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Chapter 9 C
🕑 Added 2025-02-13 15:57:01 +0000 UTCChapter 9
Leo still didn’t know the precise cause of cyberpsychosis. Some claimed it was a disease born of social inequality; others insisted it was the price one paid for an unhealthy obsession with technology; still others believed it was nothing but a made-up diagnosis that didn’t actually exist.
Yes, that last opinion was about as “American redneck” as it got.
Leo asked, “A cyberpsycho around here? Why not call MaxTac?”
MaxTac—formally the Maximum Force Tactical Division—specialized in containing cyberpsychos. If they were too far out in the Badlands, he could understand them not coming. But this settlement was right at the city’s border, practically within sight of Night City. Why wouldn’t the sheriff call MaxTac to deal with a cyberpsycho prowling around?
The sheriff let out a raucous laugh. “You think I’m looking to get the whole town killed? Maybe I’m hoping the people here die so we save on carbon emissions and resources, is that it? Kid, you don’t get how things work around here.
This is the border, not Night City. MaxTac won’t show. Even if everyone in this town were wiped out, the suits inside the city wouldn’t bat an eye.”
Leo ignored the man’s sarcastic tone. “So you want someone else to take out this cyberpsycho for you?”
Cyberpsychosis varied in severity. At the weaker end were people with cheap, sketchy implants, installed by unlicensed chopdocs. They might be ordinary civilians, not too dangerous.
The worst-case scenario, though, was a former soldier, operative, or merc—someone who’d crammed their body full of top-grade military implants and then lost their mind. In a crowded area, they could rack up a horrifying body count.
Leo took a moment to think it over. He decided he’d at least check it out. If it looked manageable, he’d handle the job and earn a thousand eurodollars.
But if it turned out to be some ex–Spec Ops psycho loaded to the gills with lethal chrome, well… he would finally gather info about the relationship between risk and personal points.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go take a look. No guarantees, though.”
“Fine. Wasn’t expecting much anyway,” the sheriff drawled.
Leo raised two fingers. “But if I get the job done, I want two thousand. Not a cent less. Or you can solve it yourself.”
The sheriff glared at him. After a tense standoff, he yielded.
“Fine. Two thousand.”
In the back of the sheriff’s mind, he figured a cyberpsycho would be no easy mark. Even if this drifter managed to kill it, how likely was he to walk away unscathed? And if the man was badly hurt, why bother paying him at all? What could a wounded, no-name vagrant do about it?
…
The sheriff assigned the same local who’d fetched Leo earlier to guide him. The townsman climbed into Leo’s SUV and directed him to the site.
Before long, they arrived. Barren hills stretched in every direction. At the foot of one slope stood a single makeshift shack. The local refused to leave the SUV. He pointed out the shack, saying that was where the cyberpsycho hung around, then clammed up completely, trembling as if afraid Leo’s blood might splash on him if he got too close.
Leo found the man’s terror exasperating.
First, Leo studied the shack from a distance. It offered few clues. No telling if there was light inside or how it was laid out. Charging in blind was a great way to die.
Gathering Intel was essential before an engagement.
He tried parking at different angles for a better look, but still couldn’t see in. Eventually, he formed a plan. Right before he got out, he glanced sidelong at the guide in the passenger seat. Then he pulled out the car key. The guide’s face went pale—he’d been planning to drive off the second Leo exited, too scared to stay.
Leo didn’t care what the guy thought. No way he was leaving his keys with a near-stranger.
Stepping out, he surveyed the terrain again. The shack had only one exit, that single door. The windows were sealed. He planted several anti-personnel mines in front of the entrance, ensuring that if the target rushed out, the mines would trigger no matter which direction he took.
He was about to fire a few shots into the shack to flush the psycho out when a sudden chill ran down his spine. Acting on instinct, he threw himself forward. A split second later, a blade—gleaming coldly in the harsh light—swept through the spot where he’d been standing.
Leo rolled, but didn’t stop there. He raised Murasame, scabbard and all, behind him.
Clang!
A massive impact slammed into his blade, sending a brutal shock up his arms. He was flung through the air like a kite with its string cut. Still, he kept his wits. Rather than crashing hard, he tucked into a midair shift, landing on one knee.
Now he got a clear look at the attacker.
A hulking figure nearly two meters tall wore a filthy, dark-green coat, shredded and stained with dried blood and grime. He didn’t seem to care about personal hygiene. Scars and implant lines crisscrossed his face, and an extra optical lens was mounted on his forehead, spinning incessantly. His mouth twisted in a predatory grin, revealing rows of wolf-like teeth.
More striking still were his arms. Two razor-sharp blades extended from beneath his forearms. Mantis blades.
They were as lethal as any sword, yet far more concealable. Imagine wearing a coat or jacket over arms that could sprout scything blades on a whim, slicing a foe to ribbons like sashimi. That was precisely the monstrosity Leo faced.
A bead of cold sweat trickled down his face. This was a combat-grade cyberpsycho—exactly the worst scenario. Even more unfortunate, he hadn’t been lurking inside the shack at all, so there went Leo’s plan for an ambush. Now it was a messy close-quarters fight.
"Sigh, this better give me some good points."
Despite the disadvantage, Leo steadied himself. He whipped out his revolver and emptied the cylinder in a single burst, but the psycho moved like something out of a twisted quick-cut video, evading every bullet with impossible agility.
Then the psycho swung both arms, mantis blades cutting arcs through the air, and drove his foot into the ground. His figure blurred forward in a streak of dark-green motion.
“He’s too fast,” Leo thought. “No way I can reload before he’s on me.”
He dropped the now-empty revolver and charged too, meeting the psycho head-on.
Clang—!
The sword clashed with the mantis blades in midair, sparks exploding on impact.
