"Four months."
Bismarck raised the corresponding fingers.
"I know what you're worried about. Sora completely disappeared, and the day the surgery was completed, the server storing its core algorithms was destroyed. The Vacuum Tube did it—nothing remained, just like the other equipnt, cleaned thoroughly, leaving only an unconscious you lying in the hospital bed waiting to awaken."
John didn't look at Bismarck but stared outside the window.
The entire room was hemispherical,
divided by the ceiling's central axis. The side facing the sunrise was transparent glass, showing the scratches left by the wasteland's wind and sand.
Only white buildings, walls, and the gray sky just past noon.
High-rise buildings, glass curtain walls were invisible.
Gunshots, sirens, ad noise were inaudible.
"Then why are you here?"
John turned around and asked.
Bismarck was silent for a mont, then laughed self-effacingly.
"Heh... before being notified to sign, I couldn't imagine any technology that would make project managers voluntarily keep secrets. Ha~ who would have thought, immortality... John, can you understand?"
He changed his posture, leaned closer to the hospital bed, trying to find resonance in John's eyes, but only found indifference and calm.
"Ha! I'm not curious about who you are, why you could have the surgery, nor do I want to question who those guys are—don't care, I don't care at all..."
"Then what do you care about?"
"I don't know, this is what I've been thinking about for the past four months."
Money, status, power.
What the corporate dogs strive for with all their might beca aningless the mont they walked into the Neural Ark operating room.
Immortality exists in the world.
And it's a mature technology.
Human society's internal power struggles are now declared over; it only needed to settle the current rankings, draw a line sowhere in the pyramid—above which, forming a completely different group.
"If you can have the surgery, it'll an others can too."
Bismarck tugged at his suit, emitting a rancid stench. "The finish line is already crowded. Is there any point in climbing higher?"
John didn't respond.
He didn't even ponder Bismarck's words thoroughly.
The silence persisted until the door opened.
A Source Formula nurse ca in to conduct a check-up.
A simple blood pressure, heart rate, along with complex prosthetic equipnt tuning, neural interface work.
People ca in groups and left in dribs and drabs until the afternoon sun veered west, leaving only Bismarck and John in the room again.
John pulled off the blanket, got out of bed, and gestured to him.
"Either hop up, hook yourself to a tube, and lie down for a bit. Seriously, you look about to croak."
"..."
Bismarck fell into silence.
He returned to his state of watching over the bed.
But John knew he wasn't watching him, just hadn't figured it out yet.
"I don't have any advice to give to soone like you, an upper-class figure—seriously, go take a shower, refresh yourself, eat sothing that suits your status, high-end stuff, then find a hovercar, drink sothing whose single bottle's worth a life."
Bismarck raised his eyelids, watching as John dressed at the bedside.
The items were brought in by a nurse.
Hydrophobic sports shirt, cargo pants, military boots.
As well as the hefty, cleaned and stitched work jacket, with cooling magnetic tabs inside having been treated by Vacuum Tube.
John noticed it all but said nothing.
Bismarck shook his head, his throat hoarse as if clogged with coffee grounds.
"You don't understand, John, you flat-out don't get it."
"That's why I died once and ca back to life, feeling only lucky, while you? You're about to put a bullet in your own head—that's the difference."
John stopped at the door without turning back.
"Living is good enough, Bismarck, in this city, waking up alive... is already luckier than many others... Sentintal idiot!"
Closing the door.
John handles his discharge according to the procedure left by the nurse.
He walks along the Source Formula's corridor, flipping through the contacts; all empty—his electronic bank account is also zero.
This brand new body has a completely different set of biological information.
Though it looks the sa, from an informational standpoint, it's a different person.
[Prosthetic eye: ssiah-dusa V]
John's pupils shrink, summoning prosthetic body information within his vision.
He raised his arm.
[Palm: Kingston-Radium Point Grip I3]
The striking countdown on his wrist has disappeared.
[Upper limb: Alloy Skeleton-Igdrasir]
The character silhouette in the vision shows one arm as gray.
Due to having only one Igdrasir—the other was originally a [Glider], although sustained damage while being pursued by Net Surveillance, along with minor bends in the Mantis Blade.
Vacuum Tube transplanted an entirely new set during surgery.
The brand plumbs the sa.
Checking the serial number will reveal it's a new item.
John stands at the elevator door, flicks out the Mantis Blade, its edge new and gleaming, even discernible are the maintenance oil spots at the connection.
Vacuum Tube transplanted all his original prosthetic body parts.
Not only did they replicate cooling slit positions, but even the under-skin armor used John's previous brand—Plato's latest model, which is scarce in the market, but for VT, it's not a difficult thing.
Ping—
The elevator arrived.
John walked into the empty cab, scanned through the last two pieces of information.
[Spine: Sianweistan T17 [Prototype]]
[Feet: Silencer [Raqi Industry]]
There was a mirror in the elevator.
John was forced to "face off" with himself.
Short brown hair, high nose bridge, slightly sharp eyebrows, the unique coldness of rcenaries hidden deep in the prosthetic eyes, also exuding a trace of resoluteness, not easy to provoke.
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