The dust began to settle, and through the clouds of smoke, the scattered bodies of the gang members became visible. The gunfire had ceased, and everything was finally starting to return to normal. My body was still malfunctioning from the damage, but I felt no pain nothing at all. I only understood that I was missing some limbs, and that was it.
The officers started checking the gangsters' bodies, cuffing those who still showed signs of life. One surviving captain approached me his bulletproof vest was torn in several places, likely from gunfire.
"Well, color me impressed. Usually, these dumb bastards are nothing more than cannon fodder, but everything changes when there's a real professional behind the wheel," the captain said, lighting a cigarette with a smooth motion. "Of course, I should charge you under Article 24-K6 for unauthorized gunfire and murder. But I didn't see Matthew Carrington involved in this shootout just one of these idiots. And you? You just got caught in the crossfire," he added with a smirk.
"Understood," I replied.
"Alright then, let's get you to the truck. We'll have you patched up by tonight," he said, signaling to a couple of his men. "Come on, boys, get him in the van."
They dragged me into the truck and sat me down on one of the seats. A woman approached, grabbed her tools, and started working on my damaged systems.
"I'll patch up your energy leaks and weld some critical components for now. The rest will be replaced later," she said.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked.
"Ha, I wish. I'm a tech," she replied, finishing her work in a moment. Without asking, she plugged a cable into my head. "Alright, let's take a look. Damn, they stripped you of everything almost no protection, no standard modules, no weapons. Everything else seems fine, though. Wait a second… is your entire body made of chrome? I thought you had internal organs. How are you even conscious like this? Hold on no brain either? Are you an AI?" she asked, startled, cautiously pointing a gun at me.
"Relax, Katherine. He's human at least, as much as you can call it that," the captain said, sitting down next to me. "It's a new tech. They shoved a living person into a robotic body. Sooner or later, we'll all be like this."
Their eyes flickered for a moment.
"Got it. Squad, pack up we're heading back. We're not needed here anymore," the captain ordered.
A few moments later, more operatives started loading into the truck. Strange. Normally, the police would secure the area first, making sure everything was under control before leaving. But these guys were pulling out almost immediately after the fight.
"Why are you leaving so quickly?" I asked out of curiosity.
"We're a strike team. Our job is to bring the pain. That's it. The patrol units handle the cleanup," the captain replied.
"Not the best job, but never a dull moment," added a soldier named Collins.
Seems like they have a clear division of duties.
"What other divisions are there?" I asked.
"Max-Tac and" the captain started.
"Corporate lapdogs," Collins interrupted, his face showing clear disdain.
"Oh, please, Collins. You're just jealous and would love nothing more than to kiss corpo boots yourself," another soldier chuckled.
"Go to hell, Mike," Collins shot back, though without any real malice.
"Alright, the first group Max-Tac they're like real-life Terminators, fighting cyberpsychos with top-tier cyberware. Almost all of them are fully cyberized. Their whole purpose is to neutralize chrome-fueled lunatics. The second group the corporate enforcers are basically hired security with better pay and perks. They guard corporate zones, oversee negotiations, that kind of thing. More like mercenaries than cops," the captain explained.
Now, among my new colleagues, I was on my way to my new workplace. They were a lot more pleasant than my last "travel companion." Hopefully, he didn't get away so easily maybe he at least got a few bullets in his ride.
Inside the truck, it was impossible to tell where we were going or what was happening outside. Thick, armored walls blocked any view. The only glimpse of the outside world was through a small window separating the driver's cabin from the cargo bay. The vehicle pulled into an underground parking garage, and as soon as it stopped, the officers jumped out.
They carefully lifted me out and carried me toward an elevator.
"Just a bit of paperwork, then straight to the repair bay. Our in-house ripperdoc will replace your busted modules with whatever we've got in stock. Standard police implants are on the house, but anything extra you'll have to pay for yourself," the captain said before giving my metal shoulder a pat and walking off.
I was brought to a desk where an officer was waiting.
"Hey, Mark, can you help register a new officer?" one of my escorts asked.
"A robot?" Mark asked in surprise.
"No, a borg," the officer corrected.
"Got it. Connect your personal terminal to the interface," Mark said. Realizing how dumb that sounded, he grabbed my left hand himself, pulled out a cable, and plugged it into a port near the computer. "You've been assigned an onboarding document package, your rank is 'Private,' and a list of duties and regulations has been provided. You're entitled to the standard police implant set make sure to get them installed soon. Welcome to the force," he concluded.
Symbols started flickering before my eyes, but everywhere, a red error message appeared:
"The uploaded database cannot be extracted. Module corruption detected."
After finishing the registration process, two soldiers dragged me further inside.
"We'll give you a little tour. Right now, we're heading to the tech department, where our ripperdoc works. Next to it is the armory and evidence storage. There's also a small martial arts gym and a shooting range try to book a spot early, or you'll never get in. It's always packed," Mike said.
"Thanks for the help. By the way, I don't even know your names," I replied.
"I'm Mike, and this is George, but everyone calls him Hamster," Mike answered.
"Hey, don't tell him that," George protested.
"It's because he loves stuffing his cheeks so full of food that it spills out," Mike explained with a grin.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Matthew," I said.
"Yeah, we know," Mike responded.
Finally, we arrived at a door labeled: "Office 23. Sarah Stone, In-house Ripperdoc."
I was carried into a brightly lit room. In the center stood a chair that resembled a medical operating table, surrounded by various tools including a circular saw. It felt less like a clinic and more like a serial killer's lair.
"Alright, why did you bring me this tin can?" asked a woman with short hair, the tips dyed a different color. She wore a police uniform, but with a cross on her shoulder patches. Her jacket was unzipped, revealing a short tank top and an impressive chest. If I were still alive, I'd probably have tried flirting with her.
[image]
"This is our new colleague, Matthew Carrington," Mike said.
"That's a shitty joke," she replied.
"See for yourself," Mike said, and her eyes flickered for a moment.
"Holy shit, what luck! Dump this pile of scrap metal onto the operating table," the ripperdoc said. Her face showed clear irritation toward me.
"Actually, I'm alive," I said. No matter how attractive she looked, the words coming out of her mouth weren't as pleasant.
"I don't give a damn," she shot back.
"Don't worry, Matthew," Mike reassured me. "Sarah's a great ripper and a good person. She just has a... rough personality."
"Mike, do you want me to kick you in the balls? 'Cause I can make that happen," Sarah snapped, clearly not appreciating his words.
"And she's got a hell of a punch," Mike added before quickly retreating, sensing her patience wearing thin. George hurried after him.
"Bunch of slackers," Sarah muttered, then got to work on my body. She swiftly plugged a cable into my head.
Activating the diagnostic module, Sarah began her examination.
"So where'd you take this much damage so soon after arriving?" she asked, robotic arms coming to life around me, beginning to dismantle my body.
"Shootout nearby," I answered.
"You mean today's incident? Got it. Huh… You don't have a single combat module installed everything's been stripped. Serial number shows this body's been sitting in storage for the past year. So, you're an old model, too," she commented.
"It's what I got. Is that a problem? They only just brought me back from the dead," I said.
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, her tone shifting.
"Exactly what I said. Until recently, I was dead. Now I'm in a robot's body, talking to you." I decided to be upfront about my situation, hoping she could help as a specialist.
"That's bullshit. There's no tech that can bring someone back from the dead. Even the best cybernetics can't cheat death. I don't get it are you an AI?" she asked warily.
Suddenly, she ripped off my faceplate, exposing the electronic components underneath.
"Who the hell are you? Talk!"
"I only know that I'm Matthew Carrington, and that Militech put me in this body. They said I was part of some 'resurrection program,'" I explained.
Sarah burst into laughter a loud, almost hysterical sound echoing through the room.
"Ha-ha-ha! That's a good one! Militech and charity work? Please. Those corporate bastards would rather shoot themselves than give you a piece of synthetic tech for free. But hey, that's none of my business I'm not about to get involved with them. Listen up, I'll install your modules, and then I don't wanna see your ass in here again. Got it?"
Her reaction made it clear she had a bad history with Militech and didn't trust AI or cyberized humans. Something must've happened to her.
"Got it," I replied.
Now I was certain this wasn't as simple as I'd thought. If even regular people said the same thing about Militech, then the corporation definitely had other motives. But what? Was I just a test subject for a new technology? That seemed the most likely theory. Maybe they were experimenting with resurrecting people, and my preserved brain was a lucky or unlucky test case.
"Connecting module 23si-police. Connecting to the database. Database not found."
"Searching... Corrupted data detected. Extracting..."
"Loading database."
A variety of documents with numerous titles appeared on the screen. When I glanced at Sarah, an information panel popped up beside her:
Name: Sarah Macol
Age: 37
Occupation: Police
Position: In-house Ripperdoc
Criminal Record: None
Marital Status: Widow
Recommendation: Do not engage.
More and more robotic arms were working on me, rapidly replacing damaged parts with new ones, integrating them into my body.
Combat implant connected – Zubr.12 targeting system.
Communication implant connected.
Network access restored. System update required. Begin update? Yes/No.
I selected "Yes," figuring things couldn't get any worse. Suddenly, everything went dark, and I was forcibly put into sleep mode. But I could still think clearly there was just nothing, like I was locked inside my own mind.
Maybe I should improve this place? I'd heard that people could create their own mental sanctuaries.
A moment later, I was standing on the lawn of my old home, the familiar swing set in its place. As I approached, I reached out and touched one of the swings. Then, to my surprise, I noticed my hand a real one.
I immediately headed toward the house and found the nearest mirror, wanting to remind myself of what I used to look like. I was already in my thirties. Despite my tired eyes and smoker's lungs, I still looked relatively fresh. I was wearing the same clothes from my last day alive. This was me Matthew. Not some guy named Maxim.
Things didn't go the way you expected, did they, Matthew?
My gaze fell on a framed family photo. Holding it in my hands, I felt an overwhelming sense of longing. I hadn't spent enough time with them, and I regretted it deeply. I wished I could go back, quit being a detective, stop spending my nights at the office. I could have taken a quieter job something mindless, like paperwork. Sitting around, doing nothing, gaining weight. A simple, happy life.
Then, everything around me started vanishing rapidly, as if someone was tearing me away from my imagined home.
System active.
A quick scan of my vitals showed that everything was back to normal no errors, no damage.
"I'm done. You can leave now. And try not to come back too often," Sarah said, stepping away from me and moving toward a window. Pulling out a cigarette, she lit it.
"Thanks for your help," I said as I stood up.
I wasn't angry at her. I didn't try to justify myself. I wasn't even sure I believed I was human anymore more machine than man at this point. I still had no idea what AIs or borgs really were, but it was obviously a touchy subject for many.
Now that I had access to the network, I decided to look up whatever I could about myself and my situation.
Quickly pulling up information about the events of 2030, I noticed that there was nothing about me in the news reports. Typically, fallen police officers would have their names listed in such records. It looked like I had been completely erased.
The reports instead covered escalating conflicts with numerous criminal groups. These skirmishes kept intensifying until they turned into a full-scale armed conflict one that ended tragically for the entire city.
By 2035, the city ceased to exist.
I tried searching for information about my family, but there was nothing, as if they had vanished. This hit me harder than I expected. Sitting down against a wall, I realized that even as a machine, it was difficult to process this.
Sitting there, I felt my motivation completely slip away. Maybe I should just end it all?
Error :%;№"(К:№")(А
Suddenly, my entire body seized up. My thoughts became sluggish, my body convulsed violently, and after a few seconds, I finally stilled.
What was I just thinking about?
Trying to recall, I realized that the last few minutes were completely blank. Another malfunction.
Right I had just left the ripperdoc's office and was about to check my work assignments.
My internship shift ran from 8 AM to 8 PM twelve-hour shifts, a bit excessive. My direct superior was Sergeant Jemian Todd. Upon seeing his profile picture, I immediately knew who to report to.
Looking through the police department's data, I found my official assignment letter:
"Congratulations on joining the force! Blah blah blah..."
Skipping the useless pleasantries, I found the key detail: due to my circumstances, I was granted temporary housing for one year. The document was followed by an extensive list of rules and restrictions for the police dormitory.
I pulled up the map in my system interface, entered the address from the message, and my route was immediately calculated. My assigned apartment was just 500 meters from the precinct.
With that settled, I headed for the exit, wanting to take a look at the city.
I had no interest in wandering around the department I'd be spending enough time there anyway. I'd get sick of those walls soon enough.
Remembering my way, I easily navigated back to the main hall, where dozens of officers were moving about, occupied with their tasks.
Police work wasn't just about shootouts it was a bureaucratic nightmare where almost every action needed paperwork.
"It's all done in the name of lawfulness."
At least, that's what they say.
Stepping into the streets of the city, I finally felt free. That's right I had meant to look up cyberpsychosis and AIs. A quick query pulled up the definitions:
AIs (Artificial Intelligences) – Highly advanced artificial systems designed to handle complex tasks, manage technology, analyze data, and interact with humans.
Cyberpsychosis – A psychological disorder that occurs in individuals who have excessively modified their bodies with cybernetic implants. It is believed that an excessive number of cybernetic augmentations can lead to a loss of humanity, emotional instability, and aggressive behavior.
Symptoms of cyberpsychosis include uncontrollable rage, paranoia, and in extreme cases a complete disconnection from reality.