Chapter 62: Chapter 61: Subdermal Armor Surgery (Part 2)

“You’ve used implants from different companies, some good, some bad. Long-term use of a specific brand will cause your organs to adapt, and eventually, you’ll only be able to use products from that company.”

“Is there a solution?”

“Just update the organs, oh, there are side effects too. Long-term use of synthetic replacement organs will change the brain’s chemicals.”

“Do you have to f*cking scare me once?”

“If you’re scared, then stay quiet and act like an ordinary person, keep away from the big guys.”

“Then like you, become a dog for the nobles, get locked up in their den, buy drunk and waste time daily, faint at the last second before the night shift station switches, get your mind dazzled in the Super Sensing Chip, reminiscing about dreams and opportunities you brushed past in your youth, regretting not having the courage to pick up the gun that night?”

John vented for a long time.

His words were actually directed at himself, the long-term pressure and awe of modification and upgrades always occupied his heart.

Ryan faced away from the surgery chair, not speaking.

He quietly adjusted the things in his hands—high-precision nano-surgery kit, Gaia Cells antibiotic, vein probe, and other mechanical equipment.

“Hoo—”

John shook his head.

“Sorry, doctor, I wasn’t angry at you.”

“Once you’re done being foul-mouthed, cool down your brain, have you thought it through? Walking down this path is destined not to end well.”

“I just want to live freely…”

Before John finished speaking, dizziness hit, and his consciousness seemed shattered by a heavy blow.

“Good luck.”

Ryan turned around wearing white gloves, pressed confirm on the tablet, and approached to fasten the respirator over his mouth.

John’s mind was filled with many terrifying stories.

He had seen the crime scenes where Ghouls tore hearts and lungs, those surgery tables covered in blood scabs and rust, and the corpses that died with eyes open.

The doctor raised the scalpel.

“Self-inflicted, John, you’ve overdosed on drugs and developed immunity, so you can’t completely fall asleep.”

Ryan bent over and started cutting him.

“Don’t worry, the pain inhibitor has already taken effect, there won’t be any reaction when the knife slices through, it will just be… well, how to say? Horrifying, I can only imagine your situation, as I’ve never experienced it myself.”

Hoo—

John’s eyes were sleepy, his pupils unable to focus.

He could feel the mask misting with his breath, the scene in front of him constantly switching between clear and hazy.

Dazed.

Each time John regained consciousness, he could see the doctor doing different things—lifting blood-soaked metal tools, removing unimplanted prosthetic bodies, pulling out charred synthetic leather from the center of a bullet hole.

He tried to lift his head.

The bags full of liquid turned from clear to crimson.

John felt fear, wanting to close his eyes, but as his consciousness sank into coma, everything around his ears became particularly clear.

He had killed people with a knife.

He could even imagine the feeling of the blade slicing through synthetic leather, followed by endless phantom pain surging in his heart.

In fact, when high-precision surgical tools penetrated skin and other tissues, the friction sound is very small.

Human ears cannot hear it.

Fear can make everything tangible.

When John woke up again, everything changed for him:

He was now face down, buried in a circular hole, staring wistfully at the tiles on the bottom of the operating chair.

A mask misted over was fastened on his face, yet he seemed to smell the pungent odor of disinfectant, the grime in the crevices crawling, clawing, a bizarre moistness enveloping him.

John could intermittently hear Ryan’s voice.

“This is a precise surgery, don’t mind the time.”

“The nerve connections of the skin are very complex, the advanced synthetic leather implant won’t destroy your original looks, definitely not as simple as laying turf.”

“You have so many subcutaneous bleeding points, and the vascular situation is a bit strange.”

“How did Tiebang Logistics perform surgery on you? Your physical signs and data are not quite like the patients I’ve dealt with.”

“Rest assured, I’ll take good care of you.”

…

John felt something gently brushing against his spine, his skin sensitivity completely disrupted:

The intertwining of coolness and heat made him feel like he couldn’t sense anything, yet also made him overly sensitive, as if even the light shining on his back had temperature and weight.

John woke up countless times.

He was already lying on a clean bed.

Woosh woosh woosh—

He was drawn to the sound of water and turned his head to see:

Ryan holding a bottle, grasping a metal hose with one hand while rinsing a blood-stained surgery chair.

John shifted his gaze and saw his own naked body.

Symmetrical seams ran along the ribs, thighs, arms, and chest—those were the aesthetic enhancements of synthetic leather stitching, allowing the internal prosthetic body to dissipate heat, and during repair and maintenance, they had to be torn open at those corresponding places.

He still had an IV drip connected to him.

The screen nearby was filled with unreadable data.

“Yo, you’re awake, how do you feel?”

“F*ck! I’ve never been through something so terrifying in my life.”

“That means you haven’t tried the Ghoul’s Super Sensing Chip, immersive experience of various brutal killings, quite… never mind, don’t puke on my computer!”

Nerve recovery takes a bit of time.

Ryan had prepared the necessary medication for him to adapt to the phantom pain and sensory correction caused by large-scale transplants.

Then he pushed over a bill.

“Hiss!”

John frowned deeply, emptying all the commission money in his account, leaving only a little for daily expenses.

“F*cking hell, running a clinic makes more than doing jobs.”

“Who calculates like that, look at the list of prosthetics on you, the Ghoul will sniff you out in no time.”

Ryan nodded with satisfaction.

“Guys like you, a random shootout or bomb in the street and you’re gone, is saving money really meaningful? Numbers in an account aren’t as reliable as prosthetics on your body.”

John didn’t comment.

“Laid-back life is no longer your concern.”

The doctor’s eyelids drooped, his eyes filled with complexity.

“Subdermal armor also wears out. Your prosthetics need regular maintenance and the costs for repair and replacement are sky-high. Legit business can’t sustain you, you have to keep moving forward until the day you die.”

Ryan handed John a chip full of vital sign data, prosthetic maintenance instructions, and drug recommendations.

The doctor pressed the bag onto John’s chest.

“Take your pick.”

He turned around to continue sterilizing the operating room.

John wanted to explain: “Hey, what I said before was just nonsense, no need to take it…”

Ryan didn’t turn his head, just flipped him the finger.

[Eden City – East District Commercial Street]

John had just got dressed and walked out of the clinic when he saw Talia among the crowd.

“What are you… wait, is that stuff drugs?”

“A new inhalable model, give it a try, it enhances your reflexes.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be waiting here.”

Talia stood up and pulled out her revolver from her back waist, handing it over. “This job was a flop for me, I underestimated those bastards.”

“If I really croaked, wouldn’t you feel guilty for life?”

John crossed his arms, trying to chuckle.

Mercenaries are destined to live with life and death, there’s really no one to blame.

Talia pursed her lips and nodded seriously.

“Then I’ll get you tattooed on my ass.”

“…”

“My chest is already taken, arms could work too, but synthetic leather tends to wear out easily. You know, I always can’t help but get into fights.”

Talia was explaining seriously.

John said nothing, taking the gun without a second thought.

[Weapon: Vodka [Technique Revolver]]

[Module: Advanced Armor-Piercing, Electromagnetic Bomb]

“Can you take care of it? I spent half a year modding it, it’s way better than that pea-shooter silencer you have.”

“Shut up, will you.”

[Mission: Crispy Outside, Tender Inside (Completed)]

[Reward: Commission, Subdermal Armor [Plato UFP], Vodka [Technique Revolver]]

John carried his coat to the street.

After settling the mission, his cash was even less than before he took the job, given he also had to cover a rescue and a whole set of prosthetic implants.

Talia did give him a little surprise.

The revolver was indeed pretty nice.

The Eisenberg Silver Rider slowly stopped in front of John at this moment.

His expression shifted repeatedly, widening his eyes as he looked at the dented headlight and slightly deformed hood.

[Unread Message [Talia]]

[You must have seen it, right? Don’t freak out, buddy, drove a bit rough to save you in time. Don’t tell Nando, thanks, that revolver is something money can’t buy, you really scored big. If you’re still upset, I’ll take you to Sakura Cross Street next time for some fun, or provide you free drugs, guaranteed to blow your mind…]

John frowned as he took his jacket off his shoulder.

He tried to spot Talia in the crowd, twisting the jacket around his fist over and over again.

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