"Leo suggested you try out the Gorilla Arms; did you place an order with Old Vic yet?"
At the entrance of Arasaka Academy, V and Jackie were chatting—surprisingly, even though they had a mission coming up, Leo insisted on attending his classes during the day.
Leo's reasoning was simple: "I paid for it; I can't just let that money go to waste, right? Besides, guards are always more vigilant at the start of their shift and tend to relax as the shift ends."
V had gotten used to such demands, while Jackie was initially surprised but then just shrugged it off—after all, it was Leo.
However, the Sixth Street Gang informant driving the car was utterly bewildered: "Dude, you just killed over a dozen people in the Badlands, and now you're telling me you're still in school?"
"Yeah, I did," Jackie replied. "Oh, by the way, V, did you know Old Vic used to be in the Devil's Fist Boxing Club? Apparently, he was a real badass, might've even been a champ! No idea why he stopped fighting, though—maybe he didn't want to use cyberware in the ring."
V was surprised. "No way, I didn't know that. I only knew he liked watching boxing. Are you sure about this?"
Jackie continued, "I kept asking him while placing the order, and he finally admitted it. He even told me he's got a pair of Gorilla Arms he originally intended for himself. They're still in his collection. He said if I save up 200,000 eddies, he'd sell them to me."
"200,000 eddies for Gorilla Arms? I'm starting to believe he was a champ. If you get those, you'll be using cyberware made for a boxing champion. That's something money can't usually buy."
Jackie flexed his muscles proudly. "But I still think my natural muscles are pretty good. I can kind of understand if Old Vic wasn't into cyber boxing. A real man should build his iron-like muscles the old-fashioned way!"
As they talked, Leo walked out of Arasaka Academy—this time, the "holiday" remedial classes had started, and you could see some rich kids hanging around.
But as they left the school, most of them were discussing the latest hot new dream chip that the black market vendor had brought in.
Leo, however, was thinking about what he had learned today:
Gamma Rabies, a genetically engineered strain of rabies.
Its lethality had been reduced, but its transmissibility was enhanced. It spread primarily through bodily fluids, contaminated food, and water, leading to gastrointestinal infections.
During its incubation period, symptoms were subtle, but as the viral load increased in the body, it could spread through the conjunctiva and similar tissues, much like pink eye.
Though less lethal, if untreated within a week of onset, the patient usually doesn't survive beyond that week.
Common symptoms after onset include fever and convulsions, often misdiagnosed as epilepsy by general practitioners.
The only treatment involves using an alpha-neuroinhibitor slow-release agent to prevent the central nervous system from further deterioration while the body's immune system fights off the virus.
Statistics showed that patients who survive the initial, most severe 5-7 days generally begin to recover.
Proper rest during this time greatly improves recovery chances, and survival rates jump significantly after 12 days. Those with weaker immune systems may need another 10 days, but those who continue working during the illness often—well, more likely than not—die within the first three days.
The disease affects individuals with different levels of cyberware modifications in various ways.
For example, those with ocular implants aren't photosensitive—instead, their visual nerves might stop functioning altogether due to the complex human-machine interactions, leading to the implants shutting down and overheating.
If they're unlucky, this could cause permanent visual nerve degeneration, rendering the ocular implants unusable.
On the flip side, those with esophageal implants might not exhibit hydrophobia as a symptom.
It was rumored that this strain was a biochemical weapon developed by Biotechnica for Militech during one of the corporate wars. Of course, that's just what Arasaka's database claimed—
"This strain of rabies has really been turned into something new—it's practically a new species," Leo remarked.
Leo's luck was decent.
Today's ripperdoc course focused on emergency medical procedures, including a segment on common infectious diseases.
For Gamma Rabies, the first step was to shut down ocular implants and administer a slow-release agent.
Of course, you could leave the implants on—if you could endure intermittent image disruptions, blackouts, and the possibility of going permanently blind.
Another headache with Gamma Rabies: it doesn't just mess with your visual nerves.
Exposure to sunlight almost simultaneously interferes with all cyberware, the degree of which depends on its connection to the central nervous system.
For those with minimal cyberware, it doesn't get much better—symptoms like hydrophobia still occur, and sunlight exposure might cause respiratory muscle spasms, or even asphyxiation.
"We're not going to get infected, are we?" V asked, concerned.
Leo was noncommittal. "Who knows? But the Sixth Street Gang has conveniently solved that for us—here, take a shot."
Among the goods they had seized was a vial of the vaccine.
An adult only needed a 1ml injection of the vaccine, meaning a container of the same size as the slow-release agent could serve up to 300 people—ten times as many, and it would last a year.
Leo pulled out a pneumatic injector filled with the vaccine and gave each of them a shot, then clicked his tongue in wonder.
"This stuff is obviously more effective, which is why it's priced fifty times higher than the slow-release agent. Biotechnica's sales department really knows how to set prices."
"Fifty times?"
Jackie and V said in unison.
A vial of slow-release agent was going for 80,000 eddies in Santo Domingo. The same amount of vaccine, at fifty times the price, would be 4 million eddies?! Leo wasn't surprised, though: Medicine is a long-term investment.
If the vaccine were cheaper than the treatment, the number of sick people would drastically decrease, leaving no market for the treatment.
On the other hand, as long as the disease keeps re-emerging, even though the treatment is much cheaper than the vaccine, total sales would remain high.
"So we've managed to grab Sixth Street's lifeline—there's 100ml in that vial, probably something they paid a hefty price to get for their members.
It just goes to show how costly running an organization can be.
I just bought some basic medical supplies for the three of us and spent 2,000 eddies in one go."
"Wait, wait—" V slapped her face. "If the unit price is that much higher than the treatment, why isn't Biotechnica raiding people for it?!"
"How do you know they aren't?"
If three weeks of slow-release treatment could significantly improve survival rates, then the vaccine's price would surely exceed the equivalent treatment cost, with an added premium.
Treatment is for the lower class, so it's offered on installment; the vaccine is for those higher up, so it not only covers the treatment cost but also adds a markup. As the middle class begins to eliminate the disease, they ensure the basic operation of society—consider it fulfilling social responsibility.
As for the markup, sure, Biotechnica didn't raid, but didn't the fully operational Sixth Street Gang do that for them?
The premium serves as an economic whip to spur Sixth Street into working harder.
Leo continued, "As long as Sixth Street isn't sick, they can keep selling the treatment—there were 21 vials of treatment, 1 vial of vaccine, and 20 vials of slow-release agent in that shipment. The vaccine is a one-shot deal for a year, the treatment sells out in two weeks—80,000 per vial, 1.6 million total, just enough to break even, and as long as the business keeps going, there's still profit to be made.
See? Everyone's making money, and this time—of course, we're making a bit more."
V hadn't even finished calculating on her fingers before Leo gave her the answer, and her jaw dropped.
The Sixth Street Gang member driving felt like he'd just overheard something massive because he knew—those slow-release vials didn't last two weeks, they sold out in five days.
But he didn't dare say a word.
Jackie's Golden Nues were watching him closely; he didn't dare speak, didn't even dare to grumble, for fear the big guy might accidentally pull the trigger.
Leo turned to the soldier and asked, "How's your mom doing?"
"Not bad," the soldier replied, glancing around nervously from the front passenger seat.
"By the way, what's your name?"
"I—" The soldier hesitated for a moment but finally gave in under the Golden Nues' gaze. "My name's Archie. You should lie low; there are people up ahead."
As Leo gave the group a crash course in the car, they quickly entered Sixth Street Gang territory.
At this hour, Santo Domingo was crawling with Sixth Street members, riding motorcycles, driving cars, or simply walking around.
The gang had about two thousand core members, with many more peripheral associates, creating a sense of panic in the area.
The sergeant—Sixth Street's boss—had given them patrol routes. They not only had to follow the routes but also scan their surroundings constantly with their cyber eyes.
Even neutral merchants like Rosanna were scared into hiding, and others might do the same.
Leo sat in the passenger seat, with the big guy, Jackie, crouched in the back, trying to stay hidden. V, being less bulky, managed to hide in the back as well.
Both had thrown on some ragged coats, covering their heads and faces, making them look like they were sick.
This way, the Sixth Street patrols could only see Leo driving and Archie in the passenger seat—one of their own.
As for the car, it wasn't like they hadn't seen vehicles from Red Ocher in Santo Domingo before—they were currently driving a Thorton Galena G240, an old car from '31.
The three of them had returned yesterday in a Mackinaw and another Thorton Galena G240.
The Mackinaw was a big, black pickup that, according to Navi, the family had just bought from Rosanna before the incident and hadn't even used much.
You could tell it was second-hand; the parts were all cobbled together—but it was sturdy enough, slow but unbeatable at hauling cargo.
Otherwise, the G240 they were in now would have struggled just carrying four people, let alone a load of ammo and guns.
Judging by the car's condition, it was probably one of the first batches produced in '31.
Then came the inevitable—an idiot on a motorcycle—Leo thought to himself—pulled up alongside them.
"Hey, what family are you from? Nobody dares come in here anymore."
"Red Ocher—came to buy meds. Where's the shipment you promised? We've been waiting forever and haven't seen anyone from your side!"
Leo played the part of a Red Ocher family member perfectly—he looked just like a sickly nomad, putting on a show of bravado.
He was wearing a tattered coat—actually, it was something they'd taken from Red Ocher—underneath, he had a tactical belt with ammo and medical supplies.
News of the stolen goods hadn't spread yet, but Sixth Street members had been speculating that the convoy might have been hit.
Now this seemed to confirm it.
"So you're here for meds? No more left, go back and wait for further notice."
Leo glanced at Archie in the passenger seat, who waved at his fellow gang member, "They're heading to The Manufactory to buy supplies. Otherwise, they'll starve to death before they die from the sickness. You wouldn't want the boss lady at Lamar's Armory knocking on your door, would you?"
"Hard to say, these are special times, and the boss lady at Lamar's Armory has already skipped town—coward."
The car and motorcycle continued down the road.
The biker tried to get a look at the backseat and saw two figures huddled in their coats, looking like those sick nomads.
So, he decided to get a bit closer to take a better look.
But Leo suddenly coughed, the car jerked, and the steering wheel swerved, nearly forcing the biker into the sidewalk guardrail!
The rookie biker was so spooked he fell behind and started cursing,
"Damn it! Still driving in that condition? Crash and die already, you idiot!"
The two Sixth Street members cursed a few more times but didn't follow.
The three in the car finally let out a breath of relief.
Leo grinned and handed Archie a pneumatic injector filled with 10ml of slow-release agent.
"Well done."
Archie's eyes lit up.
He hadn't forgotten a single detail about the night these three attacked the convoy—if he saw these three demons on the street, his legs would turn to jelly.
But the reason he was sitting here, wearing the Sixth Street uniform, was the same as always.
He just wanted to earn some money to buy medicine for his mom.