Plague-Stricken Red Ocher Family

The Red Ocher Family is a nomadic group under the Aldecaldo Nation, currently wandering the Badlands outside of Night City. Now that Leo has discovered they're buying goods from the Sixth Street Gang, it's essential to stop them. The nomads play a critical role in the illicit trade that thrives around Night City.

As Leo had put it: from the consumer to the supplier, all trade routes must be severed.

They had already seized the goods, warned the distributors, and now it was time to deal with the consumers—

They can still buy, but they'll have to buy from Leo.

Out of the five trucks, they managed to scrape together three Columbus cargo trucks with intact tires, thanks to the precise targeting of their smart weapons. Not a single extra tire was damaged, and by mixing and matching, they had three functional trucks.

After a night of rest, Leo, V, and Jackie each took one of the trucks and headed off-road into the Badlands.

Today was bright and sunny, the sun's glare making Leo squint and reminding him of the drive back from Atlanta.

Leo sighed, "Damn, the sun out here in the Badlands..."

V immediately chimed in, "Told you, anyone who drives in the Badlands for a few days is bound to lose their mind—so, when are you gonna pay me back for all that driving?"

Leo completely ignored V, instead focusing on the small canyon ahead where a few tents were set up, tied to trailers to prevent them from blowing away in a sandstorm.

That was the "home" of the Red Ocher Family.

As the unfamiliar trucks approached, three boys emerged from the tents, each holding a rifle, their faces a mix of vigilance and urgency.

V noted with interest, "They look pretty desperate, agitated even. Probably pissed at the Sixth Street Gang, but they've got no choice but to buy their meds. But where is everyone? They've got kids standing guard?"

Jackie, on the other hand, noticed that just before the three boys got up to greet them, they had been playing with the younger kids in the family.

The nomads seemed to be living in pretty rough conditions, but this scene made Jackie feel a sense of warmth.

Jackie suddenly said, "Leo, maybe we should go easy on them, they're having a rough time."

The trucks pulled up at the entrance to the encampment.

If Jackie could pick up on these things, so could Leo, and he knew even more.

His Kiroshi optic scan picked up some interesting details—inside one of the tents piled high with scrap, he noticed a special storage container.

It didn't have any identifying marks, but it looked similar to the packaging of the medicine they had seized.

In the game, the Red Ocher Family seemed to have accepted Biotechnica's offer to collaborate on some kind of experiment—so it appeared these were the experimental drugs.

"Let's get out and talk—things might be more complicated than we thought."

The three of them stepped out of the trucks, and a few frail-looking women hurriedly ushered the children away as a group of people gathered around.

They tried to make themselves look intimidating, but Leo's Kiroshi optic scan revealed the truth: suspected illness.

Moreover, they all huddled together in the shade.

"Stop right there! I'm guessing you're not Sarabi, and you're definitely not with the Sixth Street Gang. What do you want?"

The lead boy held a Rostovic Needle missile launcher.

He was trying hard to act tough, but his trembling hands didn't escape the trio's notice—he was scared.

And it wasn't just him, but the boys behind him too, though the leader seemed to have a bit more backbone.

Unlike city folk, where even a 60-year-old could get facial implants to look youthful, nomads didn't have the money or the tech. If they looked 18, they probably were 18.

This one seemed even younger—maybe only 15 or 16.

V scoffed, striding forward with confidence, reciting the lines Leo had given her:

"Pfft—Rostovic DB-4 Needle missile, Serbian industrial junk. Scary name, but it's really just for shooting ducks. Fire it off, and if you're lucky, nothing happens. If you're unlucky, the barrel blows out, and if you're really unlucky, both barrels explode. Serbian guns are only good for one thing."

V gave a thumbs-up over her shoulder—Jackie shifted slightly, revealing the Satara on his back.

She then walked right up to the boy, the gun barrel pressed against her stomach, no more than 20 centimeters away.

She just stared at him, the pressure on him mounting like a mountain, sweat pouring down his face.

Then, V gently pushed the rusty gun aside, "That gun's bark is worse than its bite, kid. Now, get someone who can actually talk."

The boy was visibly tense, sweat pouring down his forehead.

He nervously glanced back at the people behind him, just as he was about to say something, Leo stepped forward.

"Don't scare our customer—friend, we're not here to cause trouble, but it seems there's been a misunderstanding. I'm guessing this is what you need?"

He held up the container of medicine, the pale blue liquid inside glinting in the sunlight.

"You... you... the Sixth Street Gang said you were bandits, that you stole our meds..."

"But here they are. Go fetch your leader; we can talk."

Cough, cough.

At that moment, a pale man stepped out, dressed in heavy clothing and wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat, constantly coughing, looking like he was about to collapse.

Another version of myself, thought Leo.

Of course, this man was much older.

"Navi, stand down. I'll speak with them." The man walked up to Leo, trying his best to stand upright. "I'm Hector Crois, chieftain of the Red Ocher Family. What do you want?"

"To be precise, what do you want?" Leo put the medicine away. "It would be friendlier to sit down and talk, don't you think?"

Hector reluctantly nodded.

Normally, he should have refused such a request—there's no reason to let strangers see the state of their family.

But, as Leo had pointed out, they had nothing left. They might as well be more agreeable.

Inside the tent, Hector looked even weaker—strangely so.

He had sought shade outside, but once inside, he seemed even more drained.

He was bundled up tightly, but Leo noticed some faint green marks around his eyes, unsure if they were tattoos.

"We're sick. Actually, I heard from the Sixth Street Gang that Santo Domingo is sick too. They called it something like gamma rabies."

Rabies? But there weren't many dogs left in the world, only the wealthy could afford to keep them, and to put it bluntly, nomads weren't even worthy of being bitten by dogs.

It was probably some new variant virus, modified from rabies. Several corporate wars had unleashed plenty of things like that.

There wasn't much useful information in the public databases of this world. Viruses linked to corporations could only be found in corporate databases—Leo would have to check next time he had access to one.

Leo stroked his chin, "I'm guessing they also said that's why the medicine prices went up. How much are they charging you?"

Hector hesitated, but eventually decided to tell the truth, "A single vial of the slow-release drug costs 80,000 eurodollars, about the size of the one you're holding. It used to be just 40,000 eurodollars. But then the disease hit, and those bastards doubled the price!"

One vial—about 300ml, more like a bottle.

At a dosage of 5ml per person, that's enough for 60 people, and this slow-release drug might last about a week.

In other words, with this disease, a person would have to spend 670 eurodollars on medication each week, and the Red Ocher people would need 1,340 eurodollars.

Sickness truly is a curse.

"And what about the vaccine?"

"The vaccine..." A look of pain flashed across Hector's face, "We can't afford it."

That was a lie.

Vaccines might be more expensive than the slow-release drug, but if they could afford the latter, not being able to afford a few vaccines was nonsense.

Leo suddenly said, "You signed a human experimentation agreement with Biotechnica, so you can't use the vaccine."

Hector's face turned pale.

"It's clear these two things are connected, and they might even be related—however, don't worry, I'm not here to dig for information. I do have some medicine with me. How much money do you have?"

This sudden shift in conversation threw Hector off track.

The confidentiality agreement was part of the deal, and thankfully Leo didn't press further.

As for money, things were more complicated—the family members were sick, so they had to spend money on medicine.

But after buying the medicine, instead of getting better, more and more people fell ill, leaving fewer people to work.

The Red Ocher Family wasn't large or small, with about a hundred or so members, but because of this situation, over the past month, they had slowly burned through their savings.

"200,000 eurodollars, that's all we have."

"That's a lot, Chief—but for the sake of the children, I can sell you the slow-release drug at half price, as a gesture of friendship. 200,000 eurodollars, originally only enough for 2 vials, but I'll give you 5, and throw in an extra for free, making it 6 vials."

Hector was stunned by Leo's offer!

Gamma rabies is a self-limiting disease, and the best you can do is use more slow-release drugs to alleviate symptoms and wait for the body to recover.

The longer you can hang on, the better your chances of survival, and once you make it past three weeks, the recovery rate jumps dramatically! That's what the Biotechnica people had personally explained to him! The 200,000 eurodollars worth of medicine he originally planned to buy would have barely lasted them a week. Now, they had a chance to survive!

Leo finished his pitch by placing both hands on the table, speaking casually, "You see, as friends, I only have one request—cut off all ties with the Sixth Street Gang. No more cooperation, in any form, including trade."

Then he extended his hand across the table, "So, friends?"

Hector, overwhelmed with emotion, grasped Leo's hand, "Friends!"