Chapter 86: Medical Insurance (Third Update)

In the ruins of Arena 33, now reduced to little more than a pile of rubble…

Members of the enforcement squad clad in exoskeletal armor were working to clear the debris. The strength granted by their armor allowed them to effortlessly lift boulders weighing several tons, pulling out survivors from beneath the wreckage and loading them into the waiting large-scale medical vehicles.

These medical vehicles were outfitted with some of Midtown’s most elite emergency teams, high-end precision medical instruments, and even Spirit Energy medical pods from the Upper City.

As long as a person’s brainwaves hadn’t fully ceased, even decapitations could be reversed with proper treatment.

Of course, such rescue efforts came at a price.

Every person who received treatment inside the medical vehicle was required to pay an astronomical medical fee.

Even something as minor as spraining your back while running would incur a minimum consultation fee of 5,000 credit points just for stepping into the medical van.

And that was just the basic cost. If treatment involved medications or surgery, the price would easily soar into the hundreds of thousands.

Anyone unable to afford the fees would be sent to the Heavenly Computation Center to repay the debt with their soul’s processing power.

Because of this, many bizarre scenes could be seen amidst the ruins.

One after another, injured survivors were screaming and struggling, doing everything in their power to avoid being loaded into the medical vehicles. Most of them had undergone some form of Spirit Energy modification—their injuries weren’t fatal, and they could survive without treatment.

But once inside that medical vehicle, their lives would essentially be over.

The enforcement squad, however, paid no attention to their pleas and shoved them inside without a second thought.

Meanwhile, the paramedics stationed outside the vehicles had a crazed gleam in their eyes as they scrambled to seize the most seriously injured survivors.

“I don’t need treatment! I’m already healing!”

A young man in gray clothing struggled desperately, trying to escape the grasp of an armored enforcer. But how could a regular person possibly break free from the grip of exoskeletal strength?

A bespectacled doctor strolled over with a stretcher, smiling as he spoke.

“Your injuries may not be serious, but such extreme resistance to treatment suggests a mental disorder. Come, let me perform a quick evaluation.”

Despair spread across the young man’s face. Mental evaluations often incurred fees of tens of thousands of credit points. If this doctor got his way, he’d probably be sent straight to the Heavenly Computation Center.

In desperation, the young man suddenly shouted:

“I bought insurance! I have Ankang Insurance’s basic medical coverage!”

The smile on the doctor’s face instantly froze, and the surrounding medical staff all turned their eyes toward the gray-clad youth.

One doctor quickly operated his personal terminal and said:

“He really does have basic medical insurance.”

As soon as those words were spoken, the doctors all grimaced in disgust, as though they’d seen something vile.

So-called “medical insurance” didn’t mean the insurance company paid for your treatment. Rather, it prevented doctors from randomly administering expensive treatments.

This meant they could only use the most basic medications. Anything beyond a certain price would cause the insurance company to sue the doctor for unauthorized treatment.

Almost no doctor wanted to deal with insured patients. Not only did they make no money, but they also risked getting into legal trouble.

“You’re fine. Now get lost!”

The bespectacled doctor hastily released the young man, shooing him away like a fly before turning to his next target.

Unfortunately, there were still very few in the Lower City who could afford to buy medical insurance.

Most survivors ended up drained of all their credit points after a brief struggle—and were then loaded onto trucks bound for the Heavenly Computation Center.

Meanwhile, at the far edge of the arena’s ruins, a battered and disheveled Scott had just replaced his personal terminal and was connecting to a higher-level communication channel from the City Tax Bureau.

“You made this much of a mess just to arrest a mere arena owner?”

On the other side of the holographic screen sat a stern-looking middle-aged man, reclined comfortably in his chair. Behind him, beyond the floor-to-ceiling window, stretched a view completely unlike the Lower City—a skyline of towering skyscrapers, sleek aircars gliding between buildings, and railways crisscrossing the skies under golden sunlight. Three gleaming words glowed from atop a building:

City Tax Bureau.

This was none other than the Director of Midtown’s City Tax Bureau.

Scott, still looking ragged, lowered his head and said solemnly, “It was my failure. I await your punishment, Director.”

The Director didn’t speak immediately. His gaze swept across the scene of devastation behind Scott, then a faint look of satisfaction appeared on his face.

“A mere USB drive and the meddling of a few old fools—it doesn’t matter if it was lost. The expendables in the Lower City can struggle all they want, but they can’t resist the tides of fate.

“In contrast, your handling of the arena is something I find quite impressive.”

“Under the pretense of Spirit Energy taxation, you might’ve captured a few arena members and contributed a few hundred units of soul processing power to the Heavenly Computation Center.

“But by collapsing the entire arena and burying most of the spectators in the ruins, you enabled medical debt to justify sending them straight to the Heavenly Computation Center after rescue.

“This one move alone filled a shortfall of at least three thousand units.”

At this point, the Director’s expression softened considerably.

“The Council’s old men were very pleased with your plan. They’ve even recommended rolling it out to every enforcer.

“So all in all, your actions this time were quite the success.”

“I’ll report your performance to your father as well. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Expect good news soon.”

The Director’s praise left Scott with a confused and blank expression.

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain something—but the thought of his now-defunct AI assistant made him swallow the truth.

If this had just been a failed mission, he might have received a simple reprimand.

But if he admitted that his personal AI core malfunctioned due to his own error, then not even his father’s protection might save him from being sent to the Heavenly Computation Center.

Each personal AI was split from a mega-core and was worth more than Scott himself—despite his status as an enforcer of the City Tax Bureau.

After a few more rounds of praise—phrases like “a tiger father has no dog son,” “your father raised you well,” and “I must visit him someday for parenting tips”—the Director finally steered the conversation back on course.

“The situation isn’t stable yet. Cave 33 is of strategic importance. You’ll remain stationed there and await further orders.”

“Yes, sir!”

Once the communication ended, Scott picked up his powered-down AI assistant again.

He stared at the dead screen, a hint of grim determination flashing in his eyes.

“I’ll have to find a way to reboot it.”

“If there really is no way to turn it back on… then I’ll need to incite a large-scale riot and make it look like it was lost during the chaos. That should be a plausible explanation.”

(End of Chapter)