They fell one after another, and Lawton didn’t feel sick at all.
Before long, the doctors, nurses, stretchers, and syringes appeared at the end of the corridor. The walls on both sides also grew eyebrows.
Lawton remained motionless and fearless. He was an Eternal that couldn’t be pricked by a needle or be drugged. He was someone that doctors couldn’t defeat.
Just like that, he forcefully cleared this mentally chaotic scene as if he could steamroll anyone.
His arms and calves had a few doctors and nurses hanging on or being dragged along, but this didn’t stop him from advancing.
These doctors and nurses didn’t release their hands even though their hearts had stopped beating.
Finally, Lawton came to the end of the hospital corridor.
There was a door here—a white door.
Lawton deliberated for a moment and observed his surroundings. With the excuse that he was an Eternal, he stretched out his metal right palm, gripped the handle, and gently twisted it.
The white door slowly opened, revealing a gap.
The gap was dark, and a female figure could be vaguely seen looking out from the darkness.
With a loud bang, Lawton’s mind was enveloped by immense fear. This came without reason as if it rose out of instinct.
I’m dead… This was the only thought that flashed through Lawton’s mind before he fainted. He didn’t even have the time to think of hoping that the other Elders in End Year City would come to this room to save him.
Being unconscious or dead in another person’s psychological trauma often meant being completely trapped and becoming a vegetable in reality.
After an unknown period of time, Lawton suddenly found his thoughts and slowly opened his eyes.
He sawa surgical lamp, a doctor, and many nurses.
They were all wearing light-blue masks as they looked down at Lawton and spoke at once. “You’re awake.”
“The surgery was very successful.”
“You’ve already recovered. You can go home now.”
Recovered… Go home… Lawton was confused at first, but he suddenly sat up and sized himself up.
He was still an Eternal and had steel bones. But unlike before he fainted, his paint job had been changed to a rainbow color. A small speaker was embedded in his chest.
After a moment of silence, Lawton probed the doctor and nurses. “Can I go now?”
According to his general knowledge, fainting in another person’s psychological trauma was equivalent to suffering serious damage. After being locked in a heavily guarded mental prison, it was unknown if one could still wake up, much less leave the corresponding room.
“You can be discharged.” The doctor in the light-blue mask reached out to shake his hand. “You’ve progressed a third this time. Continue working hard next time.”1
Although Lawton was confused, he knew that an opportunity couldn’t be missed. He immediately got off the bed and walked out of the operating theater.
In the white corridor, doctors and nurses sang and danced as they shouted, “Congratulations on being discharged!”
“Get well!”
“Remember to send us flowers to show your appreciation!”
Lawton walked back to the starting point in a daze, opened the door, and left Room 131.
Even when he stood in the Mind Corridor, he still suspected that he was dreaming.
Why did the originally dangerous development turn into a happy send-off? The more Lawton thought about it, the more he felt like his mind had been corrupted…