Mosquito System: Blood Required

A puppet

"Baby, if you don't give your blood, won't she be angry at you?"

​The woman's voice was like honey dripping over broken glass. She lounged on the hospital sofa, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she looked at Roy.

Her eyes were bright with the predatory gleam of someone watching an obstacle being removed.

​Roy let out a jagged, ugly laugh.

"Angry at me,pfft? Teresha is obsessed with me. Even if she wakes up... which she won't. She'll probably thank me for not ruining my health with a needle. She's a pain, honestly. Always has been."

​"Baby, look at Dr. Andre," she whispered with a sharp smirk, pointing toward the door.

"He's still standing there. Hoping you would donate your blood."

​Roy turned his gaze toward the doctor. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the stench of his arrogance.

​"Dr. Andre, I believe you value your career, don't you?" Roy's voice was a low, vibrating threat.

​The doctor's face went from pale to a deep, insulted red. "What exactly are you implying, Mr. Roy?"

​"Are you slow?" the woman mocked from the sofa, her voice sharp.

"Roy just has to snap his fingers, and your little medical license is as good as scrap paper. He's telling you to walk out that door and forget you ever asked for a donation.

​I hovered near the ceiling, my wings vibrating with a frequency that felt like it was tearing my tiny thorax apart.

I had seen enough. This was the kind of casual, smiling evil that made my own memories of the rooftop scream in the back of my mind.

​But then, the temperature in the room plummeted. It didn't just get cold; it became stagnant, like the air inside a tomb.

​I swiveled my thousand-lensed eyes toward the corner of the room, near the darkened IV stand.

​A woman was standing there. She wore a blue hospital gown, the fabric translucent and shimmering with a sickly, ethereal light.

She wasn't a living being. She was a flickering shadow of grief, a soul caught between the scalpel and the shroud.

I could see right through her literally and figuratively.

The sadness in her translucent eyes was a crushing sorrow that made my own thirst for blood feel small.

​Is that his wife? I wondered. Is she watching her husband negotiate her death sentence while he flirts with her replacement?

​The shadow flickered, a single tear of light rolling down her cheek before she vanished into the gray wallpaper.

​A surge of fury hit me. I wanted to dive. I wanted to sink my proboscis into Roy's throat and watch that Crimson aura drain into the floor.

But I couldn't. If I killed him now, Teresha would die with him. She needed that blood.

​"System..." I buzzed into the void of my mind. "I need help. Now."

​[What is your requirement, Host?]

​"Find a way to make him donate blood to his wife. Control him. Break him. Whatever it takes to save that woman in the next room. After she's safe... I'll decide his fate myself."

​[A condition exists that the Host must acknowledge before the System executes this protocol. Since the Host is requesting a Benevolent Intervention rather than a standard harvest, a sacrifice is required. The cost is one year of your total human lifespan. Do you agree?]

​I hesitated. My heart or the tiny pump that served as one stuttered. I only had five days to live as it was.

Taking a year off my eventual human life felt like a high price for a man who had already lost everything.

​"You're a cruel piece of work, System," I muttered.

​[You have only five seconds to decide, Host. 5... 4... 3... 2...]

​"I agree! Take it. It's just a year. If I can't save a life while I'm down here in the dirt, what's the point of going back?"

​[Deal sealed. Longevity recalculated. Executing 'Puppet Master' protocol.]

​Suddenly, a rhythmic, robotic pulse echoed through my senses.

Roy, who had been leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, suddenly jerked upright. His spine snapped straight with an audible crack.

​The light in his eyes changed. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a dull, glowing red film.

He looked like a machine wearing a man's skin. He turned his head slowly toward Dr. Andre, his movements unnatural.

​"Doctor," Roy said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet the words were clear.

"I will donate. Take as much as is required. You must save my wife. At any cost."

​He reached out and took Dr. Andre's hand, shaking it with a firm, desperate grip that looked like a plea for mercy.

​What's happening with my body? A voice screamed from inside Roy. I could hear it through the System... the real Roy, trapped behind his own eyes, watching his limbs move against his will. It's like someone is inside me! Get out!

​Dr. Andre's face lit up with a mixture of shock and profound relief.

"I knew it, Mr. Roy... I knew. I couldn't believe a husband would truly be cruel enough to let his wife slip away like that. Please, follow me immediately. We don't have a second to lose."

​"Roy? What's wrong with you?" the woman on the sofa cried out, her face twisting in confusion.

She stood up and grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. "You just said you wanted her gone! You said we could finally enjoy together! Roy, stop this!"

​Roy didn't look at her. He didn't even acknowledge she existed.

​SLAP.

​Roy's hand moved with a lightning speed he didn't possess. He backhanded the woman so hard she spun and collapsed back onto the sofa, her lip split and bleeding.

​I hovered by the door, watching the scene with a dark, satisfied hum. Serve her right, I thought.

​"Take him, Doctor," I buzzed. "Drain him dry if you have to."

​As Roy was led out of the room like a lamb to the slaughter, the System's voice returned, cold and mocking.

​[Puppet Master protocol active. Harvesting of Crimson Tax will begin once the needle is inserted. You have sacrificed time, Host. Let us see if the blood is worth the price.]

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