Night City might not need the GTS sports car, but it couldn’t do without Will Fort’s Columbus Freight V340.

This vehicle’s unbeatable cost-performance ratio in the transport business was unmatched—Lille’s recognition of vehicles increased by a notch.

Lille Team: 2 points, V Team: 0 points.

V340, it’s just that practical.

The one who got out of the car was a young man with a slender, well-proportioned figure, his hair tied back in a small ponytail—he looked very young.

Seeing Lille and the other two standing at the clinic entrance, he first paused, then asked suspiciously,

"Folks, if I remember correctly, the Six Street Gang already sold the clinic’s usage rights to me, what’s this?"

"We’re here for medical treatment, the patient is inside."

As Lille spoke, he stepped aside to allow a view of Murphy lying inside.

It was clear that the Prosthetic Eye of this African American man was of good quality; he spotted the flaws beneath Murphy’s shoddy patched skin and the unnaturally faint glow at a glance.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief—glad to have avoided any trouble.

It was said that corporate employees were often killed on the streets of Night City, so he specifically chose the local gang for protection.

If he had been killed on his first night here, that would have been incredibly unfortunate.

"Well... I didn’t expect such a high demand for doctors here, is it like this every day?"

"I wouldn’t know, I’m not a local—hurry up and move the equipment in."

Lille gave Jack a look, and the big guy unhesitatingly walked towards the V340 at the back; he hoisted equipment weighing over a hundred kilograms on each shoulder and calmly walked into the clinic.

Both the respectable logistician and the young man were stunned.

...

The young man’s name was Martin, and from the get-go, it was evident his skills were leagues above those of the unlicensed back-alley butcher.

First was the equipment.

Martin’s right temple featured an added external neural signal amplifier, used to sync with precision medical diagnostic devices, allowing him to track patient nerve signals in real time.

Second, his Prosthetic Eye came with a matching expansion eyepiece—this gadget looked identical to a tactical eyepiece and delivered data tens of times more than regular Prosthetic Eyes.

Besides the standard scanning functions, it was also a portable CT machine, even capable of 200 times optical microscopy.

The surgical aid Prosthetics he used were very standard, the same model as the external gloves used by Old Wei—Lille’s were also this model.

Unlike the back-alley butcher, he didn’t completely cut off his own arms and chose high degree cybernetic enhancements to refine his surgical abilities.

In addition, Martin brought a lot of equipment that back-alley butchers wouldn’t buy—such as a DNA scanner.

"This guy... Did he participate in some kind of human experiment?"

Martin immediately noticed something was off about Murphy.

Lille nodded, "Biotechnology experiments, deep waters there. If you want to keep asking, it’s going to cost extra."

Upon hearing this, Martin looked meaningfully at Lille, "I previously worked in Moore Technology’s research lab for 10 years—I guess that resume is one of the reasons you’re waiting for me here.

But I don’t want to know the details, thank you."

"It doesn’t matter, I just thought I’d mention it—so, can you cure him?"

"This... it’s complicated. His DNA has been tampered with, but I guess the experimenters definitely didn’t want to see this kind of result.

The inserted DNA is degrading, and both the degradation rate and the information coding are irregular.

If you’re determined to save him, I recommend buying a DNA maintenance device with a suitable course of treatment.

In about 30 years or so, he should be completely normal—if a bit expensive."

"I see," said Lille as he nudged Murphy on the operating table, "Hear that? You might as well start planning for your funeral."

Martin didn’t mention the price, but it was apparent to anyone that the medical costs for such a solution would easily reach into the millions.

Murphy was dumbfounded, "Come on... Isn’t there a cheaper option? Or... I could sell this news to Moore Technology! You must still have a contact, right?"

Martin shook his head, "Moore Technology is indeed interested in biotechnology projects, but they have no interest in this obviously shoddy failure, and might even draw unwanted trouble.

The cheaper treatment option is to inject you with a neural blocker and then combine it with some special medical prosthetics to control the symptoms within the facial area.

In that case, what you’d have to pay is the cost of customizing these special medical prosthetics."

Martin said it casually.

But Murphy had been in the biotech field for several years, a seasoned pro.

Customizing special medical prosthetics—the cheap ones still cost several tens of thousands, and the expensive ones, still hundreds of thousands!

"Isn’t this still basically telling me to wait for death!"

"No choice—if it were a limb infection, an amputation could work, but the infection started from your face, we can’t exactly chop off your head, can we?"

Lille pensively muttered to himself—he had heard a keyword, DNA decay.

After thinking for a moment, Lille said, "DNA degradation algorithm, is that your internal data?"

Martin thought he had misheard and stared at Lille in surprise, "You know about this algorithm?"

"Heard some about it—you know, I am investigating biotechnology."

Martin thought for a while and then shook his head again, "Impossible, you must have only heard the name."

Lille gave a mysterious smile, picked up a piece of chalk from the ground, and began copying one of the models that Dr. Conners had given him.

Martin was dumbfounded—

If it was just a name, even speaking about some uses of the algorithm wouldn’t be a big deal.

But what Lille was doing was directly producing a completed model!

This indicated not only that Lille knew about the algorithm, but also knew how to apply it!

That was somewhat... alarming.

Martin tensed up, "So which company are you from? Biotechnology? Moore Technology? I am not going back to Moore Technology..."

"Relax, I really just know a little—amateur scientist, you know."

"Just know a little? Amateur scientist?" Martin’s mouth twitched.

If you’re an amateur scientist, then what am I? What is Moore Technology’s R&D department?

"...Fine, keep your secrets, but since you know about the algorithm, you should understand better what’s happening to him.

It’s an unexpected state of decay; no researcher would want such a result unless they’re out to massacre.

If that were the case, Night City would probably have a massive death toll by now."

Lille, stroking his chin, said, "Maybe I can treat it—can you recommend some of Moore Technology’s DNA testing equipment?"

"That won’t be cheap, any and all DNA manipulation apparatus are strictly regulated. What you can buy on the market are the super-castrated versions, and they are ridiculously expensive."

After another moment of thought, Lille continued, "Can the ones used for pets be used on humans?"

"..." Martin gave him a peculiar look, but after hesitating for a moment, he said, "Actually... in theory, it’s possible.

If you’re highly skilled—a highly skilled individual could rewrite the software of devices intended for pets, effectively jailbreaking the functionality.

Don’t look at me like that, I can do it, but I won’t—however, if you still want to try, I could find a channel for you, get some second-hand equipment for you to tinker with.

But you might not need my help?"

Lille slowly said, "Still needed, I’m just an amateur scientist, truly."

"Alright, 700,000, take it or leave it."

...

minutes later, by Preaching Seaside, Lille bowed sincerely:

"V, I’ve never asked anyone for anything in my life—"

"Could you lend me another 700,000? Please."