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Chapter 61: Biotechnica
🕑 Added 2025-11-02 10:22:58 +0000 UTCChapter 61: Biotechnica
Deep within the subterranean sanctum, the low thrum of the dimensional transporter had just subsided. The data analysis from the energy-resonance test was running automatically in the background. In this brief lull, a flicker of what could almost be described as "leisure" passed through Joric's core-logic. His gaze idly swept over a data-stream representing Night City's network activity, and a simple, academic thought surfaced: the entity known as "Biotechnica" seemed to possess this world's most significant repository of biological knowledge.
"Perhaps," he mused, "one should see what they have in their collection." This was not a pre-meditated strategic move. It was the simple, pure curiosity of a scholar idly pulling an unknown tome from an archive shelf.
Based on his recent, successful analysis of the Blackwall's protocols, constructing a data-probe for infiltration was now a trivial, almost routine, exercise. He casually set a few search parameters—genetic manipulation, neural interfacing, pharmacology—not truly expecting to find anything of profound worth.
"Initiating injection," he stated flatly.
The data-stream, perfectly disguised as an internal Blackwall directive, passed with impudent ease, like an invisible ghost, through Biotechnica's vaunted, layered firewalls. The lethal Black-ICE programs, designed to annihilate external intruders, recognized the signal's high-level internal authority and passively granted it access, leaving only a mundane, routine entry in their logs.
When it reached the final, internal sanctum—a barrier requiring both biometric and dynamic-key authentication—the probe simply simulated a "Blackwall Emergency Sanctity Audit" directive. The "impenetrable" door opened at once, as if making way for its true administrator.
A massive sea of data was silently, flawlessly copied and exfiltrated. Joric began to browse his uninvited "gifts."
His crimson optical lenses scanned the gene-sequence map for "CHOOH2" synth-wheat, his internal processing speed accelerating slightly. "...An efficient biomass-to-fuel conversion pathway. The design logic is clear. Its energy density, once properly refined and sanctified, could serve as a viable substitute for low-grade Promethium, alleviating certain local energy-supply deficits."
His assessment, however, immediately turned cold. "But large-scale monoculture of such a cash crop will inevitably choke the ecosphere of native food-stock. In the long term, it will lead to critical supply-chain vulnerabilities. Short-sighted."
When he accessed the neural-control-hub schematics for cloned animals, and the adjacent, "Top Secret" files on human-replication experiments, a dry, metallic laugh-hiss escaped his vocalizer.
"Crude mimicry. An attempt to assembly-line life, yet it cannot grasp even the faintest spark of a Machine-Spirit, let alone a soul. It produces only animated flesh. As for this neural control-hub..." He assessed the mandatory neural-override technology. "The tech is juvenile. The control method is too direct, lacking fine modulation-circuits. The decay-rate on the host-chassis must be catastrophic."
"However," he added, "the doctrinal goal—absolute control over a biological unit—this vector has merit. There is room for... improvement."
As for the buried painkiller-trial data (Sasha's data), it earned his cold judgment: "The technology to target specific pain receptors is functional, but its side-effects demonstrate doctrinal immaturity. Still, the mechanism... this potent inhibitor for specific neurotransmitters... the principle is interesting. It could serve as a base template for a non-lethal pacification-mist, for area denial and control."
He quickly sorted and archived the data. CHOOH2-wheat was flagged: [Potential Value - Energy]. The neural-control hub: [Observation - Adaptable Logic]. He filed them away in a non-priority section of his knowledge-bank.
In his eyes, most of this technology was primitive, lacking depth, like toys cobbled together with crude tools. And yet, even in this crudity, he could see sparks of utility—the drive for absolute obedience, the potential for rapid-biomass production—even if the methods were blasphemously simplistic.
"A civilization, toddling down a divergent-heretical path, can, on occasion, produce... noteworthy sparks," he concluded with a high-level summary.
His idle curiosity had not been a waste. He now had a much clearer understanding of this world's technological ceiling.
He closed the data interface as one would close a trivial magazine, his full attention returning to the fluctuating energy-readouts of his Dimensional Sextant. The storm his previous "idle act" (the Blackwall Broadcast for Sasha) was causing in the outside world was of far less interest to him than the data concerning trans-dimensional travel.
He could already see Biotechnica's networks flailing in response to the chaos he had unleashed, but it was not worthy of his concern.
At the exact same time Joric was silently looting Biotechnica's data-fortress, the atmosphere in the top-floor emergency boardroom of the Biotechnica Tower had hit absolute zero.
On the massive holo-wall, footage of the "Global Forced Pop-up" incident played on a loop. Sasha's data, refined and weaponized by Joric, was displayed for all to see: the falsified lab reports, the tragic victim-testimonies, the cold-blooded cost-benefit analysis from internal emails... all of it slicing through the "humanitarian" image Biotechnica had spent decades building.
"PR is in full damage-control! We've activated every media channel we own, issuing denials, blaming it on a rival-corp slander campaign, and our legal-teams are already filing suits!" a VP of Public Relations reported, his voice hoarse, his forehead slick with cold sweat.
"And the effect?" CEO Nicolo Logagia's voice was low, devoid of emotion, but his white-knuckled grip on the table betrayed his fury. All his work to restore the planet's ecology, to build a positive corporate image, was being incinerated by this single, resurrected file.
"In the short term... limited," the VP admitted, swallowing. "Public sentiment is... inflamed. The families of the painkiller-victims have formed a powerful, vocal bloc on the Net. Our stock... it dropped fifteen percent at opening. It is still falling."
"Find them!" Logagia slammed his fist on the table. "Find out who did this! What the hell is my cybersecurity division for, if not to stop something like this from being broadcast to every agent on the planet?!"
The Head of Cybersecurity, pale and trembling, stood. "Sir... we... we cannot trace the source. The attacker's methods... they are beyond our comprehension."
"Explain," Logagia's voice was as cold as a scalpel.
A younger tech-specialist took over, his own voice shaking. "Our analysis... this global broadcast... it wasn't a standard vulnerability exploit or a server-hijack. The data-path... it... it appears to have directly utilized the Blackwall's core broadcast protocol."
The room was plunged into absolute, terrified silence.
(Author's Note: For Joric's height, beside him is an officially-stated 3-meter tall Primaris Terminator, and on the other side is a human-height Imperial Knight pilot, who operates the mechs. The one in the middle is a standard Tech-Priest Archaeologist. This is the protagonist's current appearance.)
