[Eden City - Safikar Rescue Center]

The emergency response team has contracts with 90% of the private medical institutions in Eden City.

They rescue clients amidst the hail of bullets through hovercars and combat teams, then transport them to different places for treatment based on their membership level.

Safikar Rescue Center is of high grade, platinum level three, but it's the furthest from the city center, located at the bifurcation of the ring road, right next to Eden City's largest wind turbine group and photovoltaic power plant.

On days with high visibility, the Border Wall can even be seen.

Yellow sand blows over drought-resistant plants and cement buildings, eroding the steel dome with flashing signal lights, intermittently covering the yellow landmark line.

Buzz—

Silver Rider 577 roared past, speeding along the winding ring road.

There are armed soldiers guarding the automobile barrier of the medical center, a six-shift system, paired with stationary gun turrets and electronic disruptors.

The walls are white and gray.

Inside are high-density armor plates, and at every corner, drone interception launchers.

The investors are very concerned about the safety of their clients.

John parked his supercar in a roadside parking space, glancing around, mostly seeing block-shaped nanny cars or six-wheeled Doug Louis vehicles.

This indicates a high proportion of business professionals among the clientele.

Mr. Vito helped John register his visitor information.

John barely closed the car door when a round shuttle bus stopped in front of him.

A female receptionist in a Safikar uniform appeared holding a tablet, teaching him how to use the membership functions.

John could tell that the main hope was for him to purchase the emergency response team's services and link up with the medical institution.

"Come on, I think this place is no better than an underground clinic, looks creepy."

He looked around through the bulletproof glass.

Safikar was filled with magnetic levitation tracks, the shuttle buses speeding along the dark gray roads.

The parking lot detoured around several buildings toward the inpatient ward, with an array of directional signs, the holographic projection markers labeling the expensive medical services.

This design seems intended to leave a good impression on visitors.

[We welcome new clients to provide feedback. You seem dissatisfied, can you describe the specific parts?]

The receptionist was very patient.

Her features were exquisite yet unremarkable, like mass-produced industrial faceplates.

John noticed a behavior chip inserted behind her ear, flashing every few seconds, sleeveless pencil skirt revealing two work prosthetic limbs with maintenance numbers.

"Forget it, I'm not interested in filling out forms."

John replied offhandedly, resting his chin in his palm.

At Tiebang Logistics, he had come across the "Opinion Processing Center."

Customer-raised issues would lead to deductions from employee salaries and awards by the performance department, but the company's rectification needs were always meaningless.

[You just mentioned the underground clinics. Would you be willing to provide specific addresses to help us compare services...]

"F*ck, even Shark Coin can tell you're trying to suppress competition, no need for that. People spending money there aren't from the same world as you."

John showed a disgusted expression.

If a customer did provide an address, indicating a medical institution was better than Safikar, they would definitely take commercial actions.

[We offer cash rewards for high-quality feedback, along with corresponding privacy protection. This message has been set as an anonymous comment.]

The receptionist was surprisingly patient.

[Or could you provide suggestions to help us understand where we fall short of the underground clinics? Safikar has the world's top medical technology, including automatic graphene chip implantation, totaling twelve of Eden City's highest life project laboratories...]

"Wow, wow, hold it right there, I don't get it at all, better save it for a rich braggart."

John waved dismissively.

Unfortunately, he didn't know Angelica's room number; otherwise, he would've preferred to walk over.

The receptionist remained eager.

"...Are you a show host or a talk show guest? Lose money if you don't find a topic?"

John was somewhat speechless from annoyance.

"If I had to say, the rules at the underground clinics are clear, how much money, how much work, if you're being ripped off, it just depends on the toughness of your fists; no one has anything to say. But your high-class prison here devours people without leaving bones..."

The shuttle bus finally stopped.

John pushed the door open and left, walking straight through the regional check point without looking back.

[Visitor identity verification, Safikar Rescue Center welcomes you.]

[Prosthetic program lock: Default/Agree]

The hospital's policy of not allowing weapons is also normal.

John placed his duffel bag on the storage counter at the entrance, while his Sinan Westin and Mantis Blade were locked by the corridor-installed programs.

Of course, for him, this was all pointless, like a fight in the ring—when encountering an unsolvable situation, he could just let Black Light remove the weapon restrictions.

After handling all of this,

John finally reached Angelica's ward.

It would be more accurate to call it a detached villa.

Compared to his cramped single apartment, this place was luxurious like a rock star's silver party castle, just missing a swimming pool and flashy lighting design, but similar in land area.

"Sir, this way please."

The receptionist awaited silently in John's path.

"F*ck, that's damn creepy. Are you the same person, or a batch cosmetic surgery mold?"

The receptionist didn't answer him, smiling as if she had finally learned the value of silence.

Electronic water sounds played in the courtyard, the stream weak, the air purifier working around the clock. According to the earlier introduction, it uses holographic projection to create a cozy atmosphere at nightfall.

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