Medical Substitute: Cyberpunk

"Do not use this product as a substitute for medical attention,” blared the warning label on the helmet that M held. She glared at it for a moment and then jammed it on. As if she could freaking' well afford real medical attention. Not with the way that she lived. She’d been risking enough lifting an object this size from the boutique; she could hardly waltz into a med-clinic and demand the free treatment guaranteed to every citizen under the universal code. Oh, they'd treat her all right. They’d treat her and then slap the indenture on her until she was too old to be of any use to them, thanks to a ridiculously low payment for her services per hour. The helm of the visor stayed blank.
Inspiration: Warning label on the mini-massager.
Story Potential: High. Could be a fun cyberpunk sci-fi jaunt.
Notes: So, yeah. Maybe there's a product recall she hears about later when suffering some bizarre side-effect.