Although it was already late at night, the Undercity of Neo-Metropolis remained alive with activity. People hustled through the streets, their faces illuminated by the glow of neon lights and holographic advertisements. The city thrived in this perpetual twilight, a vibrant spectacle that many claimed truly came to life after dark.

Neon wandered through the dilapidated alleys of a worn-down neighborhood near a garage he often frequented. Earlier in the day, he had taken part in an illegal street race, a thrilling event that nearly turned disastrous when corporate enforcers and police raided the scene. The chaotic chase had ended with Neon taking a bullet to the shoulder as he fled in his hovercar.

After parking his vehicle out of sight, Neon pulled his hood over his head and trudged painfully toward Dr. Elara's hidden clinic—the only place he trusted for discreet medical help. Dr. Elara was well-known among the young street racers of the Undercity, providing her services free of charge.

Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Neon groaned in pain, muttering to himself, "Why am I always the one who gets shot?" Each step was a struggle, but the sight of the familiar clinic brought a wave of relief through his body. He desperately knocked on the door without a care for the noise he was making or the people he was bothering.

To his surprise, the door was answered not by Dr. Elara, but by a complete stranger who looked to be the same age as him. Neon's eyes widened in confusion and concern. "Who are you? I need urgent care, I think I'm bleeding out! Where's the street doc?" Neon asked in frustration, a pained moan slipping through his clenched teeth. Just his luck, he thought, this was the last thing he needed tonight.

Neon had definitely forgotten Dr. Elara's warning that her new assistant would be taking over the night shift from now on... or perhaps he hadn’t taken it seriously.