NABC Chapter 22 Medicine King
Chapter 22 Medicine King
On the dock by the swamp, there was a small submarine with an extremely perfunctory design.
The welds were so rough they were appalling, and in some places you could even see obvious patch marks, clearly indicating that this thing had been leaked more than once.
"Please...please come in."
The surgeon, covering his still swollen cheek, gestured for him to proceed.
Andy looked at the narrow hatch, then at his bulky hazmat suit, and wondered if he would get stuck.
He first told the unfortunate surgeon to leave, then he turned sideways and squeezed himself in like a sausage.
The cabin was extremely cramped; when two people sat facing each other, their knees were almost touching.
With a loud bang, the hatch closed.
With a sickening metallic scraping sound, the submarine began to vibrate and slowly sank into the dark green acid.
Andy looked out through the small observation window.
Outside, everything was a murky green, with extremely low visibility.
Occasionally, you can see huge shadows gliding past the window; they are probably mutated water monsters living in acidic liquid.
Dr. Birdbeak's decision to build its headquarters underwater was indeed a brilliant move.
This acidic swamp is a natural moat, with a pH level so low that it can dissolve the bottom of ordinary metal ships.
Unless it has a high-tech coating like Andy's, or uses a special anti-corrosion alloy like this submarine, no one can get close.
Moreover, this is also an excellent place to destroy evidence.
The mutants that failed in the experiment can be thrown directly into the water. There's no need to worry about the corpses rotting; they'll be completely digested by the acid and the water monster in no time.
"A bottom-nest-style environmentalism," Andy muttered. "Okay, that's Warhammer."
It dived for about ten minutes.
The submarine jolted violently, as if it had struck something soft.
"arrive."
The surgeon gave a speech and reached out to turn the handle of the hatch.
The hatch opened, and Andy crawled out.
Before us was a huge underground cavity.
Judging from the structure, this may have originally been a giant natural gas storage tank, which sank underground due to crustal movement and got stuck in the rock strata at the bottom of the swamp.
This place has undergone a thorough renovation, with white tiles covering all four walls. Although some parts have turned yellow and peeled off, compared to the dirty and chaotic environment above, this place is simply paradise.
There was a faint smell of disinfectant in the air, while the pungent smell of sulfur compounds was blocked by the powerful air filtration system.
Several people wearing white coats but no masks were busy moving boxes.
When they saw the surgeon bring in an unfamiliar man in a yellow coat, they didn't show any surprise; they simply lowered their heads and continued working.
The atmosphere here doesn't feel like a gang's hideout; it's more like a legitimate underground clinic.
"The boss is waiting for you inside."
The surgeon pointed to a double wooden door at the end of the corridor.
Andy didn't stand on ceremony and went straight in.
The room was large, and surprisingly, the decor was... cozy?
The floor was covered with a thick carpet, and several landscape paintings, some real and some fake, hung on the walls. There was even an old-fashioned gramophone playing classical music in the corner.
Behind that huge solid wood desk sat a middle-aged man.
He was wearing a very clean white lab coat, over which were a fine shirt and vest.
There was no bird-beak mask, and no prosthetic modifications.
The man had the face of a businessman, with well-maintained skin, and wore holographic glasses, giving him a refined and cultured appearance.
The man's name was Sisyphus, the boss of the bird-beaked doctors.
When he saw Andy come in, Sisyphus put down his pen and did not touch the alarm under the table or call the bodyguard.
Instead, he stood up, a professional smile on his face.
"You all get out."
Sisyphus waved to the surgeon standing at the door.
"Close the door."
The surgeon was taken aback for a moment, but didn't dare to ask any more questions. He obediently withdrew and closed the door.
Only Andy and Sisyphus remained in the room.
Andy slammed the heavy logging gun onto the desk.
"Thump!"
The solid wood tabletop shook, leaving several deep marks.
Sisyphus didn't even raise an eyebrow, and even had the leisure to pour Andy a steaming cup of tea.
"This is black tea transported from Shangchao. Although it's aged tea, it's still quite rare."
Sisyphus pushed the teacup toward Andy, speaking in a gentle tone as if he were entertaining an old friend.
"Friend, please sit down, don't be shy."
Andy didn't sit down, but silently started a tactical analysis.
Threat Level: Extremely Low.
No implanted weapons or psionic reactions were detected.
Hmm... that's very strange.
A gang leader who controls the entire underground drug market is actually an ordinary person who can't even kill a chicken?
Moreover, he wasn't afraid at all of Andy, the ruthless man who had just killed dozens of his men.
"Aren't you going to call for help?"
Andy's synthesized voice broke the silence.
"Who are you calling? Those flesh puppets?"
Sisyphus pushed up his glasses and gave a cold laugh.
"Even my ace was easily defeated by you. Calling in more people would just be providing you with targets; it's pointless."
"Besides, why should I call for help?"
Sisyphus leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed in front of his chest.
"You killed Bloodfang and helped me get rid of a disobedient supplier."
"You crippled my squad and helped me weed out some good-for-nothings who were just coasting along."
"Most importantly, you brought me something I've always dreamed of."
Sisyphus pointed to the spot on Andy's waist; although there was a hazmat suit between them, he seemed to be able to see through it.
"The new antibiotic formula also includes a complete industrial production process."
Andy's electronic eyes narrowed slightly.
This guy is surprisingly a sensible person.
In a place like Dichao, where human life is as cheap as grass, the life or death of a few thugs is nothing.
Even if a hundred die, as long as Sisyphus still has medicine and money, he can recruit two hundred new outlaws the next day.
But technology is a scarce resource, especially technology that can bring huge profits.
Sisyphus is a pure capitalist. In his eyes, the value of a tech genius like Andy far exceeds that of the bunch of cannon fodder who died.
Andy pulled over a chair and sat down.
"Tell me about your business acumen."
Andy placed his hand on the table and tapped it.
Sisyphus didn't beat around the bush; he stood up and walked to a map on the wall.
That's a map showing the distribution of power in the entire bottom nest.
Five years ago, the area around Acid Lake was full of unlicensed clinics.
Sisyphus pointed to the dense clusters of tiny black dots on the map.
"Every neighborhood has those quack doctors who use rusty knives to amputate limbs and sell fake medicine that will kill you if you drink it."
"The market is extremely chaotic, prices are entirely dictated by mood, and the medical malpractice rate is 99%."