DROP FIFTEEN
He had 500 euro at the bank. He spent 400 in medical supplies and IVs with nutritions. Plus a house-visit from a mechdoc.
The man handled her as if she was a piece of meat. He took care of the internal bleeding and reset the broken rib. Then he ran more tests, carting a small infirmary of gear with him, all carried by an autonomous four-legged…
Mule, was the right word?
Army-quality, definitely. It moved like a beast of burden as if it was alive. But it had no head.
“Doc, listen, I can’t pay for all this right now. I still haven’t collected s**t from her and she’s already out cold…”
“Don’t worry, Mr Troy,” the mechdoc said, going through the bloodwork in his portable lab. “You’re a respectable businessman, well known in the community.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’
