Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 658, Section 72: The Pathetic Dog
"Okay, so what you're saying is that you entrust me with saving your life, and then you owe me money to pay back later, and you don't even know if you'll survive."

Carl now understood completely: "I can afford to pay the money I entrusted, but your medical expenses are considerable. I don't know how you were poisoned by that special toxin. Old Wei gave you a blood transfusion, readjusted your prosthetic body, and even replaced your blood vessels with new bioplastic ones, the best ones on the market. How much money do you have on you right now?"

Faced with Carl's question, Li De's expression grew increasingly awkward, his already dark complexion turning even darker. The FIA's top agent glanced at the amount in his account and unconsciously lowered his voice as he answered, "Five hundred."

"what?"

Upon hearing the number, Carl's first reaction was to pause in surprise, and then he even began to doubt whether he had misheard.

"five hundred?!"

This number... You have to understand, when Karl first came to Night City, he made 3,200 euros in an hour. And Reed, a top agent of the FBI, who has been in Night City for so many years, even working as a bartender in the city center, only has 500 euros now?!

Carl originally thought that when Li De said "no money," he meant the kind of predicament where he couldn't come up with two or three hundred thousand—which in Night City's current circles was at most considered being short of cash. He had even prepared the polite phrase "installment payment is possible," and was even planning to have this guy settle Old Wei's medical bills first.

But when that number came out of the other person's cracked lips, he seemed to hear the sound of some kind of precision instrument jamming in his brain.

'Five hundred?' Karl muttered the number, feeling his temples throbbing. 'Enough for a special cocktail in the next life, or for the most ordinary doll in the Cloud Peak to play rock-paper-scissors with you for three minutes?'

The blue light from the diagnostic instrument cast a fence-like shadow on Li De's face. This agent, who had accomplished countless remarkable feats, was now looking at him with the eyes of a dying animal. Carl suddenly realized that the frayed threads on the other man's shirt collar were not a disguise, and the cracked anti-slip pattern on the sole of his boots was probably not required for the mission.

"So, in other words—" Carl was utterly speechless, "not only can't you afford the commission fee, but now you're even going to put Old Vie's medical expenses on my tab?"

A silence spread between them like a viscous electrolyte. Li De's Adam's apple bobbed, and the barely perceptible nod reminded Karl of the drone hit by an EMP.

Karl was convinced.

Karl had to admit that his impression of Reed had collapsed.

When he previously worked with Li De, his impression of Li De was mostly positive. He thought Li De was an excellent agent who could disguise himself well, was quite capable, and had a decent personality. But now...
In Carl's mind now, the FIA's top agent has become a civil servant who has to pay his own way out of work.

“Your FBI,” Carl suddenly wanted to laugh, a feeling somewhere between absurd and real fermenting in his vocal cords, “are you going to staple the ‘unpaid work application form’ to the employment contract?”

That was all Karl could say.

It can only be said that Li De's loyalty to the new America was truly extraordinary, or rather, he genuinely loved the new America. This spirit of dedication was something that Karl, a mercenary, could not comprehend.

Don’t understand, but respect.

"There's nothing we can do."

Carl sighed, "Just consider it me doing a good deed. It's like when I took your commission and felt I had nothing better to do, so I'll pay your medical bills and put it in the commission fee. You should be able to pay it back, right?"

Karl spoke uncertainly, staring at Li De: "I won't calculate this amount based on your net worth. No matter how cheap I give you, you'll still have to give me around 120,000 euros later. Do you have that kind of money?"

"120,000 euros for a life, not expensive."

Li De said, his expression still awkward: "But it might take a few months." "Your New America is more generous to outsiders than to your own people."

Carl shook his head helplessly: "The number of people who owe me money is really increasing. Oh well."

As he spoke, Carl took a bag from the side and tossed it to Li De: "The treatment potions and related courses are all in here. Take it. This is a complete course of treatment. Don't even think about running around recently. Your physical condition requires at least a week of rest."

"Thank you."

Li De took the heavy medical kit. The military-grade nylon fabric made a slight rubbing sound in his palm. When he lifted the waterproof lining, a cold smell mixed with disinfectant and synthetic drugs rushed out.

The contents of the bag were arranged to an almost obsessive degree—each tube of nano-healing gel was arranged according to its expiration date, the hemostatic bandages were rolled into perfect cylinders, and even the painkillers were packaged in sealed bags with specific dates marked on them. Karl's flamboyant handwriting was written on the labels: 'White bottle before meals/Blue bottle after meals/Red bottle only when you're dying.'

He tried to sit up, but a sharp, protesting pain shot through his spine. His muscle fibers felt like they were filled with lead, and every tiny contraction triggered a chain reaction—first the sutures in his abdomen tightened, then his intercostal muscles twitched, and finally all the pain converged on his jaw, causing his masseter muscles to spasm uncontrollably.

"Remember the treatment course. I wrote it in Chinese, so you should be able to understand it."

Responding to Karl's words, Li De nodded slightly. He slowly sat up, then straightened up and put his feet on the ground.

The moment his foot touched the ground, Li De almost staggered, but Karl reached out and steadily supported him.

"Take good care of yourself, Ace Agent."

Karl's gaze wasn't on Li De, but on the television playing the news in Old Vie's clinic: "Even if you're going to serve your country, you have to take care of your health first. A weak body can't complete the assigned mission to die. Besides, you still owe me money."

Karl's words carried a hint of sarcasm and a feeling that was hard to define as either comforting or not, but Li De calmly nodded in response to them.

He clutched his bag tightly, and after Carl released his support, he staggered and walked weakly out of the clinic.

Carl turned to look at his back.

That silhouette.

It really looks like a dog.

A dog with a limp, looking pathetic, and only able to silently lick its wounds.

this.
It's not exactly a pleasant feeling of respect.

Carl shook his head at his own idea.

On the television he wasn't looking at, news reports were playing, featuring a reporter's commentary.

'The body of an unidentified person was discovered at the satellite power station.'

(End of this chapter)