Chapter 11

After laying Gloria, David’s mother, on a makeshift bed, I used the excuse of tending to her to remove her jacket.

Sure enough, taped haphazardly to the inside of her back was a military prototype Sandevistan.

It was far bulkier than commercial tech, clearly housing some kind of internal mechanism.

…I draped a blanket over her instead and decided to let her rest until she woke up.

Now then, it seems the incident at the warehouse dragged Maine and his crew into this mess…

Seriously, what the hell do I do? I hadn’t thought this through at all.

Well, no—I had considered the possibility, but I never expected things to escalate this smoothly.

Still, damn, Rebecca in the flesh was hot as hell. Couldn’t help but tie her up in a tortoise shell bind—good medicine for a brat like her.

Originally, David was fated to meet Lucy first, but in this life, Rebecca got to him first.

In the anime, Rebecca was always one step behind, playing second fiddle, but now she’s got a shot at the lead. Hope she makes the most of it.

"Hey, Jugra. That thing…"

"Goes without saying. This is Gloria’s deal—the military prototype Sandevistan."

Placing it on the techie desk and unsealing the bag released an indescribable stench into the room.

Probably some chemical solvent doubling as disinfectant, but to an untrained nose, it just reeked.

I plopped it onto the desk, jammed a Sauser cable into it, and took a peek inside.

Ugh, they deliberately weakened the ICE on this thing. Planning to reclaim it later, huh?

There were traces of backdoor comm-line tampering too—no doubt how Arasaka got their intel.

I locked the room with an EM seal, cut off all signals, and started disassembling it for a closer look.

Hmm… Ohhh, I see. No wonder this thing turns people into wrecks. It’s basically an external psycho-booster.

That’s why it’s so much bigger than commercial Sandevistans.

Inside, there’s an artificially synthesized neural network that shoulders part of the excessive load.

Think of it like attaching gorilla arms—letting you push beyond your body’s natural limits. This thing’s a real booster, cranking your reaction stats higher than they should be.

Makes sense. It’s less a "Reaction 20" module and more a "+10 Reaction" cheat part.

If someone like David—already high-spec—used this, he could probably spam it without immediate consequences.

Meaning, even if you installed this, you wouldn’t flatline right away. But each use would fry your nerves, chipping away at your lifespan.

…For the average person? Six months tops. Faster if you overuse it.

And then there’s the real purpose of this tech… if you can even call it a "part."

The green liquid protecting the neural network? Yeah, that’s the same shit David was forced to use near the end—those green cartridges.

Basically, they soaked the neural tissue in a toxin potent enough to directly induce Cyberpsychosis.

The specs pulled up by the Sauser flashed across my retina, and the implications made me sick to my stomach.

"…Figures. Only a corpo with brains fucked enough to make personality constructs would cook up something like this."

Call it a "neural version" of a brain can.

It’s just recreating an inhuman scientific abomination—the kind of thing you’d stick behind a robot chair because a single human couldn’t control it otherwise.

The concept? Mimic spinal nerves with artificial tissue, slap it on as external hardware, and voilà—double the reaction stats.

A normal Sandevistan just jolts the wearer’s nerves with electromagnetic pulses, literally boosting reflexes.

But this? The artificial neural tissue is the main component, and the wearer is the sidekick.

It treats the user like a fucking battery. Inhuman doesn’t even begin to cover it.

"Unknown unit connected." Yeah, no shit. This is deranged.

"But hey, specs-wise? Top-tier tech. If you ignore everything else, this is pure machine-side engineering."

Makes sense why Adam Smasher would rock this.

A Sandevistan with artificial spinal circuitry—that’s the military prototype’s true form.

And they want David to install this? Good fucking joke.

This thing belongs in a dumpster fire.

Honestly, I’m half-tempted to trash it right here. It’s that vile.

No way in hell am I letting that airhead David near it.

…But tweak it? Add safeguards, detune it for human use? Could be Nobel Prize-worthy.

I mean, anyone could hit peak reaction stats with this.

If you ignore the human cost, properly tuned, it’d be the ultimate Sandevistan.

Damn, my techie instincts are screaming. That inner voice yelling, "Salvage this scrap and finish it!"

…Alright, no trashing it! This baby’s going in my pocket for a proper overhaul.

But man, bio-parts? Never crossed my mind. There’s potential here.

Might even help Cyberpsychosis research.

What if you could add back the humanity you lost with external hardware?

"Hey. Jugra. Jugra?! Quit zoning out—someone’s banging on the door!"

"Huh? Oh, right. Got carried away by techie passion. So, ‘guests,’ huh? Yeah, I can guess who."

The analog feed from my left-eye camera showed Maine’s hulking, tech-monk frame, Dorio looking like a pro wrestler, Pilar the sleazy mohawk bastard, and pouting cutie Rebecca in the back.

Hmm? Where’s netrunner Kiwi and Lucy?

Falco the driver, sure, but those two are missing.

Turns out they were slumped in the car, fuming.

Furious.

Kicking the seats, shaking the car with restless legs, clicking their tongues—pure, unadulterated rage.

Oh shit, forgot to turn off the DDoS attack. My bad, cutting it now.

They froze, then let out the deepest sighs imaginable, like their souls were leaving their bodies.

I gave a mental prayer for the two wrecks sinking into their seats. You started it, though.

"Alright, David. Let ‘em in. Oh, and—lock’s off now."

"Why’re I the one playing doorman after running from that mess?!"

"C’mon, you’re my subordinate, Ripper’s assistant, and I’m your employer. Orders are absolute."

"Goddammit! The weight of 1000 eddies just cut off my protest! Fine, I’ll go!"

Why do you think I hit you with a wad of cash? For moments like this. Hazard pay included.

I sent off David—now scratching his head before putting on a blank face—to greet our very edgy cyberpunk squad.

Maine led the pack, sunglasses hiding his scowl, flanked by Dorio and Pilar. David was already bickering with Rebecca like some rom-com.

I lounged in the techie chair, flashing a smirk to match their intensity.

Maine faltered for a second under the vibe but rallied with his usual bluster.

"…And how exactly do you plan to settle this, huh?!"

"Settle? Funny. I was waiting to see how you’d beg for forgiveness."

Maine’s opening salvo was all threats. My retort? Pure, unshaken malice.

Dorio bristled at the insult to Maine, rage boiling, while Pilar—sober for once—tilted his head, suspicious.

"Whose subordinate’s mother did you think you were screwing with? That cheap optical implant miss the sign outside? Let me repeat: Who. The hell. Do you think. You’re talking to?"

The yakuza-grade growl in my voice hit Maine like a truck. His jaw clenched as the pieces clicked.

Outside? A very fancy stucco Tiger Claws sign.

Not just some back-alley Ripperdoc. My words should’ve corrected his assumptions.

"…I take back what I said earlier. My apologies."

"Maine?!"

"Nah, he’s right. This ain’t the place for that shit. At all."

Maine’s apology was grudging, teeth gritted. Dorio, still clueless, kept up the defiance.

David and Rebecca, though? Priceless looks of shock. Good lesson for ‘em.

Maelstrom: ~1,300. Animals: ~2,800. 6th Street: ~2,300.

Valentinos: ~6,000. And us? Tyger Claws: ~6,500.

Those numbers? Gang membership.

We used to trail the Valentinos by a thousand, but after I became the Claws’ exclusive Ripper, our numbers exploded. Fewer deaths, more recruits.

What kind of rank do you need to throw weight around with the biggest gang in Night City’s top Ripper?

And what’s a seven-man crew gonna do? Bark? Sounds like loser talk to me.

A 928:1 difference. Do try and fight that.

The Tyger Claws failed to protect my old man, but I’ll use even trash if it’s useful.

And right now? They’re the perfect status boost.

"Anyway. I get your angle. How much for it?"

"…Tch. That’s my merch. You really think you can just take it?"

"Hah. Listen. I’m being generous here. You seriously think some military prototype—Arasaka’s handiwork, no less—is safe for street use? A certified Ripper like me’s telling you no. Sell it off? Fine. But if you’re thinking of installing this suicideware yourself, think the fuck again."

"You must’ve seen the digital certificate in the waiting room on your way in."

"On top of that, this place counts as a high-end clinic, even compared to most others. We take walk-ins, sure, but the gear here’s top shelf."

After hearing what I had to say, Main’s face shifted from earlier—now he looked sour, like he'd just swallowed something foul.

He’s no rookie. Living the cyberpunk life this long, he’s bound to have heard a thing or two about Arasaka’s dirty business.

"So it's really that bad?"

"Yeah, it is. I’m a kind guy, so let me break it down for you. That thing’s an external psycho-booster stuffed with synthetic spinal nerves. One human body’s not enough for it, so they tack on man-made parts to the user—basically grind them down and throw them away. It’s crazy tech. Unless you’re planning a raid on Arasaka Tower right this second, you’d best sell it off here and get some eddies. If you ask me, ten activations max. Per lifetime. Any more than that, and your nerves fry—straight shot to full-blown cyberpsycho. Unless you want your face on a screamsheet in a few weeks, I’d seriously reconsider."

"And how reliable is that info, huh?! Main, why aren’t you saying anything?! Say something, damn it!!"

"That underling of yours got more muscles than brain cells or what? If you’re the boss, train your crew properly."

"You little shit!!"

...From her build alone, Dorio looked like an ex-Animal, and now she was fuming, fist clenched and ready to swing.

Main didn’t react—lost in thought or just too slow to act. The distance was short, only a few steps away, too quick for anyone else to stop her.

But that doesn’t matter to me.

I activate my Sandevistan, and while the world slows to a crawl, I move like always.

Looking at her thrusting left arm—yeah, that’s a Gorilla Arm.

—In that case, no issue taking it off.

I activate the monowire on my right arm. Launch it. Reset the flexibility mid-air. It wraps around her arm like a coiled snake.

And in that moment, the monomolecular filament hits ultra-high heat and slices her extended arm into rings.

No resistance. Clean cut. That’s the kind of edge we’re talking about.

And by the time everyone here realizes they’re already inside the monowire’s effective range—they’d already be dead.

That outcome is up to me. One flick of the wrist, and it’s lights out.

Then—time resumes.

Everyone else witnesses the aftermath.

The remains of her Gorilla Arm lie on the floor, the cross-section glowing orange with melted metal. Not your average severing wound.

Maine finally snaps out of it, grabs Dorio by the collar, and throws her back—but it’s a meaningless gesture.

“Good thing we’re at a ripperdoc’s place, huh, you muscle-brained gorilla girl? I’ll swap out that trash you called an arm. Maybe jam a straight steel rod into that empty skull of yours. Could serve as a nice gravestone when you finally croak…!”

Seeing Dorio down, Rebecca moves to react—but Pilar catches on fast and uses his big frame to shield her.

Hah, playing the big bro all of a sudden? Maybe he’s not so dumb—just playing the psycho act for kicks?

Maine checks on Dorio with concern, and once he sees the cut was just to the Gorilla Arm, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Still, his face was tight—like he’d just chewed through a hundred bitter bugs.

“Uh… so… why the hell does it feel like we’re seconds away from an all-out brawl…?”

And the one who crashed the tension with that misplaced question was Kiwi, just walking into the tech room, more red than usual. Holding her head like she had a migraine, she dropped her confused tone like a bomb—killing the mood.

Well, that’s how it is. The slicing—collateral damage. Necessary costs.

If I didn’t establish the pecking order now, things would’ve gotten messy. A little forced goodwill’s the easiest sell.

"Anyway, enough of the drama. Here, a little spending money. Go get yourself a decent arm."

I drop a ten-thousand eddie stack on Dorio like a brick, ending my Wakako Okada-certified storytelling routine.

She was stuck in a loop of “Huh? Huh? Huh?” but the moment she saw the confirmed deposit, she let out this shrill, yet deep shocked scream.

Pilar just shrugged like it all made sense now. He looked over—not at Rebecca, who he’d been shielding—but at David standing beside her, then sighed.

Maine took off his sunglasses, wiped his sweaty brow, and sighed deeply, finally putting everything together.

Our clueless "legend-boy" David was still cheek-to-cheek with Rebecca in full romcom mode, pretending he was protecting her.

Whose side are you on, anyway? Gotta protect the cute girl, huh? Guess it’s a boy’s fate.

Fine. Just make sure you keep her happy.

Anyway—come here, you ultra-dumbass. You're picking the wrong crew to ride with.

I beckon him over and start jabbing his chest with my finger, kicking off the lecture.

“Listen up, David. When you’re living the cyberpunk life, pride matters more than anything—second only to your life. And anyone who says pride’s more important than life? They’re usually just losers with a dumb death and no legacy. You get me, David?”

“Uhh… sorta?”

“…Unless you’re in a situation where you’re literally gonna drive a spike from the top of Arasaka Tower down to the underground, don’t gamble your life. That’s what I’m saying. Don’t die a pathetic death. Everyone in this city wants to be a legend, but most ‘legends’ are just idiots who died in ways no one will forget—and not in a good way.”

“R-Right. Wait… so you picked that fight just to teach me that?”

“Exactly. They're cyberpunks with enough sense to keep it together, easy to patch things up with, and they’re way weaker than me. So I used them as your lesson. My bad, Main. I unpacked the goods for a quick demo, but it’s yours now. Gotta seal the deal right.”

I hand Maine the military test-model Sandevistan, now packed neatly in a different bag.

But Main doesn’t take it. Instead, he lets out a sigh—so deep it could touch bedrock—and reaches for his smokes.

Yeah, no. Not letting that slide.

I slice his cigarette in half with my monowire.

Gotten used to doing that in no-smoking zones.

I point at the "No Open Flames" sign, and he just stares at it—dead-eyed even behind the sunglasses.

“…Nah, forget it. Kiwi, got any intel on this guy?”

“Wha—? Of course. The genius ripperdoc shaking up the scene lately: Jagura Kagura… san, right? Wakako Okada’s exclusive ripperdoc under the Tiger Claws. A tech genius with a sold-out weapons site, and a miracle worker who can revive someone knocking on death’s door. Oh, and as a bonus, fully prepped against netrunners—a total heavyweight.”

She flinched and added the -san after I gave her a look. Cute.

Still, I’m not forgetting you sold us out to Faraday. Don't care if he’s your ex or whatever. You let emotions screw with business.