When Song Lan heard the news and went upstairs, the injured guard, whose condition was now stable, was being carried downstairs on a stretcher.
The injured guard was already asleep, thanks to the effect of an analgesic and a sleeping spray; regardless, his brows still furrowed with an arm hanging limply like a piece of cloth, unrecognizable compared to its original state.
Throughout the journey, he heard colleagues discussing that though the guard would live, should he recover completely, it seemed his right hand would need to be replaced with a prosthetic. Given their meager salary, such surgery would surely drain all his savings.
If he doesn't undergo the surgery and get a prosthetic, he would have to give up his job as a law enforcer.
Perhaps this might not be such a bad thing for the law enforcers in District Seventeen.
Song Lan stood at the top of the stairs, a rare thought surfacing within his mind.
