I'm a Master in India

Merck's laboratory was not newly built; it was located next to the Bhatia Hospital and connected to a large hospital building.

The location was already available, and Merck obtained the right to use some of Bhatia Hospital's facilities in the name of charitable donation.

For Western pharmaceutical companies, the most valuable asset is experimental data, not the seemingly sophisticated medical equipment.

Luca's collaboration with Merck's laboratory was also carried out through Bhatia Hospital.

"You mean we just need to bring people to the hospital?" Ron asked.

"Exactly. The doctors here will receive the patients, register their information, and finally transfer them to the next door."

"Cunning Westerners," Ron complained.

Throughout the drug trial process, Merck completely isolated itself. The people were found by local contacts like Ron, and the medical records were registered at Bhatia Hospital.

"You know, buddy, Westerners like it this way. They are clearly robbers, but they always like to portray themselves as gentlemen."

"Like hookers who always call themselves ladies?"

"Exactly, just like that," Luca laughed heartily.

They walked up the stairs and entered a spotlessly clean marble foyer, where a large fan blew a pleasant cool breeze.

Luca spoke a few words to the counter staff, then led Ron through a long corridor to a more secluded inpatient area.

After asking a janitor and a nurse, he finally found the person Merck had instructed him to find.

It was a short, very thin male doctor sitting at a table piled high with messy things.

"Dr. Hamid?" Luca asked.

The doctor was writing something and didn't look up.

"Yes," he replied impatiently.

"I'm Luca, sent by Merck."

Dr. Hamid immediately stopped writing, slowly raised his head, and stared at them with a look of curious concern.

"They should have called you and told you I was coming?" Luca said softly, hinting at the other party.

"Yes, that's right," Hamid smiled, regaining his composure.

He stood up and shook hands across the table. Luca introduced Ron beside him.

"This is Mr. Suhr."

"Of course, Dr. Suhr!" Hamid shook his hand vigorously, as if pouring out all his emotions.

"You know me?" Ron asked curiously.

"Every doctor in Mumbai knows you," the impatience on Hamid's face had long disappeared, replaced by enthusiasm.

"That makes things easier. We can skip the unnecessary small talk," Luca smiled happily.

See, with Ron on the job, this kind of business is twice as effective with half the effort.

"So where are the patients?" Hamid put away the busy demeanor he had just displayed, as if he had no time for pleasantries.

He proactively asked where the patients were, which felt unreal coming from a doctor in an Indian hospital.

Thousands of patients are received here every day, and not a single doctor asks where the patient is.

Hamid's eyes were a deep brown, almost black, shining brightly behind his polished gold-rimmed glasses.

"Oh, the patients..." Ron turned his head.

"The patients are outside. You have to come with us," Luca replied.

"Outside?" Hamid was a little surprised.

"Yes, there are too many. You come, just you come," Luca said a couple of Hindi phrases, adapting to the local customs.

"You're starting to sound like an Indian," Hamid laughed heartily.

"Yes, I love India more than I love Brazil!" Luca boasted shamelessly.

"Okay, I need to get ready," Hamid took off his glasses and rubbed the indentation they had made on his nose.

"No problem, I think we have enough time," Ron also nodded his head in a very Indian way.

Hamid called his assistant, gave a few instructions, then picked up his notebook and followed Ron and the others out the door.

Patients always gather outside the hospital gate. Poor patients walk to the hospital with difficulty, while rich people come by taxi and private car.

And some, like rags, are slumped in the alley not far from the hospital.

Their clothes are so dirty they are almost the same color as the road, similar to the rags of street vendors in Mumbai.

Ron and the others walked past the rags on the ground, where a pair of eyes, like a pool of stagnant water, were just like the eyes of those waiting to die in the shelter.

"The patients are in Fourth Pass Lane," Luca led the way.

"That's close to my old clinic," Hamid replied.

"Exactly, not far from us either."

They walked, crossing two small alleys, and stopped in front of a dilapidated open-air courtyard.

There was a long queue at the entrance, with people of all ages and types, both men and women.

"Are all these...?" Hamid's eyes were shocked, but also held a hint of eagerness.

"A part of them," Luca stepped into the courtyard, "We don't know what kind of people Merck needs, so we need you to screen them."

The new drugs developed by Merck are aimed at internal medicine diseases like tumors, which are not Ron's area of expertise.

So they needed an internal medicine doctor like Hamid to diagnose and then initially screen suitable candidates.

There was a table set up in the courtyard, piled high with various agreements and registers. Anand was maintaining order in the queue, and Merck had also sent a representative.

Hamid treated this as his office desk at the hospital, and those in the queue were the patients. Although they were all healthy and had nothing to do with illness.

Yes, most of the people needed for Phase I clinical trials are healthy drug subjects. For specific tumor patients, Ron and his team would find them from the shelter, where there were plenty of options.

Hamid beckoned a man forward and examined his body. He asked a few casual questions, and then an assistant tied a green wristband on the man's wrist.

This indicated that the examination was passed, just like a qualified label attached to a product before it leaves the factory.

Luca immediately pulled the man aside and slammed a densely written English agreement in front of him.

"This is the informed consent form. Take a look, and if there are no problems, sign it."

"Sir, will I get 500 rupees after signing?" The man asked timidly.

"Yes, you will get it after signing," Luca held a bundle of rupees, his fingers rustling along the edges of the banknotes.

The man awkwardly picked up the pen, but was hesitant.

"What's wrong? Do you want to go back on your word?" Luca's tone was unfriendly.

"No, sir! I'm illiterate. I don't know how to write my name," the man quickly explained.

"Fingerprint, a fingerprint is also fine," Luca slapped a box of inkpad on the table.

The man immediately dropped the pen, rubbed his thumb in the inkpad box, and then pressed it firmly on the agreement. It was done.

"Here's your money. Take it and go queue up on the side," Luca stuffed the rupees into his hand.

The man accepted it joyfully, then shouted loudly to the back of the queue, and soon several women with children rushed over in a swarm.

They surrounded the man, laughing and shouting, affectionately patting his shoulders and back. An old man kept stroking the man's head, praising him for being sensible and capable.

The man gave the money to his family. The women, children, and elderly were very satisfied, and the man was also very content.

They didn't look at the agreement on the table at all. They couldn't understand it. The paper filled with English was like a celestial book to them.

They didn't care either. A large family of eight or nine people only had 500 rupees in their eyes.

Ron frowned tightly, his eyes filled with worry.

This is cannibalism!

Who is being eaten, and who is the one eating?

He scanned the Merck representative, Dr. Hamid, Luca, and the man's family on the scene, speechless.

Someone got the money, and those queuing in the courtyard became agitated.

They were eager to try, their eyes full of anticipation.

They were waiting to be eaten, willingly being eaten.

"He can't speak?" Luca's strange cry attracted Ron's attention.

"But he's very healthy, sir."

Two people were standing in front of Hamid's table, looking like brothers.

One had a vacant expression, drooling, muttering something incoherently. The other person holding him up was trying hard to explain.

"He's mentally challenged!" Luca frowned.

"But the doctor tied a green wristband on him," the speaker grabbed his brother's stiff, uncontrolled arm, trying to prove it.

"Does he know what he's going to do next?"

"No problem, he completely agrees."

"But..." Luca was a little troubled. He turned to look at Merck's representative, who was expressionless.

He then looked at Dr. Hamid in front of the table. The doctor was examining the "patient's" body, ignoring everything else.

Luca finally could only look at Ron, hoping that "Dr. Suhr" could offer some advice.

"Let's just forget it," Ron couldn't watch anymore, "We..."

"No problem. If the doctor says he's qualified, then take him," Anand suddenly walked over.

"Right, right! No problem, my brother is very healthy," the man forcefully pressed his brother's arm onto the agreement and made a fingerprint.

"Hmm?" Ron frowned and looked at Anand.

"Ron, just be kind and take him in," he explained in a low voice.

"Wait, kind?"

"Yes, look at how tormented that brother is. He must not get enough to eat often."

Following the direction of Anand's finger, Ron finally saw what was wrong with the two brothers.

The older brother was strong and had smooth, shiny skin. The younger brother, however, was as thin as a stick, with scars of various sizes on his arms and face.

"If we take him in now, for the sake of him being able to earn money, his brother will definitely not torment him anymore, and maybe he can live a little longer."

Ron was somewhat silent. Clinical trials are not finished with just one injection; they require long-term follow-up by medical personnel.

If they agreed to use this mentally challenged person as a drug subject, then his brother would no longer beat and scold him, nor would he disappear without a trace after reaching a certain age.

Should he take him as a drug subject, or refuse this mentally challenged person with no cognitive ability and let him fend for himself?

No matter what Ron chose, it would be a torment to his conscience.

He remained silent, not answering.

Anand waved his hand, and the overjoyed brother pulled his sibling aside to wait. They would be sent to Merck's laboratory today.

What was the scene like at the local Indian generic drug manufacturers, Ron wondered.

A child's crying interrupted his thoughts.

"What's wrong now?" he asked.

"This woman wants her child to come," Luca was also exasperated.

"What?"

"She didn't pass the examination," Luca pointed at the woman in front of him, "She said her child can."

"Sir, my daughter can really do it. She is very healthy," the thin woman pleaded bitterly, "We haven't eaten for days. We have no money and will die."

Ron took a deep breath, "Give her a hundred rupees and let her go."

"Anand, you watch things here."

After giving the instructions, Ron left the courtyard without looking back.

He couldn't stay in this terrible place.