Chapter 407 - 379 Little Bread

Gunfights happen every day in Night City, death is all too common.

No one sheds a tear for a man who’s suddenly shot dead or run over by a car as he’s walking down the street—

If you don’t know the dead person, then he’s just another corpse, which is frightening, but not unusual in Night City.

The trauma team was created precisely for such scenarios, in essence, they are a medical behemoth offering emergency services, unlike their peers who only provide medical services.

Clearly, medical aid in Night City is not just about patient care; it could often be equated with battlefield triage.

For them, the customer is God, uniformity in the smart weaponry they carry reduces the need for combat skills in their medics, but it also significantly strips field agents of their ability to make situational decisions.

David drove the car, his head buzzing—not from an explosion, but because he had just heard Kaneke’s story from Lille.

What’s this about?

He suddenly recalled something he had learned in school:

"Company employees should embrace the company’s philosophy, absorb its culture, implement its spirit, and make some small sacrifices to ensure the company’s profitability."

He had not understood what these "small sacrifices" entailed, only that he instinctively felt this kind of life suffocating.

But now, it seemed that these small sacrifices were only minor for the company; for the employees, they could mean everything.

Everyone says corporate dogs have a bright future, that although the work is exhausting, it’s stable, pays well, and comes with many unseen benefits.

But now, he realized that leaving was absolutely the right decision—

Only a fool would do such a job.

Clutching the steering wheel, David chewed on the stories of the two trauma team members.

"...so if an employer shoots at a rescue worker, they can’t even shoot back at the employer?"

Lille nodded, "That’s one of the worst-case scenarios for trauma teams, trying to save a cyberpsychotic can tie their hands and lead to significant unforeseen losses."

The working environment for the trauma team was far more horrific than David had imagined.

Saving a cyberpsychotic was the worst-case scenario, and a long time ago, especially during the corporate wars, two trauma teams might respond to the same area, with the possible targets even being each other’s enemies!

In such cases, rescues could become incredibly difficult: shooting could risk hitting another employer; not shooting was also disadvantageous for the employer.

Some employers, to avoid ending up needing emergency care themselves, would trigger their alarm devices before the gunfire even started, calling for "fire support."

As a leader in battlefield emergency services, not harming an employer is an iron rule for them, and the task of saving an employer can become extremely complex for various reasons.

By comparison, blowing up a gang’s armaments before a rescue was almost refreshing and even stress-relieving.

Also due to these unpredictable incidents, membership in the trauma team, especially platinum membership, has evolved into a form of medical insurance, with excessive paperwork and increased package costs for those at high risk of rescue.

These were all things David was unaware of because his superior upbringing had only allowed him to see the outstanding rescue services provided by the company.

Their distinctive service quality and offerings had almost no competition in the emergency medical sector, which usually means job stability and good employee benefits—

These were his previous assumptions.

But ever since he picked up a gun, his understanding was gradually changing; although being a mercenary had low social recognition, it certainly offered freedom, and following his boss even made him quite a bit of money.

Clack clack—

The car stopped at a red light, making a noise like it was about to stall, shaking like someone with Parkinson’s.

"Uh..." David awkwardly reached under the steering wheel to see if the car’s usual problem had popped up again.

This was a who-knows-how-many-owners Villefort Columbus Freight, with black paint, a twisted metal body, and a hanging bumper.

It was originally the cheapest truck off the Villefort assembly line, and the one David bought was even cheaper than usual.

It certainly had a history of death, and not just one round of it, at that.

Now, David felt like he was suddenly back to his first time driving a manual transmission, his eyes on the red light, nervously fixing the car—

But his nervousness was not because he feared a slow start or a stall but because the car was so broken, he wondered how Lille would react...

However, in reality, Lille was unperturbed. His car wasn’t fast, but then again, their target was slow too.

Kaneke had turned off the main power and main energy supply lines to maintain the stealth of the Floating Car, using backup lines which weren’t very fast and made less noise.

At the moment, no one on the road was paying attention to this maniac; coupled with Lille’s undercover assistance, it would probably take a while for the trauma team to realize their Floating Car had been taken.

On the other hand, Lille wasn’t planning to rely on David solo to pull this off; they would have to wait for more people to arrive.

The membership regulations for trauma teams had undergone some small changes, as mentioned earlier.

Now, trauma teams are divided into three packages: Silver Membership, Gold Membership, and Platinum Membership.

Only the most expensive Platinum Membership includes the highest level of service, with a fee of 50,000 euros per year, and that only covers the dispatch of emergency services—all additional costs incurred during the rescue are extra.

Even so, they wouldn’t readily open up Platinum Membership for purchase by high-risk individuals—

Take Kaneke’s target for revenge, Woolly Crowley, a local mercenary born in Night City, covered in combat prosthetics, spending at least seventy hours a week in danger.

Unlike corporate drones, his job was to be amidst danger, and members like him required the trauma team to conduct certain evaluations.

Yet Woolly Crowley did manage to buy it; setting aside how he passed the approval process, even the hefty 50,000 euro membership fee wasn’t cheap, not to mention the costs incurred during rescues...

He could actually afford it, which was unusual.

Covered in combat prosthetics that could wipe out a whole trauma team of rescuers, and he could still afford a Platinum Membership with the trauma team...

Clearly, his employer was really wealthy and willing to spend big on him.

Click-click-click-click-click-click—

The green light turned on, the engine roared like a tractor, and the honking from the cars behind made David quite nervous:

He couldn’t stall the car this time.

The car started smoothly, but was immediately overtaken by a sports car from behind.

David wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling as if an entire century had passed, he heaved a sigh of relief after getting off to a smooth start.

Lille looked at him oddly, "Why do you seem so stressed?"

"Uh... yeah, a little," David scratched his face," this car is kind of old..."

"But it’s indeed suitable for a novice mercenary, how much did you pay for it?"

"1,000 euros." David looked at the steering wheel in his hands, "The car has a few issues, I thought of fixing it up myself after buying it to get familiar with the mechanical structure of the car."

To match with the trail of Si Anweisitan, David had expensive prosthetics installed on his body, carefully chosen, leaving him not much money to buy a car.

Man and the others did share a Mackinaw, but after all, it was a team asset, usually parked at Man’s place.

"That’s good," Lille glanced at the young man and patted the car door, "The first car I sat in was even crappier than this one, a Mehe Supulong FS3, which always screeched when I braked, as if it was going to fall apart the next second."

"Is it that one made of plastic and textile materials? I’ve seen it too, but it’s too low on power, I was afraid it would stall."

"That’s the one."

Actually, the car Lille was talking about was one V had driven in Atlanta, also a van, but shorter than most sedans, looking like a chopped fish head.

It was a typical car for the poor.

"Everyone has a novice phase, the car you buy yourself is the best one."

Lille looked at the gearstick of the small car, a purely manual transmission, the kind of old-fashioned design that existed a hundred years ago, without any electronic control units to assist with gear shifts.

Contrary to David’s imagination of "big brother only liking high-tech and specialized combat vehicles," Lille appreciated his choice.

The car you pay for yourself is a good car.

As a big brother, he felt he should say something to encourage the youngster.

"You should learn to drive this kind of old car, save a little when money is tight, get a car to shelter from the wind and rain, find some work, and wait for the comeback.

A car worth only 1,000 euros isn’t shameful, you need to toughen up..."

David felt greatly encouraged, as if the car’s horsepower had also been boosted by the inspiration.

So what if it’s a little old car? Even a small vehicle can chase floating cars.

And the person driving the floating car... if it requires that kind of cost to drive a floating car, better forget it.

However, Lille’s brows furrowed slightly:

They were driving along the main street of Meiquan District, which led to the city center if they continued northward.

But the chosen altitude of the floating car was higher, and it was also moving towards the outskirts of the city; this could only mean the city center wasn’t his destination, nor was the Little Chinatown north of it—

Instead, it was even further, towards Huangshan Seaside.

"We need to speed up, this cyberpsycho is really out of his mind."