7- THE MOSQUITO TRIAL

The scent of freshly sucked blood from the mosquitos buzzing around had flooded the air.

With each running step, Meyer felt the smell intensify.

Fueled by speed and fury, he had left Emma, Magnus, and the corpse of the Cutter far, far behind.

Now, what drew his attention were the buzzing vectors nearby—

their wings opening and closing like a sheer curtain.

Two voices echoed inside his mind, uninvited:

"2048 – Armed robbery at the Magma Protection Zone's Precious Minerals Conference Office!"

"2047 – The death of the Valuable Ores Union Chief has struck terror across the nation!"

He decided to shelve figuring those out for later.

Now wasn't the time.

There was also the flickering vision of a zoo, floating between those headlines.

Everything was tangled together into one chaotic mess.

Meyer felt a faint flicker of fear.

But instead of accepting it, he instantly rejected it.

Everything would go his way—he swore it to the wind.

Soon, he arrived at the entrance of the tower:

a roof resting on two massive stone columns.

In front of the door, dark green, decaying plants stood.

Above them, mosquitos flapped their wings—blood dripping from their mouths.

Each one floated like a lost traveler, tracing zigzags and spirals through the air.

"I don't think you even know what you're doing," Meyer muttered defiantly.

Then that defiance struck him as ridiculous.

"Challenging someone who doesn't even know what they're doing?

If the only way through this is to not be afraid,

then I won't be."

He promised himself.

Slowly, he walked toward the roof, even though the mere presence of the mosquitos had already started to make his skin itch.

The buzzing cloud shifted—

their target was now clearly Meyer.

One of them landed on his arm—

its legs clinging like the handle of a golden pitcher.

Meyer stared at it, stunned.

It had a wide mouth, two large bulbous halves for a head and torso, and six hairy legs.

Its shape resembled a computer mouse pointer.

Its color was bizarre—like rusted aluminum.

He gently touched one of its wings—

it was thick, almost like velvet.

He immediately realized the "sheer curtain" metaphor was wrong.

The mosquito wobbled on his skin like a tightrope walker trying to keep balance.

Its needle extended into the air.

"I'm not afraid," Meyer whispered again.

But when six more mosquitos landed on his other arm, things changed.

He noticed how the moment fear even flickered,

the mosquitos moved with more intention—

toward their knives, their needles.

They all wanted a taste of his orange-juice-colored blood.

Yet Meyer kept his composure—

letting them carry on their little performance.

The mosquitos continued to scuttle across his skin.

Sometimes dragging their legs like tired old men,

other times as light as feathers.

Tiny bumps appeared where their legs sank into his skin.

Meyer was sure the needles hadn't pierced a vein yet.

Then again, people didn't usually feel the pain right when a needle hit a vein.

Maybe this was part of the mosquito's defense mechanism—

a way to avoid being swatted too soon.

Meyer cut through his own thoughts like a blade through cloth.

He looked more closely at the mosquitos.

Something deep inside him said he had to go even deeper.

He glanced at the rough, moss-colored stone steps.

Mosquitos flitted through the air and crawled across his arms—

but now he felt no fear.

He wondered how.

The Devil Chip activated.

"You're doing well," it said. "But I'm afraid you've overlooked a difficult stage."

Meyer grinned crookedly.

"And what stage is that?"

His voice oozed the energy of someone who hadn't cared about the world in a long, long time.

He didn't question when that had started.

It was clearly sometime in the last four hours.

In the shadows beneath the stone pillars holding up the roof,

Meyer saw clusters of mosquitos swarming—

moving their limbs like puppets over something.

When he got closer,

all he could see were bloodstains.

He pushed on a little further.

The sky above was painted with a swirl of dark purple and pale green.

In the distance, a fountain in front of a peach-colored building kept spraying groundwater nonstop.

Meyer turned his head.

Something sharp had pricked his awareness.

Reflexively, he forgot all about the mosquitos on his arms—

and walked toward the stone building.

His shoes clacked against the ground with crisp, echoing thuds.

"What's my current fear level?" he asked aloud.

The Devil Chip activated.

"Your fear level is currently 10%."

"Ten percent?" Meyer said, surprised.

"I was sure it wasn't even one."

"Fear," said the Devil Chip,

"is a wild treasure hidden deep inside humanity.

So… what do your instincts say, Cutter?"

Meyer flinched at the nickname.

He couldn't accept it.

"I'm not the Cutter," he snapped.

"The Cutter is that oversized corpse I left behind!"

The Devil Chip chuckled with mock approval.

"Alright, alright. Then tell me—

do you have the guts to enter?"

Meyer didn't even hesitate.

His feet already felt the floor inside,

his lungs tasted its air,

his hands could feel the skin of the walls,

his eyes sensed the darkness,

and his tongue imagined the sour taste of fear.

He descended the steps—

and came to a large steel door framed with heavy metal beams.

Dangling from the handle was a tag with a command:

"To enter: Kill 100 mosquitos."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Meyer shouted.

"Kill a hundred mosquitos?

Code 43 told me there was no way to fight them—

that all I had to do was not be afraid, and they wouldn't harm me!"

He dug through his pockets—

but all his weapons had been left behind at the site of the Cutter's death.

That fight, which had goaded him into dropping his blades,

now felt even more ridiculous.

The Devil Chip had gone silent.

Not a single word.

"What? Can't connect anymore?" Meyer grumbled.

He turned around—

and saw the swarm charging toward him.

He shut his eyes tight.

Everything became eerily still—

until he felt tiny needles pierce various points on his body.

With a gasp, he flung himself backward and shouted:

"AAAAAHHH!"

The mosquitos circled around him, buzzing furiously.

"Get off me, you freaks!" Meyer yelled, breathing hard.

His chest was rising and falling like a jackhammer.

He threw a fist into the air—

as if punching the cloud of insects.

But they were survivors.

Specialists in pain.

"Wrong move, my friend," the Devil Chip said.

"You won't punch your way out of this one."

That chilled Meyer.

Just a little.

"Your fear level is now at 20%.

I don't want to scare you, but…"

"Oh, please," Meyer groaned.

He scanned his surroundings—

looking for anything that could be of use.

"Code 43 told me not to be afraid,

and that would protect me from them.

But this door says I have to kill them."

"There's something off here.

Maybe I'm not even supposed to go through this door!"

Without warning, Meyer leapt toward the back of the tower—

slipping through an opening in the swarm.

The buzzing intensified.

The vectors were hunting him now.

Just then, Meyer noticed they weren't following him—

they were headed somewhere else.

He followed their path—

to a glowing streak of light cutting across the shadows.

There—on the ground—

lay a body.

Torn to pieces.

Clearly female, judging by the hair.

The stench of death choked the air,

its horror seeping into the sky itself.

Meyer covered his mouth.

"Oh God…"