Extreme germ phobia

Chapter 199 Demand exceeds supply
Ou Yang became increasingly worried about his companion's safety and hurriedly headed to Building No. 3.

Before they even reached their destination, an elderly American man dressed as a doctor with blond hair ran towards them. Seeing the box in Ou Yang's hand, he immediately questioned, "Why are you so slow... Are you alone?"

“Yes, it’s just me,” Ou Yang said in a low voice.

"Give me the box!" Without waiting for a reply, the blond-haired man snatched the box and turned to walk back.

Ou Yang didn't compete or fight; he quietly followed behind the doctor and successfully entered Building No. 3.

We entered from the side again, and the first thing we saw was a special ward that was neither a hospital room nor a prison cell.

It's called a prison cell because each room is enclosed by iron bars, making it no different from a prison cell; it's called a ward because there's a nurses' station outside the cells, and medical staff on duty.

Ou Yang glanced at it carefully and saw that the basic information was also posted outside the cell, but instead of the patient's condition, it listed the medication time and name.

Looking around, most of them were G-CSF, a few were GM-CSF, and there was also a CXCR4.

Ouyang was completely baffled. What was all this nonsense?

If Jiang Yuwei were here!
Continuing forward, a door displays the words "HLA Laboratory." The interior is quite spacious, filled with test tubes and equipment. Even at this hour, a group of doctors are still busy in the laboratory.

Ouyang was even more confused. Wasn't he researching fungi? What was HLA? Was it a new code name for Pneumocystis jirovecii?

He suppressed his doubts and continued to follow the doctor.

Soon after, the two arrived at the operating area without incident, and Huang Mao immediately handed the box to the waiting nurse.

It was only then that he realized Ouyang was still behind him.

"What are you doing following me!" the blond-haired man waved impatiently. "Go do what you're supposed to be doing."

Just as Ou Yang was about to leave, a crying white woman suddenly jumped out from the side and grabbed the blond man's hand: "Doctor, my son's condition is getting worse and worse. He was only conscious for half the day today. When can he have the surgery?"

The blond man responded gently, "Mrs. James, little James's condition is relatively stable. As long as he takes the medication properly, he should be able to hold on for another week... Please rest assured, we found another batch of donors today. In just a few days, we will know if there are any suitable ones."

Ouyang's pupils contracted, and he immediately thought of the church members who had been arrested.

"Only a little over a hundred?" The woman cried even harder. "So few?"

Huang Mao continued to comfort him: "As you know, there are not many immune individuals to begin with, and the conditions for stem cell transplantation are quite demanding. It is extremely difficult to find matching genes. So far, there have only been four successful cases, and all of them were the lowest level of locus matching, so the results were not ideal. Therefore, I suggest that lung transplantation is a safer option."

The white woman, with tears in her eyes, said, "But the lung transplant was so ineffective!"

"Excuse my bluntness, but lung transplantation is currently the most effective treatment, bar none," Huang Mao sincerely advised. "Stem cell transplantation is extremely difficult, unless there's an immune system in your family, and even then, the chance of a perfect match is only 25%!"

"God, why did this happen!" The woman was on the verge of collapse, but she held onto the blond man's hand tightly.

Ouyang...

Are you complaining or deliberately trying to take advantage?
He couldn't stand it any longer, and taking advantage of the fact that no one was around, he suddenly grabbed the blond-haired man by the neck and shoved him into an empty operating room.

The white woman was stunned. She opened her mouth to shout, but Ouyang punched her unconscious and dragged her into the operating room as well.

Tossing the old woman aside, Ou Yang pulled out a pistol and pressed it against the blond-haired man's head: "Where is the donor?"

Instead of answering, the blond-haired man asked, "Who are you?"

He was quick-witted and immediately realized that this person was not one of his own.

Ou Yang switched from gun to knife, covered the blond-haired man's mouth, and plunged the knife into the blond-haired man's thigh.

The sudden, sharp pain made Huang Mao's eyes widen; he wanted to scream but couldn't.

Ouyang asked again, "Where is the donor?"

Huang Mao knew that once he revealed the answer, he would be silenced, so he gritted his teeth and endured the excruciating pain.

Ouyang drew his sword, moved it to a different spot, and thrust it in again: "Where's the donor!"

Although he wasn't a doctor, he had learned from Jiang Yuwei where the vital points and non-vital points were. However, his skills were limited, and he could only avoid major blood vessels.

The blond-haired man's eyes were bloodshot: "Why the hell are you letting me go? How am I supposed to say anything with my mouth covered?"
Ouyang keenly sensed the change in the blond-haired man, drew his knife, and pressed it against the man's neck: "Speak."

The blond-haired man's lips trembled in pain, but he dared not be negligent in the slightest. He pointed in the direction of Building No. 4: "In that direction, the donor cell!"

Just as Ou Yang was about to ask for more details, a series of rapid footsteps suddenly came from outside.

The blond-haired man's eyes darted around, and he opened his mouth as if to shout.

Ou Yang knocked the blond-haired man unconscious with a single punch.

The reason I didn't kill Huang Mao wasn't for any particular reason; it was simply because I didn't want to get covered in blood and arouse suspicion from others.

For the same reason, the incision was made on the outer thigh.

Ou Yang left the operating room as if nothing had happened, pondering how to get into Building No. 4 as he walked.

The previous buildings were either experimental wards or sick wards, so the security wouldn't be particularly tight. But Building No. 4 was where prisoners were held, so the security would definitely be very tight!

Before I could figure out a solution, I accidentally entered the isolation ward—a whole row of floor-to-ceiling glass rooms, each a separate, independent ward, and all of them were negative pressure wards with all doors and windows closed!
To put it simply, the air pressure inside the ward is slightly lower than outside. Once the seal fails, outside air will continuously flow into the ward, preventing spores or viruses from escaping and causing infection.

The environment in the negative pressure ward is excellent. All items are firmly fixed to the floor or wall, and the corners are not only rounded but also padded with cushioning material to ensure the safety of patients to the greatest extent.

All the wards were full, and most patients were sleeping, but some were experiencing an episode, a state of hallucination that Ouyang was all too familiar with.

It's obvious even to a fool that the patients living here are all infected individuals preparing for transplants!
Ou Yang couldn't quite describe the feeling in his heart. He had always known that this country was dominated by capital, where the rich were the bosses and the poor were all nobody.

But knowing it is one thing, without ever having a direct, intuitive understanding of it.

Only now did he truly understand the power of capital.

It can give infected people who have been given a death sentence a normal lung again and cure their incurable disease.

It can cause innocent, immune individuals to donate their lungs without their knowledge, dying in a daze. It can cause a group of doctors and nurses, whose duty is to save lives, to kill innocent strangers without any scruples.

This is capitalism: it will stop at nothing to achieve its goals, trampling on the law, disregarding life, and abandoning all the rules of the world!
Ou Yang felt a heavy weight in his heart, as if a large stone was pressing down on it.

Before even leaving the isolation ward and stepping out of Building No. 3, I heard the familiar roar of engines outside.

It's a helicopter!

Ou Yang's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately rushed out.

Two helicopters landed one after the other, and a group of guards rushed up and dragged the old men out of the cabin one by one.

Ouyang is guessing that everyone on the plane is immune!
Just when I was thinking about how to sneak into Building No. 4, the opportunity came knocking on my door.
He immediately jogged over and stood with the other guards, using his fists and feet to maintain basic order.

At the same time, on the top floor of Building No. 2.

In the spacious office, the decor was simple and unpretentious. A middle-aged man dressed casually, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and smoking a cigar, stood by the window, looking down at everything happening at the airport.

A knock sounded, and Dr. Lorraine turned around: "Come in!"

The door opened, and an old man dressed in full snow combat gear pushed the door open and entered.

"Good evening, William!" the doctor said with a bright smile.

"Good evening, Doctor," William greeted him familiarly.

"Welcome back. How was your trip?"

William, without any hesitation, sat down and said, "It's not good. There are only thirty-four, which is far worse than the previous few days."

Dr. Lorraine sat down in his executive chair, crossed his legs, and flicked his cigarette ash: "This is a real shame. The existing donors can only last for a week at most, but there are still several hundred registered patients. There is a huge shortage of donors, which severely limits the scale of our transactions. The board of directors hopes that you can continue your efforts to expand the source of donors."

“It’s not that easy.” William couldn’t help but smile bitterly. “I’ve drained all 13 immune systems that the group established in the epidemic area. They need time to absorb fresh blood and slowly recover.”

"What about immune tissues that are not under our control?" the doctor asked. "With a population of several million in the entire Bear State, even if only one percent are immune, that's still tens of thousands of people. There's still a lot of potential to be tapped."

“We’ve searched for every immune tissue we could find, and we’ve brought back every immune person we could capture.” William shrugged helplessly. “There are still quite a few immune people, but they’re all hiding like cowardly mice. We need to increase our investment and expand the scale of immune tissues to attract more immune people.”

The doctor took a puff of his cigar: "Alright, I believe in your abilities. You definitely have a way, right?"

William shook his head: "The simplest solution is to open up overseas channels, but with all parties joining forces to block the United States, we have no way to obtain supplies from other continents. We can only try to find a way internally... or, try to find a way to open up channels in the South American region."

"I see!" The doctor frowned. "Are you confident?"

“The source of goods is not the problem, the key is transportation,” William said. “Whether it is land, sea or air transport, they are all strictly restricted. The most effective way is submarines, but as you know, submarines have limited capacity and it is difficult to transport on a large scale.”

The doctor pressed the remaining cigar into the ashtray: "A little is better than nothing."

“I know what to do.” William nodded. “It would be even better if we could set up a medical center there. We can do the genetic matching first and then ship the goods over. As long as we offer the opportunity to reach the beacon of freedom, there are plenty of good goods willing to take the bait.”

The doctor nodded: "I'll persuade the board, but you must guarantee the quality of the supply. Our clients are all wealthy and powerful, and many of them have special requirements for donors."

At this point, a hint of mockery appeared in the doctor's eyes: "They don't want to pollute their noble bloodline, and they don't want to receive organs from Black people or other people of color."

"My God, how could they come up with this!" William was speechless. "Isn't Old Black's lung a lung? Can't it save a life? He's about to die, why are you making such fuss?"

“We are business people, and we must consider our clients. As long as our clients are willing to pay a sufficient price, we will definitely be able to find a suitable donor.” The doctor smiled in agreement. “Sacrificing immune individuals to save elites is an inevitable path of human evolution.”

William laughed too: "Even if it's not suitable, I can make it suitable!"

There are not many immune individuals to begin with, and finding a suitable donor is not easy. The group has done a lot of things like passing off the real thing as the real one, and substituting one thing for another.

Those powerful and wealthy people are obsessed with money and power and have no idea what organ transplantation is all about. It's incredibly easy to fool them—officially, they'll arrange for an old man to pretend to be a suitable donor, but when it comes to the surgery, only the medical staff who harvest the organs will know whether the real donor is a cat or a dog.

The doctor praised, "Excellent! You must seize this opportunity; now is a crucial time to expand your business."

William looked at the doctor seriously: "Since the supply and demand relationship is so tight, I think the price must be raised by 20%, which should temporarily alleviate the problem of insufficient supply."

"Good idea, let's double the price then," the doctor said.

"Wow!" William didn't know what to say. He thought he was already dark enough, but he didn't expect the Doctor to be even more inhuman than him.

But what does it matter?

The group was engaged in this kind of shady business before the pandemic. It was completely corrupt from the inside out. What does a temporary price increase matter?
Without a corporation, no matter how powerful or wealthy, if you get phantom lung disease, you can only wait to die. Now, you only need to pay a price to have a brand new lung and a chance to start over. Why not?
The doctor got up and walked back to the window.

Outside the window, newly arrived immune patients were being escorted into the donor ward by guards.

A thought suddenly flashed through the doctor's mind: How many of these immune individuals are actually qualified donors?

It was the same time, in the monitoring room.

The man with the mustache was very sleepy and was half-lying on the chair, happily snoring softly.

But his posture was really uncomfortable. He yawned, sat up, rubbed his eyes which were almost closed, and reluctantly stood up, intending to make himself another cup of coffee.

Looking up, I was stunned to see the screen on my left filled with images of infected people moving around wildly, and all my sleepiness vanished instantly.

The man with the mustache's legs buckled, and he fell to the ground, unable to stand.

The corporation is no saint. The infected in the experimental chamber went out of control, and he failed to discover it in time, which is a serious dereliction of duty. If the corporation's higher-ups find out, his life is over.

The man with the mustache seemed to see himself lying motionless on the operating table, having his internal organs removed by the doctors.

What should we do? We must find a way to make amends as soon as possible!
The man with the mustache was like an ant on a hot pan, frantically pacing around, but he couldn't think of a way to remedy the situation.

He suddenly stopped, a resolute glint in his eyes: There's no other way, I'd better run!

(End of this chapter)