Chapter 63: The Terrifying Lethality of Mosquitoes!

Arthur couldn't help but feel that, aside from cockroach experiments, there might actually be other uses for the tech Michael had stumbled onto.

For example — biological enhancement.

(And no, not that kind of enhancement.)

Arthur was thinking about fists.

Enlarged muscles.

A stronger punch.

A heavier blow.

Imagine training bare-knuckle brawlers with fists the size of a wrecking ball.

Of course, there was another, more practical reason Arthur was interested.

This kind of biotech — even if it was half-baked, even if it was born from madness — was rare.

It could sell for a damn good price.

But research it himself?

Arthur immediately killed the thought.

He wasn't some corporate empire.

In Night City, if you wanted to get into real scientific research, you needed money.

A lot of money.

Millions, just to get the basic facilities running.

Millions more, burned month after month, thrown into experiments that gave no results except the soul-crushing word "NO."

Throwing cash into science was worse than tossing it into a black hole.

At least a black hole might spit out Hawking radiation.

Science just spat in your face and asked for more.

Nope.

Arthur figured he was better off selling the blueprints to one of the big corps.

Let those soulless bastards deal with it.

They were the reason the world was half-dead anyway — but also the reason tech still kept advancing.

Hypocrisy?

Absolutely.

Efficiency?

Undeniable.

Meanwhile, behind Arthur, Jack was putting in work.

"Ahhh! Stop hitting! Stop hitting! I really don't have any money!"

Michael's shrill voice rang out through the basement.

Jack was hammering away at him like a man possessed, a pink blur of violence and justice.

Arthur casually grabbed a can of insecticide and sprayed it toward a nearby box.

Inside, dozens of tiny mosquitoes buzzed angrily.

Jack glanced over, curious despite himself.

"arthur, this guy's tougher than any boss I've seen! How is he still breathing after so much beating?"

Arthur shrugged, scanning Michael's broken form sprawled on the floor.

"That's because the rich people you've robbed before still had blood left in them," Arthur said.

"The little you stole was just pocket change. They didn't even notice."

"But this guy?"

Arthur's voice dropped low.

"This guy's on the edge.

His entire life's savings are tied up.

If we take it —

he falls."

Arthur crouched down in front of Michael, studying him like a bug under a microscope.

This close, you could smell the difference.

Michael's prosthetic skin was premium quality — silky smooth, almost organic.

And yet, inside?

Rotten to the core.

Arthur tapped Michael's cheek lightly.

"Once upon a time, you stood atop skyscrapers," Arthur said quietly.

"Whiskey in your hand, looking down at the storm raging over Night City."

"You probably even said something poetic about it, didn't you?"

He smiled coldly.

"But now? Now you're the trash floating in that storm."

Arthur leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

"You've got two choices, Mr. Former Big Shot."

"One, cooperate. Pay up. Maybe sell your car, eat some humble pie, and claw your way back."

"Or two... I crack open your brain-computer interface like a cheap tin can, drain your accounts dry, and leave you drooling on the floor."

Arthur checked his watch.

"You've got two minutes to decide."

He stood up, dusted off his hands, and left Michael to stew in his own fear.

Meanwhile, Jack had wandered over to the mosquito box, staring inside with wide eyes.

"Are these really mosquitoes?" he whispered, amazed.

"I've only ever seen flies... they're so tiny!

They're like... like cute little bugs!"

Arthur nearly slapped him.

"You call that cute?"

Arthur could already imagine the horror: swarms of engineered mosquitoes, biting through prosthetic skins, injecting viruses straight into the bloodstream...

If Jack even thought about sneaking one of those mosquitoes home, Arthur swore he'd personally toss him into the nearest dumpster.

"Listen to me carefully, Jack," Arthur said grimly.

"If you bring one of those back, I will kill you myself.

Understand?"

Jack nodded sheepishly, still staring at the buzzing insects like a kid at a candy store.

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He wasn't exaggerating.

Michael's mosquito project — ridiculous as it sounded — was beyond terrifying.

Because it wasn't about the bites.

No.

It was about the diseases.

In Night City, the average person already had more viruses than a hacked computer.

Especially in poor districts, it was like a constant game of biological roulette.

No healthcare, no cures, no hope.

If a weaponized mosquito plague hit?

Tens of thousands would die.

Night City had already lived through the Bird Extermination Act back in 2051 — tens of thousands dead every year, until they wiped out every last damn bird to stop the spread of a virus.

Now imagine the same thing happening again.

But faster.

Worse.

Global extinction wouldn't start with a nuclear warhead.

It would start with a mosquito bite.

Arthur shook himself free of the grim thoughts and looked down at Michael.

The little bastard was still twitching on the ground.

Night City wasn't a place where good guys won.

It was a place where monsters fed on monsters.

But sometimes —

sometimes you had to be a bigger monster to protect the people who couldn't fight back.

Arthur tightened his grip on the gun.

The countdown on Michael's choice had begun.

And whether he liked it or not —

he was about to pay.

[End of Chapter 63: The Terrifying Lethality of Mosquitoes!]