To Roqi, Lieutenant Morel felt like a berserk rhino or a runaway train—lock eyes with her target, let out a primal roar, then charge forward with mechanical fury, only to crash straight into a wall or stumble into a puddle.
Once she went full cyberpsycho, her strength ramped up—but her sense of reason vanished. She'd zip around with boosted reflexes, "shwoosh shwoosh," and then slam "bang bang bang" into solid concrete.
A Militech lieutenant with special forces training, loaded with high-tier military-grade implants… yeah, no surprise she hit like a goddamn nightmare.
Roqi rolled aside just in time to dodge a swing, his scalp tingling.
Her punch sliced through the air, grazing his face.
"Hey, hey, chill! Don't make me get serious…"
Roqi warned half-jokingly—then watched as Morel staggered to her feet and slowly turned to face him.
Gulp. He swallowed hard.
That pressure coming off her… enough to make anyone second-guess themselves.
"WAAAAAARGH—!!!"
At last, after smashing into enough walls to qualify as demolition, Morel ditched any tactics and went full frontal—charging right at Roqi.
A blur of black streaked through the air, her blade gleaming as it came for his throat.
Time slowed.
Moonlight slipped between towering buildings, sparkling on puddles below.
A nearby convenience store played cheerful pop music through cheap speakers.
Hundreds of windows flickered with scattered lights—some bright, some dim.
In this forgotten courtyard, the city's breath could be heard.
Crack.
Roqi snatched her wrist mid-swing and drove his palm into her gut.
"Yah!"
Her body flew—lifted cleanly into the air—and arced back down with a splash that shook the whole courtyard.
Water exploded on impact, ripples scattering like a shockwave.
Her knife slipped from her hand and clattered into the water, sinking slowly as the cold steel shimmered under the ripples.
"Whew—almost got wrecked." Roqi exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. He glanced at Morel, groaning and flailing in the water. "Told you. If you'd surrendered earlier, you could've avoided all this."
Her body was way past the limit. Between gunshot wounds, self-inflicted collisions, and now that slam, she was done. The only thing keeping her conscious was her military implants' passive override.
This hit should keep her chilled out for a bit.
Roqi yanked her comms device, sat nearby, and started skimming her data.
"Yo, it's Lucky," he said, calling up Regina Jones.
"How'd it go? You finish it?"
"I got the data. Sending it now. She was Militech spec-ops. Looked like she realized she was losing control, went to see a doc. Instead of helping her, Militech sent two teams to erase her. She wiped them both."
"Perfect." Regina nodded. "I'll send someone to extract her."
"No need. She's dead." Roqi aimed his PDA cam at Morel's motionless body.
She lay there in the water, limp as seaweed, with Roqi's boot planted on her back.
"I told you to keep her alive," Regina said, frowning.
"She was already too far gone. Collapsed the second I laid her down—nothing I could do," Roqi replied with a shrug. "No worries, I'll bag you a few more next time. Night City's full of psychos—one less won't hurt."
"Fine. Just be more careful. Transfer's done." Regina sighed and hung up—without noticing the smug grin creeping across Roqi's face.
The moment the call ended, he lifted his foot.
Morel immediately sucked in a ragged breath, coughing violently.
"Khh—cough cough cough!!"
She hadn't died—just been completely pinned. And now, even with her mind scrambled, she could feel the danger.
She'd never sensed such raw threat from a person before. That throw, that stomp—it was like facing a hydraulic press instead of a man.
But the pain still grinding through her body was eating away at her last shreds of strength.
"Waaaagh…!! Kill me already…" she wheezed, rolling in the water despite having zero strength left.
"Man… who would've guessed," Roqi sighed, scooping her up under one arm like a sack of potatoes.
She flailed like a malfunctioning engine, but honestly, she wasn't any harder to handle than a big dog at this point.
"Move along—yo, taxi!"
Roqi bared his teeth and scared off a few rubberneckers, then flagged down a cab trying to drive off.
"Drive. Bradbury Street."
Faced with a gun and some eddies, the cabbie shakily followed instructions and drove them to familiar territory.
Roqi kicked open the old gate, scaring off a couple teens loitering by the vending machine, and dragged the convulsing Morel into the dark basement below.
Here, he was about to do… unspeakable things to a helpless young woman.
Hiahiahia~ (Just kidding.)
"Vic! Got a patient for you!"
He yanked open the steel door.
"Oh, Lucky. What brings you today?" Viktor paused the boxing match he was watching. "Who's this?"
"Militech lieutenant. Must've had some experimental chrome. She was in too much pain, turned full psycho. Militech sent in a cleanup team. I took her down and brought her in." Roqi dropped Morel onto the dental chair and strapped her in like it was nothing.
"Alright, let's take a look."
Vic always spoke calmly.
He jacked her into the system, hands moving fast as ever—Roqi couldn't follow a thing.
"Hold her still. My chair's about to break. Hmm… Her hormones are all over the place. That implant did serious damage."
"She gonna make it, Vic?" Roqi asked. "Also—any tracking software, backdoors?"
"Relax." Vic adjusted his tools. "I removed everything. At least for now, no one's following."
He injected a tranquilizer and severed her connection to the malfunctioning implants. Her pain eased slightly, but the nervous system damage was severe.
"Sandevistan and Kerenzikov. Common enough." Vic scanned her interface. "But they stacked on a pain editor and a reflex enhancer too… Even with flawless parts, that's too much."
"Doing this without a full neural rebuild? Might as well be murder."
"So what now? She got a shot?" Roqi asked, frowning.
He hadn't expected things to be this messy.
Sure, lots of people got chromed. Plenty had issues. But true cyberpsychos? Rare.
Trauma Team defines cyberpsychosis as the sum of all personality and mental disorders triggered by hardware and behavioral software—mostly tied to anxiety and emotional breakdown.
Simply put, implants are the spark—but the explosion happens in the soul.
Everyone in Night City knows someone. A neighbor who added too much chrome, lost it, and opened fire in the street. Or someone too cheap for a real ripperdoc, suffering from hallucinations and insomnia, pushed over the edge by hormone meds.
Some say cyberpsychosis comes from inequality. Others say it's the price of tech addiction. Some say it's BS—until they see a friend snap and call MaxTac.
"Mod at your own risk." Roqi sighed.
"Exactly. Listen to your doc. Follow protocols. It only lowers the odds, not removes them," Vic replied as he picked up a scalpel.
"You're a ripperdoc. You sure you wanna be saying that?" Roqi grinned.
"Just being honest. What—you want me to lie and sell you false hope?" Vic chuckled. "Oh right, I forgot. You're not even chromed."
Vic worked like he was slicing meat, not saving lives.
Eventually, he pulled out a bloody, sparking hunk of machinery and tossed it on the table.
"What's that?" Roqi asked.
"Overloaded reflex coordinator. After it shorted out, she was basically staggering like she'd downed bootleg vodka." Vic started patching up Morel. "Looks like a prototype. No serial number."
"Ha! No wonder she was twitching like a lunatic."
"It was wired into her nervous system. That kind of pain? Like frying your spine in oil. No wonder she lost it."
Vic sighed. He'd seen worse—but it still stung.
"So… cyberpsychosis can be cured?"
"Not exactly." Vic cleaned his tools. "A little later and her brain would've fried. Or worse—she'd be trapped in agony for life."
Yeah…
Some pain is worse than death.
"So couldn't Militech save her?" Roqi asked, gesturing to Morel. "No offense."
"None taken. Militech's got cash. They could've hired someone like me. But they probably assumed she was too far gone. And with their gear at fault, silencing her was cleaner—no reputation hit."
"More importantly, corps don't keep broken assets," Vic said, wiping his exoskeleton. "Even if you remove the bad chrome, someone like her ends up paralyzed for life."
"You're lucky, Roqi. A bit later or a lesser doc—and she'd be a vegetable."
Vic walked to the side and started dismantling the implant for study.
"Don't even know how to thank you. You always got our backs," Roqi said. "How much?"
"You got money?" Vic glanced back with a rare smile. "Same deal. You bring chrome, I count that as payment. I don't want junk. Give me standard, military, or prototype-grade parts. I'll take even broken ones for research."
"This time, I've got eddies," Roqi grinned, pulling out a wad of cash and chips. "Militech left a ton of gear. If it weren't a pain to fence, I'd have cleaned them out."
"Do what you want." Vic shrugged.
"When'll she wake up?" Roqi nodded at Morel.
"Few hours maybe. Why?"
"I got something to do. You already guessed—it's about Dexter."
"Thought so," Vic nodded. "I told V. What happens now—it's his call."
Roqi trusted Vic deeply. The man treated V like family, and looked after him and Jackie too.
He could hear the concern between every word.
"Alright. I'll leave her here. Got things to handle," Roqi said.
Vic didn't even look up, just nodded while dismantling the implant under the workbench light.
Roqi stepped out. The night air was crisp—carrying the usual cocktail of city smells.
He checked his PDA. Just past 10 PM.
Tomorrow: hit Maelstrom, talk to T-Bug and Dexter, then straight to Konpeki Plaza.
If they moved fast enough, maybe—just maybe—they could avoid the whole damn trainwreck.
Tonight… there was still work to do.
.
.
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