"You want my money."
"I want your life."
"Fair trade, right?"
After the lady left, Elvin walked in from outside, "Resolved?"
Lance nodded, the person had been found by Elvin, "Are there many like her among the immigrants?"
Elvin nodded, "Quite a few, always several dozen."
Two hundred thousand legal immigrants, and a bunch of illegal ones, there's always someone whose body becomes problematic, no longer able to hold on.
Though medical science advances every day with new wonder drugs emerging, the world seemed cursed by some mysterious affliction.
Whenever one terminal disease was conquered, another would emerge as if no amount of effort could ever fully free humanity from this pernicious cycle.
It was as though there was a peculiar mechanism at play, screening, stopping, preventing people from living better.
God called it a trial, but it felt more like a curse!
"Make a list of these people, check their conditions, and prioritize them so we can find them when needed."
