Chapter 18

On the restraint table deep beneath Gräcker, Fin and I examined the first patient—or rather, the "test subject"—sent by Regina, a young man strapped down and thrashing.

Full scan results: humanity metrics at red alert, brainwaves erratic, spewing fragmented gibberish. A madman. Originally implanted with a cybernetic kidney for diabetes treatment, he cyberpsychoed out days later in the hospital and was subdued. With our biopart fabrication equipment now operational, we had him transferred here.

"Hmm, fascinating. So cognitive dissonance manipulation might be applicable to cyberpsychosis treatment?"

"Guess so. But this guy’s making me doubt even that."

"Nah. Never trust implants from back-alley hospitals."

Fin—dressed not in his usual mesh shirt and shorts but in a plain shirt and slacks, looking like any other middle-aged guy—adjusted the scanner.

The retinal display flagged the kidney implant as an outdated model. Pressing a hand to the patient’s abdomen, Jug felt the jagged, boxy protrusion. Imagine having a literal box shoved inside you for "treatment." Almost pitiable.

The patient kept convulsing against his restraints, rattling the table. Fin and Jug racked their brains.

"Why not test your hypothesis?"

"Transplant a synthetic kidney?"

"Yeah. Counseling can wait. You’ve already grown one, right?"

"Modern medtech can culture one in days."

"Perfect. Let’s slot it in."

They scrubbed in, anaesthetized him, and opened his abdomen. Inside: a shoddy, tube-wired implant that looked less like medical tech and more like a grade-school science project. Disconnecting the hot-iron-shaped tubing from the kidney released a vile, oozing fluid. No way this thing was functional. His madness seemed less like cyberpsychosis and more like organ failure.

After replacing it with a cultured kidney and purging his blood, his vitals stabilized.

"...Hey, Fin."

"...Yeah, Jug (short for Jugra)?"

"This wasn’t cyberpsychosis. Dude just had a busted kidney."

"...Could be."

The sludge draining into the filtration unit was proof enough. Yet his humanity metrics stayed red—scans still read "active cyberpsychosis." His babbling and tremors had stopped, leaving him corpse-still. Horrifying in its own way. Jug ran a sensor over his neck port. His brainwaves, though calmer, still spiked like a junkie’s.

"Kidney failure plus drug overdose fried his brain."

"Likely. Scans match a heavy user’s."

"So if we detox him, we’ll know?"

"Probably. ‘Cyberpsychosis’ might just be a label for convenience. Call it an ‘unknown affliction,’ skip the paperwork."

"Makes sense. You’ve seen enough end-stage cases to know."

"Yeah. We’d stretch their lives, but drugs… never ended well."

Fin’s shrug was theatrically resigned. Coming from the boss of Fingers—where only the doomed ended up—it carried weight.

In this city, the poor had three escapes: drugs, illegal BDs, or sex. Most started with BDs, then spiraled. And who supplied the drugs? Biotechnica. Pumped cash from addicts, then repurposed them as lab rats for experimental meds. Small-time scavengers in corporate shells distributed the stuff, flooding the streets. Hell, even gangs dealt it.

That’s how starved for joy this city was.

Everyone grabbed the no-rope bungee jump into dreamland. And fell.

"...Might be part of the problem."

"Hm?"

"No real joy here. Just cyberpsychosis fuel."

"After the digital crash, legit entertainment died. Drugs filled the void."

"Exactly. Even our ‘real’ food’s 70% synth. What’s the other 30? Fuck knows."

"A city-wide pathology, then."

"‘Night City’s homegrown plague.’ Nice ring for reports."

Jug snapped her fingers. Fin chuckled dryly. Like Higurashi’s curse—no single cause, just systemic rot.

They sedated the patient and let him sleep.

"Thanks, Jug. This was enlightening."

"Same. Good collaboration."

"Keep me posted. I’ll assist if I can."

"Appreciate it. Wish we could crack pre-psychosis cases too."

"...Don’t burn out. You’re too reckless with yourself."

"Heh. Yes, sensei~."

"Smartass. Later."

The morning’s research left Jug overwhelmed. Cyberpsychosis was always assumed to be neurological, but this complexity? No time to study neurosurgery now.

Only one path left.

She eyed the AI program on her desk—Smiley’s original core.

If humans can’t crack it, let an AI try. Better yet, integrate it into Delamain’s next service tier. Their Excelcior Package already includes weaponized arms, but emergency medical protocols? That’d boost clients.

For now, Delamain’s just a deep-pocketed customer. But after the taxi retrofit, she’d earned some goodwill. Its near-human intellect—like how it smoothly conversed with V in the lore—could be key.

...And if Delamain ever split its personas like in canon, maybe she’d salvage one.

"Wishful thinking, but damn, I’d kill for a Delamain. One per household."

Having Delamain run a hospital under a clean, AI-managed system—honestly, isn't that a pretty solid idea?

He’d get even more human interaction than from driving a taxi, and best of all, being an AI means he wouldn’t get tempted by greed or go rogue.

Though… it’d probably stir up a bunch of complaints and resistance from people already in the medical field.

Hmmm… maybe I should build a body just for Delamain and have him work here.

I could buy out the next building over, set it up as the base for the Delamain Clinic, and on the surface, I’d run it as the official owner.

Yeah… I feel like I'm headed toward a better future. Got a good wind behind me.

While I was thinking that and seeing patients through the afternoon, Rebecca showed up.

The way she was just hanging out in the waiting room, dressed in a hoodie like she belonged in the bad part of town, made me chuckle a bit.

“This your first time here as a customer? Go ahead and take a seat on the operating table.”

“…Uh, yeah.”

…Isn’t this kinda too lewd? I mean, maybe she’s thinking it’s fine since it’s cyber-underwear, but still.

Not like everyone in this world’s modded to dress like they're in an adult sim or something.

Realistically, just wearing a hoodie over your underwear feels like a questionable choice for a girl, but… well, it’s hot, so it’s fine.

“So, what’ll it be today? A new implant? Or maybe a full scan and system calibration?”

“…Actually, I, uh… wanted to ask about something.”

“Hmm? Go on.”

“I was thinking… maybe tone down my skin implant color a bit, make it look more natural. Same with my eyes—just lighten them up so they seem more, I dunno… human.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you're going for a softer, sexier vibe. Is this about David?”

“…So what if it is?”

A bratty, flustered virgin gal mumbling with a red face—it's just too damn cute. Completely unfair.

David’s not one to be underestimated, huh? Just like the original story, seems like he’s captured Rebecca’s heart completely.

Rebecca always had a bit of a complex about her brother Pilar, but still managed to get by on her own.

It’s no surprise she’d fall for someone like David—who’s the polar opposite of her brother.

Yup, yup. Guess I better give this makeover my best work, down to the last detail.

“Alright. Just pretend you're riding in a pumpkin carriage.”

“What the hell does that even mean…? And hey—what do you think of him anyway? That guy.”

“David? He’s a promising subordinate, that’s for sure. Besides, I’m pretty split down the middle on gender identity, so romance doesn’t really do anything for me.”

Honestly, I’ve got no time to be messing around with love anyway.

As I casually reassured Rebecca that I’m not her rival, I plugged the operating table’s cable into the back of her neck and had her select the new color settings.

Skin implants on the market usually come in two types: real-skin overlays or spray-on coatings. From the look of it, Rebecca’s was the latter.

It’s kind of like hair dye—you bleach out the existing pigment, then apply a new color over it.

The procedure involves covering her whole body with a clear dyeing oil, then applying electricity to shift the pigment pattern and set it in place. Takes a decent amount of time.

I put her under general anesthesia, thoroughly applied the oil to her now-relaxed body, took a nice long look at her sexy-cute bare skin, then wrapped current belts around her limbs, waist, and neck, and flipped the switch.

The electric pattern followed the colors we had picked earlier, pushing the dye deep into her skin and gradually changing its tone.

Hmm… she went from a light mint shade to a fair-skinned tone. Looks natural—no weirdness at all.

Next were her optical implants. She was switching out her cheap ones for Kiroshi optics, opting for a soft orange iris design.

With Kiroshi, changing colors is just a matter of adjusting the settings, so I connected the base to a tuner, hooked it up to a painter, and tweaked the hue.

I extended the precision arm from my left chrome hand, pried open her eyelids with my right, and popped both eyeballs out with a smooth little twist.

Pretty gory scene, but nothing out of the ordinary in this city.

If you want the benefits of holocalls and digital Eddies, optical implants are a must.

I grabbed the new Kiroshi units and slotted them into her sockets—job done.

She was still under full anesthesia, so I fitted a mask over her face and had her inhale a mild neuro-booster to suppress the hyper-sensitivity side effect.

Color job didn’t need much adjustment, so it wrapped up pretty quick.

Her eyes, which were a bit too chemically red and yellow-green before, now glowed with a pretty garnet and sapphire hue. Her skin looked paler and softer—definitely boosted her pretty-girl vibes.

Yup. David won’t stand a chance against her now.

The guy grew up in a single-mother household and watched Gloria slowly wear herself down from exhaustion. No surprise he likes the fragile princess type.

His thing with Lucy… honestly, that’s more of a trauma-bond turned toxic entanglement.

Pure-hearted boy tangled up with a mysterious bad girl—that whole cliché.

“Mmm… nnh… is it… over already?”

“Yup. Got you looking proper gorgeous. Now go claim that idiot for yourself. And live on—as a living witness to a living legend. That’s all I ask.”

“What… does that even…”

“…Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to know. Just keep dreaming happy dreams.”

I gently patted Rebecca’s head as she drifted back off, dressed her, and tucked her into a simple bed in the tech room.

As for the bill… meh, she can settle it another time.

I returned to the operating table and wiped down the oily, slick surface with disinfectant.

…Seriously. I just want you guys to be happy. That’s all I care about.