The commercial atmosphere on the streets of the East District is very strong, without much impact, as if the gang warfare sweeping through Eden City and the torrential rain affecting people's commutes make no difference.

Corporate lackeys take taxis and subways to the bar entrance, jogging to gather together, and the flamboyantly dressed men and women start pondering where to spend the night.

John withdraws his gaze, goes to the back row, takes out a rifle named Nova from his gear bag for self-defense, and then walks down the graffiti-covered concrete passage into the underground.

[Eden City - East District Underground Clinic]

Two bottles of alcohol are placed on the metal tabletop.

The glass surface condenses with accumulated water, and there are ice cubes yet to melt in the whisky glass.

Ryan brings the clinking liquid to his throat, pursing his lips as if savoring or perhaps enduring, finally exhaling with the strong scent of alcohol.

"You know, John, this city has seen countless lunatics, and they have one thing in common with you. Before they go bust, they always drag something along, simply put, they cause trouble everywhere."

"...Doctor, I got dragged into it."

"Wow, really? You don't seem like a victim. The Owl Town gang really lacks brains, just sending a few foot soldiers. If you ask me, it's a waste of those cars."

Ryan stands in front of the moving screen, frowning at the data, retorting to John while rubbing his head with a water-damp palm, as if it could cool his bald scalp.

John lies on the examination bed, wanting to say something, looks up to see the scanner moving to his chest, then lies back down again.

The arc-shaped metal sweeps across his face, stopping at the prosthetic eye, projecting blue light.

John is connected via data cable, allowing Black Light to directly access the clinic's system to check body data, but he lacks the knowledge to analyze and make a diagnosis.

Ryan's expression is somewhat grave, evidently, the screen shows something that isn't good news.

He exhales lightly, raises the glass.

"Alright, congratulations, you big f*cker."

Ryan rubs his forehead and turns the screen around.

"Your reckless pursuit of death finally paid off, look at this area..."

"F*ck, what is this, noodle sauce?"

John squints his eyes, slightly disgusted, grinning.

The doctor raises his glass and says coldly.

"This is your frontal lobe. Even if you don't know medicine, just seeing this patch of red tells you your brain's messed up, right?"

"Most of the time, they are white, I saw them all over the ground on the way here."

John even has a mind to joke, as if it's not his diagnosis report.

He stands up, shakes his coat, and puts it back on.

The doctor then sits in the wheeled chair.

"You've already prepared yourself mentally?"

"..."

John turns his back to Ryan, raises his hand to adjust his coat, and sighs helplessly.

"I'm almost used to it, just tell me directly."

"The brain is severely stimulated, although you have adapted well to modifications and promptly implanted the Graphene Chip, the damage before that is irreparable, within at most half a year you'll become a vegetable or demented."

The doctor says this while shaking his head bitterly.

"Ah, sorry, I'm not gloating. In the past when I pronounced a death sentence to other patients, they would mostly... well, you know, get quite emotional, sometimes I had to give them a sedative shot first."

"I'm quite nervous too, doctor."

John pulls over a metal stool, flips it, resting the weight of his upper body on the back.

"Not caring about life and death is impossible, it even feels like life's been raping me. I've struggled for so long, been through such big troubles, barely extending my life by half a year."

He says as he reaches out for a drink.

Ryan touches his plump belly, originally wanting to say—if you're going to die, don't waste things—but ultimately smacks his lips and swallows his depressing words back.

"So what do you think?"

"Ha, I'm quite steady mentally, used to the days with guns to my head. A sense of urgency isn't bad, it keeps me moving. Recently wandering around the city, always feels like life's being wasted."

"Not necessarily wasting, certainly driving a lot of people crazy."

Ryan casually taps on the keyboard, seeing John is emotionally stable, points at the data to analyze for him.

"This body of yours was soaked in a sealed jar initially, I've seen similar things, most likely experimental products used for testing by certain organizations..."

That explains why John's adaptation to prosthetic body modifications is very fast, possibly due to long-term cultivation in resisting rejection.

The problem exposed this time is John's extremely low resistance to hallucinogenic drugs.

"This issue is challenging to discover through medical diagnosis, also it's only after you actually encountered it in combat that I paid attention... To put it simply, this body hasn't been through much chemical hallucinogen devastation, the nerves are like a virgin, sensitive, slightly teased by drugs, and you indulge in fantasies, unable to stop..."

John listens attentively.

Low resistance to hallucinogenic drugs counts as a minor flaw, not too fatal currently, can gradually desensitize over time and exposure, also can be avoided through biotechnological products, like the special candies Oulos shared when dining at a restaurant.

"Mm-hmm, not a wasted trip, at least understand my body."

John appears calm, drinking Ryan's alcohol without courtesy. With a large-scale curfew in Eden City now, he plans to stay in the clinic until dawn.

Drone delivery services are still operating as usual.

John ordered some fried foods and pizza from a chain store, locked the clinic door with Ryan Randall, quietly watching old films—it's a doctor's hobby, he even spared a wall for the collection, two rows of pre-destroyed Hollywood Blu-ray originals, preserved in dustproof cases, read via an old player.

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