A bad feeling gnawed at him.
The smell coming off Michael wasn't just chemicals—it was the distinct, sour odor of cyberpsychosis.
By normal standards, rich people almost never succumbed to cyberpsychosis.
Their custom prosthetics were top-tier, tailor-fitted to minimize body rejection.
They didn't have the obsessive drives or desperate survival instincts that pushed poor mercs into madness.
From birth, they received the best education, therapy, and social conditioning money could buy.
But Night City wasn't "normal."
Arthur grimly waved at Jack to stay alert, while he cautiously approached Michael, both guns raised.
The closer he got, the clearer it became:
Michael was completely lost in his own little world.
Oblivious to the guns aimed at him, to the two intruders standing in his villa.
Nothing else existed for him except the glowing liquids and strange specimens laid out on his workbench.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
This... was textbook early-stage cyberpsychosis.
Immersion into fantasy. Loss of awareness. Obsession overriding self-preservation.
If Michael were just a random vagrant, Arthur would've already called Regina and sold him for a fat bounty.
But... Michael was rich.
Rich and crazy.
Which meant there might still be money hidden somewhere in this wreck.
Arthur decided to play along.
"Hey, brother," Arthur called out casually, guns still at the ready.
"What are you working on?"
Best to get into the madman's rhythm first.
Trying to threaten a cyberpsycho was pointless—they didn't fear death.
Arthur chuckled darkly to himself.
If Michael had a wife or kid here, he wouldn't have hesitated to use them as leverage.
Maybe even stage an emotional hostage drama.
(Though he'd probably toss the wife to Jack. Poor guy had sacrificed enough.)
But there was no one else here.
Michael kept fiddling with his beakers, his voice rasping out without looking up:
"I am completing the greatest invention in the world...
Once it's finished, I'll rise again! I'll rebuild everything!!"
Arthur's eyebrows lifted.
The greatest invention in the world?
He wasn't expecting much—this was Night City after all—but curiosity flickered alive.
Whatever Michael thought was so important might still fetch a hefty price.
Jack edged closer, his interest piqued too.
(Or maybe he was just desperate to justify wearing a skirt.)
Arthur smiled encouragingly.
"Oh? Brother, I didn't expect you to be an inventor.
You must be the smartest person in the world! Can you share your amazing discovery with me?"
Flattery, after all, cost nothing.
Sure enough, Michael's chest puffed up with pride.
"You know...!" he croaked. "Since the end of the Fourth Corporate War, most animals on Earth are extinct!"
Arthur nodded slowly.
That part was true.
In Night City, even pigeons were a rare sight.
"But one creature survived," Michael whispered, voice trembling with fanaticism.
"A creature whose resilience rivals the heroes of myth.
A creature as common as bacteria!"
Arthur leaned in slightly.
This was getting interesting.
Michael's eyes burned.
"Cockroaches!"
Jack almost slipped on his ass behind Arthur.
Arthur managed to keep a straight face—barely.
Cockroaches.
Out of all the creatures on Earth, Michael had chosen cockroaches.
Michael gestured grandly to the workbench.
"I have discovered a way to tap into their secret.
A way to CHANGE THE WORLD!"
Arthur felt his heart thump.
Was it... some kind of bio-enhancement serum?
Some regenerative technology based on cockroach DNA?
If it could be commercialized, it would be worth billions!
He quickly holstered his pistols, pretending to be completely entranced.
He didn't even care about the mission anymore—if he could steal this tech, who needed a paycheck?
"Master Michael," Arthur said solemnly, "please forgive my ignorance.
Please tell this humble soul what your great invention is!"
Michael grinned widely, madness shining from every pore.
He stretched his arms out, like a prophet revealing a divine miracle:
"This... is a form of genetic engineering!"
Arthur clenched his fists in excitement.
Genetic engineering—based on cockroach DNA!
Was it superhuman resilience? Regeneration? Radiation resistance?
Whatever it was, it would be revolutionary!
Michael lowered his arms dramatically.
His voice dropped to a whisper:
"I plan... to make cockroaches... as big as a palm."
"So they'll be easier to spot—and easier to kill!"
Arthur: "..."
Jack: "..."
The entire basement fell into dead silence.
Even the flickering chemical vats seemed to pause mid-bubble.
Arthur slowly lowered his head, covering his face with one hand.
Jack's mouth hung open, his pistols sagging by his sides.
"Wait," Jack croaked after a long beat.
"Wait, wait, wait—you mean all this crazy shit... all this chemical stink... all this effort... was just to... make cockroaches bigger?"
Michael nodded proudly.
"As big as a hand! So we can squash them more easily!
No more missed sprays, no more hiding behind walls!
Imagine a world where every cockroach can be hunted down at a glance!"
Arthur wanted to cry.
He wanted to vomit.
He wanted to bash his head into a wall.
This lunatic wasn't trying to cure cancer.
He wasn't creating bio-armor.
He wasn't enhancing humans with cockroach DNA.
He was just trying to make cockroaches slightly larger.
Arthur breathed deeply, pressing his forehead against the cool steel of a nearby support pillar.
Jack, meanwhile, looked at Michael like he was Satan himself.
"I wore a dress..." Jack whispered hoarsely.
"I snuck past security...
I called myself 'Tequila Jack'...
ALL FOR THIS?!"
Arthur patted Jack on the shoulder solemnly.
"Welcome to Night City," he said.
"Where dreams really do come true—just not yours."
[End of Chapter 60: Great Genetic Engineering!]