mild cold.
He had genuinely thought that, after such severe injuries and exposure to the acid rain, he was as good as dead. Yet here he was, recovering with almost insulting ease.
“Pretty impressive, huh? I booked us the premium package.”
Lying on the adjacent stretcher, Song 6PUS puffed on an e-cigarette he had seemingly conjured out of nowhere. The previously caved-in section of his head had sohow been restored to normal.
“Well? Still think I’m useless now?” he quipped, clearly still irked by Sun Jack’s earlier complaints.
“Where are we going now?” Sun Jack asked, glancing around at the stark, white, minimalist interior of the dical shuttle.
Song 6PUS flicked his dreadlocks. “Where else? The tropolis, of course. What, you wanna cross the nuclear blast zone to get to Gomorrah instead?”
Noticing the look on Sun Jack’s face, Song 6PUS gave him a puzzled glance. “Wait... you’re not from around here, are you? So, where are you guys from?”
“No comnt.” Sun Jack dismissed the question flatly. In a world he didn’t understand, lying was too risky.
“Ha! Suit yourself. Doesn’t matter where you’re from—you saved my life. In our line of work, loyalty matters. Once we’re in the tropolis, I’ll throw you a proper welco party.”
With that, Song 6PUS tapped a button on the wall using his e-cigarette. With a soft “whoosh,” the left side of the wall turned transparent.
Outside, it was still raining, but the garbage piles had disappeared. Instead, they were replaced by a sprawling forest of crumbling concrete ruins.
The dim, rain-soaked scenery, rendered in a monotone palette, resembled sothing out of a post-apocalyptic nightmare.
The stark contrast between the desolation outside and the pristine, sterile interior of the floating shuttle was almost jarring.
Sun Jack didn’t need anyone to explain—it was obvious these ruins were remnants of the pre-Cyber Crisis world. They were abandoned, forgotten, much like himself and Tapai.
Now, as they approached their first real encounter with this world, Sun Jack couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease. Gesturing subtly to Tapai, he leaned in close for a whispered conversation.
“Run a search on this tropolis place. Based on our current status as undocunted individuals, is it safe for us to go there?”
Tapai nodded slightly, and a series of ellipses blinked repeatedly on his display as he processed the request.
“tropolis permanent population: 30 million. High daily influx of visitors. Extrely diverse population. Calculations suggest a low probability of drawing significant attention from other factions.”
“Are you sure about that? With the way you look, you’re not worried you’ll stand out?” Sun Jack asked, glancing skeptically at Tapai’s entirely tallic body.
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