Chapter 60: Chapter 58: Sneaking into the Village

"Lille asked you to try on the gorilla arms, did you place an order with Old Wei yet?"

At the entrance of Arasaka Academy, V and Jack were chatting idle—not bad, even though they had a mission to do, Lille still insisted on finishing the classes for the day.

Lille’s reasoning was: "The tuition is paid, can’t just waste it, right?"

Besides, at the beginning of a patrol, one is definitely vigilant, and it slacks off towards the shift change.

V was used to such demands, while Jack just felt surprised, but then he thought of Lille, and it all made sense.

The only one shocked like seeing a ghost was the Six Street Gang mole driving the car:

Big brother, you guys just killed more than a dozen people in Evil Land in the blink of an eye, and you’re telling me you’re still in school?

"Yeah, all set—speaking of which, V, did you know, Old Wei used to be in the Demon Boxing Club, heard he was really badass, might even have been a boxing champion!

I wonder why he stopped boxing later, maybe it’s because everyone started to play with prosthetics, and he didn’t want to fight anymore."

V looked surprised: "Damn, I really didn’t know that, only knew he liked watching boxing. Is this info reliable?"

Jack continued: "I kept asking him when ordering, and he finally admitted it, also telling me that he has a pair of gorilla arms that were originally meant for himself.

Those arms are still in his collection, he said once I save up 200,000, he’ll sell them to me."

"Gorilla arms for 200,000? I kind of believe you now when you say he used to be a boxing champion.

Then you’d be able to use prosthetic arms prepared by a boxing champion himself, those aren’t something you can just buy."

Jack proudly flexed his muscles: "But I think these muscles of mine aren’t too shabby, actually, I can kind of understand Old Wei if he doesn’t like prosthetic boxing.

A man should rely on pumping iron to build muscles of steel!"

While they were talking, Lille walked out of Arasaka Academy—this time, Arasaka Academy’s "holiday" remedial classes had started, and you could see some rich kids.

However, as they left the school gate, they were all discussing the new stock from the Black Superdream dealer who had come to school today.

In Lille’s head, however, it was what he learned today:

γ-Rabies, an artificially enhanced form of rabies.

Its lethality has been weakened, but its infectiousness increased, mainly transmitted through bodily fluids, eating infected food, and water sources causing GI tract infections.

The incubation period will have inconspicuous symptoms, the virus concentration rises within the body, and it can be transmitted through conjunctiva and similar tissues, like pink eye.

However, while lethality is decreased, if you don’t treat it within a week after falling ill, that week is probably your last.

After falling ill, it’s common to have a fever and convulsions; general doctors might misdiagnose it as epilepsy.

The only treatment is to use α-neural damage sustained-release agents, which relieve central nervous system damage symptoms and prevent the illness from worsening, while waiting for the immune system to overcome the virus.

Statistics have shown that after the initial and most severe symptoms of the first 5-7 days, the disease will start to turn around.

Proper rest during this time can greatly improve recovery chances; if you last 12 days, the recovery rate jumps significantly. Those with weaker immunity need another 10 days, while the working population needs...

Well, after falling ill, those who still labor usually die within the first ten days—more likely within the first three.

This disease has different effects on transhumans with different levels of prosthetic enhancements.

For example, those with Prosthetic Eyes won’t be afraid of light—the situation is graver as their visual nerves would cease to function under the complex human-machine interaction, leading to the shutdown of the prosthetic eyes as well as overheating.

If unlucky, permanent damage could occur to the visual nerves, making it impossible to ever use Prosthetic Eyes again.

However, on the bright side, those with esophageal prosthetics usually do not show symptoms of hydrophobia.

It’s said that during some corporate wars, Biotechnology developed this as a biochemical weapon for Military Technology...

Of course, that’s just what Arasaka’s database claims—"

"This rabies really has been played with, this type is still a new strain."

Lille was lucky.

The day’s prosthetics medicine class mainly covered rescue procedures, including teachings about common infectious diseases.

For γ-Rabies, you’d first need to shut off the Prosthetic Eye and inject a sustained-release agent.

Of course, you could also keep it turned on, as long as you can endure the intermittent image disturbances and blackouts, as well as the permanent risk of blindness.

γ-Rabies has another troublesome issue: not only the visual nerves are problematic.

If you get exposed to the sun, sunlight can almost synchronously disrupt all prosthetics, the extent only depends on how closely they are linked to the central nervous system.

For those with a lower degree of prosthetic enhancements, the outcomes aren’t any better—additional complications like hydrophobia still occur, and in sunlight, it could directly cause spasm of the respiratory muscles, even leading to suffocation.

"We won’t get infected, will we?" V asked worriedly.

Lille was noncommittal: "That’s hard to say, but lucky for us, Six Street Gang has solved it for us—take these two shots."

Among the loot they had, there was a can of vaccine.

Adults only need a 1ml dose, meaning that vaccine stored in the same size container could cover a whopping 300 people, ten times more than the sustained-release agent, and could last a year.

Lille pulled out the pneumatic injector filled with the vaccine and gave each person a shot, then clicked his tongue in admiration:

"This thing, obviously more useful, so it’s priced 50 times higher than the sustained agents, Biotechnology’s sales department really knows how to set prices."

"50 times?"

Jack and V exclaimed in unison.

A can of sustained-release agent now in Santo Domingo is traded for 80,000 euros, the same amount of vaccine, 50 times more is 4 million euros?!

But Lille wasn’t surprised: medicine is needed for long-term use.

If the vaccine was cheaper than the medication, then the number of sick people would significantly reduce, and there would be no place to sell the drugs.

On the other hand, as long as diseases break out repeatedly, although the medicine is much cheaper than the vaccine, the total sales won’t be less.

"So we really hit Six Street Gang’s main artery—there’s 100ml in the can, probably cost a lot of money meant for their boys.

Tsk tsk, so you see, managing a force, how costly it is.

I just bought some common medical supplies, for the three of us, and just like that, 2000 euros gone."

"Hold on, hold on—" V slapped his face, "This thing costs so much more than the medicine, why doesn’t Biotechnology just go rob people?!"

"How do you know they haven’t?"

If a 3-week sustained-release agent could greatly increase the survival rate, then the price of the vaccine would definitely be higher than that of equally effective drugs, and there would be a premium as well.

The medicine is for the lower classes, so it’s paid for in installments; the vaccine is for the higher classes, so it has to cover the cost of the meds plus a premium.

By starting to eliminate the disease among the middle classes, they could also ensure that basic societal functions continue—sort of like taking on a social responsibility.

As for the premium, Biotechnology may not have robbed anyone, but didn’t the Six Street Gang do it for them?

The mark-up serves as a great economic incentive to make the Six Street Gang work hard.

Lille went on, "The Six Street Gang aren’t sick, so they can sell drugs on the streets as usual—this batch, 21 canisters of medicine in the car, 1 canister of vaccine, 20 canisters of sustained-release agents, and the vaccine lasts a whole year after just one shot,

while the sustained-release agents sell out in two weeks—80,000 a canister, selling for 1.6 million in total, basically breaking even, and as long as business keeps going, there’s profit to be made.

You see, everyone’s making money, so now—of course, we make a bit more."

V was still counting on his fingers and hadn’t figured it out yet when he got the answer and his mouth fell open.

The Six Street Gang member driving felt he’d heard something big, because he knew—the sustained-release agents sold out in not even two weeks, but five days.

But he didn’t dare say anything.

Jack’s golden mean mug was staring him down hard, and he didn’t dare say a word, not even a complaint, for fear of setting off this hulk.

Lille asked the gang member, "How is it, how’s your mom doing?"

"Not too bad..." The soldier sat in the passenger seat looking around.

"By the way, what’s your name?"

"I..." The soldier hesitated for a moment but, under the stare of the golden mean mug, he eventually spoke up, "My name is Acido, you guys better hide, there are people ahead."

Lille explained the situation to the others in the car, and soon they were within the Six Street Gang’s territory.

On the streets of Santo Domingo, the Six Street Gang was everywhere, either on motorcycles, in cars, or simply walking.

The core members of the gang numbered over two thousand, with many more hangers-on, enough to keep everyone on edge.

The sergeant—boss of the Six Street Gang—had drawn them a patrol map, and they had to follow it closely, always scanning their surroundings with their Prosthetic Eyes.

Even neutral traders like Roshan could be spooked into hiding quietly; others might do the same.

Lille sat in the passenger seat while Jack the giant hunched in the back, with V a bit better off, not as bulky, also hiding in the rear.

Both had bundled up in shabby coats, covering their heads and faces as if they were sick.

That way, patrolling gang members could only see Lille, who was driving, and Acido in the passenger seat—their own people.

As for the Wanderer’s vehicle, Santo Domingo had seen its kind before—they were driving a Thunder Power Galina G240, an old model from ’31.

Yesterday, they had returned in both a Mackinaw and a Thunder Power Galina G240.

The Mackinaws were two black pickup trucks, which, according to Navi, the Tribe had just bought from Roshan before the incident and hadn’t been used to haul much yet.

At a glance, you could tell they were second-hand, their parts all cobbled together—but luckily, those trucks were solidly built; though not fast, their hauling capacity was unmatched.

Otherwise, the G240 felt a bit strained just carrying 4 people, let alone all that ammunition and weaponry.

Looking at the car, it might actually be from the very first batch produced in ’31.

The unexpected happened quickly—a douche on a motorcycle—that’s what Lille thought inwardly—as he rode up beside them.

"Hey, which Tribe are you from? No one dares come here now."

"Red ochre—here to buy medicine. Where’s your delivery? We’ve been waiting and haven’t seen a soul from your gang!"

Lille sounded just like someone from Red Ochre—like a sickly Wanderer, fierce on the outside, timid within.

His coat, too, was tattered and torn—actually snatched from Red Ochre, with a tight circle of tactical belt wrapped under it, filled with ammo and medicine.

The robbery hadn’t become widely known yet, but the Six Street Gang had been speculating whether their transport convoy had been hit.

This aligned quite a bit.

"So you’re here to buy medicine? There’s none left, go back and wait for notification."

Lille looked to Acido in the passenger seat, who waved his hands at his gang brothers, "They’re heading over to the factory to buy supplies; otherwise, it’s starvation if not disease. You wouldn’t want the boss lady from Lama Armory coming to your door asking questions, would you?"

"That’s hard to say, these are special times... and the boss lady from the Lama Armory has taken off—damn woman, such a coward."

The car and the motorcycle continued down the road.

The guy on the motorcycle tried to have a look at the back seat, seeing two figures wrapped up in their clothes like those sick folks.

So he decided to move closer for a better look.

But Lille suddenly coughed, and the car lurched forward, the wheel turned abruptly, almost squeezing the biker into the pedestrian railing!

This frightened the intently focused rookie on the motorcycle quite a bit; the bike fell behind somewhat, and he cursed loudly:

"Damn! You drive like that and get hit, it serves you right, idiot!"

A couple of Six Street Gang members swore a few times from behind, but they didn’t follow.

The three in the car let out the breath they were holding.

Lille chuckled and handed Acido a pneumatic injector filled with 10ml of the sustained-release agent:

"Nice work."

Acido’s eyes sparkled.

In his head, he hadn’t forgotten for a second about the day the three attacked the convoy—it was one of those memories that would make his legs tremble if he saw these three Demons on the street.

But the reason he was sitting here, wearing the Six Street Gang’s colors, was the same.

He just wanted to earn some money for his mom’s medicine.