Toshi sat down in the foam chair inside the Med-Fix booth. He’d tried, once, to sleep in a booth, only to have it blare increasingly abrasive warnings. But this time he had a thousand yen in his coat pocket, enough for five minutes of legally disclaimed medical and psychiatric care.
Toshi fed the money in, and the screen before him glowed blue. He explained everything from the nagging chest cold he’d had for two weeks now, to losing his job and living in an internet cafe.
The screen showed his results: “Recommended treatment: euthanasia. Please press ‘Yes’ to proceed.”