Cyberpunk Buzz at the Hospital Gates - What the Hell's Going On?
The dungeon entrance, always teeming with people. Even at night, it was packed with explorers. An utterly ordinary day in the usual hustle. But that day was a little different.
Vroooom!! "Get out of the way! It's D4C!! Everyone fall back!!"
A flying vehicle landed at the dungeon entrance, and operatives poured out. Clad head to toe in ultra-heavy ballistic visors and NIJ Level 5 body armor, they immediately went into full alert mode the moment they disembarked. Their menacing presence scanned the surroundings. The vehicle projected a no-entry line with a beam projector, and they aimed taser cannons at anyone who might cross it, ready to neutralize without hesitation.
Their arms and the vehicle bore a red cross logo, with white letters inside reading:
D4C
Dangerous & Difficult & Dirty Deeds For Cost
No matter how dangerous, difficult, or dirty—as long as the price is right, we'll do it. The motto captured their bold promise. It sounded like some shady outfit handling illegal jobs, but astonishingly, D4C was a medical company. When a customer's life was in peril, their info auto-relayed, and they guaranteed arrival within three minutes of the call—or 10% refund per extra minute. For most explorers, who lived day-to-day flirting with death, it was a service they'd never see in a lifetime.
"Never thought I'd live to see D4C show up at a dungeon entrance."
One explorer muttered, and the others nearby nodded in agreement.
"Some top-tier explorer on the brink of death or what?"
The explorers tossed out guesses while gawking at D4C. Even with vehicles blatantly parked at the entrance, blocking everyone from entering the dungeon, no one dared complain. D4C was fanatically loyal to clients but merciless to anyone interfering with a rescue. Once, terrorists pinned down by the Horde got backed by D4C because they were clients—leading to both units wiping each other out in an absurd clash. Their firepower was that formidable.
Receiving the info from the netwalker, the operatives rushed to prep a makeshift OR inside the escort vehicle parked at the entrance. Soon, a group emerged from the entrance.
"Help!! Please, help!!"
Leading a five-man party, Amon waved his phone frantically. The relatively unscathed Amon was carrying the yellow-haired Even on his back, while Tori—blind but with intact arms and her steel fists—was supporting the mage Paul. The blue-haired Hail, minus both arms, waddled behind them like a duck.
The D4C team cross-checked the phone's location, confirmed the clients, and charged out.
"Rescue team! We have visual on four in need of extraction!"
Urgent yet polite, they took over the wounded. First, they handed off mage Paul and yellow-haired Even.
"Abdominal trauma confirmed! Report vitals!"
"Pulse at 25!! AA and Perfo present!"
"Straight to surgery!"
"This one's speedware shorting out!"
"Blocking and re-link incoming!"
After handing over the two, they quickly started treating the less critical Tori and Hail too. The moment Amon passed off all four, he dropped to his knees and dry-heaved.
"Urrghk!!"
Sprinting to the mid-boss room, diving straight into combat, then piggybacking an adult right out after the fight ended—his heart was screaming for mercy, cursing him out.
"Cough! Urrghk!! Hack!!"
Clang, roll...
While Amon heaved, barely conscious, the gear he'd carried—his and his party's—tumbled off. Expensive swords, daggers, shotguns, grenades, and more. Mercs' eyes lit up with greed at the loot spilling from Amon. Most held back, but a few couldn't resist.
No one'll notice anyway.
Seizing the chaos, one reached for the gear. That's when it happened.
"Keep your filthy hands off, you piece of shit!"
The operative who'd been polite to the party a second ago flipped, aiming between the merc's eyes.
"Eek!"
The merc paled and vanished into the crowd. The operative nodded, and the team swiftly collected the scattered gear, packing it neatly into cases. Rescuing client assets was standard "service"—but not purely out of love. It doubled as collateral seizure if payment failed. In other words, potential future assets for them, hence the diligence.
While extracting the four, the squad leader approached Amon, rubbing his hands obsequiously.
"Sir, how would you like to handle payment?"
No issue if broke—they'd rip out implants. If still short... organs maybe. Hence D4C's other moniker: legal scavengers. Luckily, Amon had the cash to meet real paramedics, not scavs.
"10K dollars for four, right?"
"Yes. Installments available."
"Cash it is."
Amon's hand trembled handing over the phone. He had money, sure, but 10K wasn't pocket change.
Life can't be measured in dollars.
Worth every cent, he thought, boldly opening the payment app. The leader scanned the code with his eyes, completing the transaction in seconds.
Amount: $100,000
Transaction ID: D4C-XXXX-35
Status: SUCCESS
"Payment confirmed, sir. We'll save your people no matter what."
The leader then recited the terms verbally: arrival in 2:28—no refund; 30% back per patient death; hospitalization extra, etc. Amon memorized it all in this cutthroat world where eyes wide open meant getting fleeced.
Terms done, the leader eyed Amon's state and offered regen ointment and a water bottle. Amon recoiled, refusing.
"I'm fine—focus on my teammates."
No extra charges, thanks. The leader grinned knowingly.
"Water and basic ointment are free for guardians. Need sugar? We got glucose candies. Free too."
Amon reluctantly rinsed his mouth with the water. Regaining his wits, the leader invited him aboard.
"Guardian ride-along is standard."
Confirmed free, Amon boarded the escort with the less critical pair. The critical duo's vehicle had already lifted off. Doors sealed, and they floated up.
Cash upfront has its perks.
Courtesy flowed once solvency was proven. This money-worshipping world. But Amon wasn't thrilled. As the vehicle rocked gently, the leader shoved a tablet at him.
"Sir..."
"What is it?"
"Records show you're on our premium package. It covers guardian dispatch and hospital discounts too."
"Oh, right."
Amon recalled the compatible policy. In a world where stray bullets were daily, D4C membership was common sense for the wealthy. He'd signed up premium with Sonia first thing.
"Apply the discount then."
"Got it. And since this is your first service..."
The leader tapped the tablet, showing a new screen cautiously.
"You reported via phone, but our stats show 24/7 monitoring implant users have 20% lower mortality..."
"No implant for me."
"For cyberware-averse folks, we offer magic tattoos too."
"No, really, I'm good."
Not about cyber or ink. D4C was a megacorp at heart. 24/7 meant harvesting privacy, biometrics, mana data—Amon passed.
"Smartwatch then..."
"I'm fine."
The leader persisted with pitches. Patients dying beside him, yet hawking upgrades.
Goddamn cyberpunk.
He got it—leader was just a cog chasing quotas. Still, the misanthropy welled up. They hit the hospital in three minutes. All talk en route: products only. No "patients'll be fine" or "you okay?"—just transactional. No regard for life itself. Revulsion surged at these callous paramedics. No smug money superiority, just suffocating sterility.
Yet amid it, Amon held his faith.
"Thank you."
A rare courtesy here. Paid service or not, they were saviors.
Amon bowed to the team.
"You saved them."
They froze. Visors hid faces, but the visorless leader stared, then bit his lip. He killed his chest cam and spoke.
"Your people will pull through."
"Thank you again."
Amon bowed once more and headed inside.