Chapter 43: Cyberpsychosis!

"Let's talk. If you dare to activate your Sandevistan, I guarantee I'll twist you into a pretzel the moment you make a move. Want to try?"

While Mercer was speaking, V and Panam had already shifted into combat mode—in fact, the moment the opposite side drew their weapons, both of them had instinctively stepped forward to shield Mercer behind them.

Panam held her pistol, a faint sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. At such close range, given the enemy's firepower, she would be turned into a sieve after firing at most a couple of shots.

V, on the other hand, looked utterly fierce. Her right hand gripped her gun, while her left hand clutched a grenade, radiating the posture that if anyone dared to make a move, they would all die together.

Behind the bar, Claire ducked down, crouching behind the counter as she yelled, "Where is security?"

A few bulky bouncers were already rushing over, weapons raised as they shouted with grim expressions, "Put your fucking weapons down! Anyone who dares to open fire in the Afterlife is going to die!"

Mercer merely stared coldly at the group of mercenaries, though his focus remained squarely on the lean man—his Sandevistan posed the greatest threat.

Neither Mercer nor the man spoke, locking eyes in a tense stare-down. After a moment, the man suddenly broke into laughter.

"Ha... hah... ha!" His laughter sounded somewhat bizarre, mechanical even.

At the same time, his eyes flickered with a red glow, and his arms trembled slightly as if something was desperate to pop out.

"Fenrir?" The bulky mercenary sensed something was wrong and turned his head. The lean man he had called Fenrir was now shaking his head slightly, his cybernetic eyes twitching as he stared fixedly at Mercer.

"Fuck, this idiot is going cyberpsycho!"

V, experienced and worldly, widened her eyes and shouted, pulling Mercer as she prepared to back away.

The bouncers reacted as if facing a major threat, unlocking all weapons and booting up their cyberware. Even a few nearby mercenaries who had been watching the spectacle changed expressions and consciously retreated into the distance.

"Fenrir! Damn it, hurry, give him a sedative!"

The bulky mercenary yelled. One of his teammates, carrying a shotgun, immediately reached behind his waist and pulled out an injector.

However, right before that teammate could administer the sedative into Fenrir's body, Fenrir suddenly whipped his head around—his hand gripping his teammate's wrist at a speed that even Mercer could only vaguely perceive.

🇹🇼 "Administer medicine? No, can't administer medicine, can't stop."

His tone was uncomfortably high-pitched and excited: "Aha, I found it, I found it, the path is over here... the path is over here..."

"Damn it, hold him down!"

The bulky mercenary lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Fenrir in a bear hug. Although his arms functioned essentially as grenade launchers, his gorilla arms were disguised for more than just show.

Enhanced muscle components caused the muscles in his arms to bulge high at that moment, dark veins throbbing beneath slightly bluish skin.

Putting his entire strength into it, the bulky mercenary pried Fenrir's arm away and held him down tightly while shouting, "Hurry, administer the drug! Fast!"

"Damn... my wrist... he crushed my wrist..." The mercenary holding the injector retreated with a pained expression, the injector slipping slowly downward from his hand.

And at that very moment.

Fenrir's eyeballs traced the trajectory of the falling injector with eerie fixation.

"Whoosh!"

Before the injector could hit the floor, a strange tearing sound echoed through the air, followed by a barely audible click.

The companion whose wrist Fenrir had crushed didn't even finish speaking before his eyes widened slightly, robbing him of the ability to speak.

Two thin crimson lines appeared across his neck and waist, and the next moment, his entire body was sliced into three sections.

Fenrir threw open his arms, and a pair of vicious mantis blades sprang forth from his forearms, stained with fresh blood.

"No! No, no, no!!"

Another mercenary companion holding a rifle let out a cry of despair, raising his rifle to aim at Fenrir. But by then, Fenrir had already vanished from his spot.

Disappearing along with him were the bulky mercenary's two arms.

His sturdy cybernetic arms had been severed at the wrists by Fenrir—who had activated his Sandevistan—to keep him from holding on, followed by a swift spin that cleanly sheared off both entire arms.

"Fenrir! Wake the fuck up!" The bulky mercenary let out a final roar, trying to snap his comrade back to reality.

But Fenrir was already roaring with laughter: "I want freedom! I want to walk out alive! No one is going to stop me!"

The terrifying thing about cyberpsychos was that once they lost their minds, they often became even stronger than before!

Without a moment's hesitation, seeing that even their own people couldn't hold down the madman, Mercer immediately transmitted a cyberware-lockdown virus program to his subnet.

However, the military-grade ICE worn by the madman put up a momentary resistance.

It was precisely because of this momentary intrusion alert that Fenrir's violently twitching eyes shifted sideways in an eerie glance toward Mercer.

The very situation Mercer feared most had occurred. Unlike Songbird, who was decked out in top-tier gear, his own deck and cooling systems hadn't even been installed yet. Facing an opponent equipped with military-grade ICE and a cortical implant, his processing efficiency fell short.

In less than a second, Mercer calculated the time required to shut down the opponent's cyberware.

Even with access to the opponent's subnet, Mercer still needed 1.5 seconds to breach the automatically triggered ICE program in his cortex.

Fenrir's Sandevistan was already active, and Mercer suspected he might have a Kerenzikov installed as well.

In just a fraction of a second—faster than a single blink—Fenrir vanished from his spot.

With his mind focused to the absolute limit and his brain heating up rapidly, Mercer whipped out his monowire and lashed it forward. True to expectation, Fenrir's instincts caused him to instinctively swerve to the side.

Immediately after, Mercer shoved Panam aside. Panam only had time to let out a gasp of surprise before being shoved unceremoniously behind the bar.

Mercer's monowire strike missing was well within his calculations. By then, his hand had already squeezed the trigger of his Kenshin, beginning to charge.

One second.

Just one more second, and once the cyberware shut down, his bullet would pierce the madman's skull.

So who would buy him that one second?

The answer was V.

"Die!"

Despite her lackluster cyberware and limited mercenary experience, V's astonishing physical gifts and the muscle memory accumulated from street firefights allowed her to react even faster than Mercer at that moment.

Her firearm wasn't like Mercer's Kenshin, which required charging to unleash its true lethality.

V pulled the trigger. From the somewhat battered kinetic pistol manufactured by Constitutional Arms at the early 21st century—codenamed 'Liberty'—a large-caliber round rocketed outward.

Mercer had to admit he had truly underestimated this ordinary-looking gun.

At the very least, right at that moment, Fenrir—who had bypassed the monowire and was about to leap back in to finish off Mercer—was struck squarely by V's shot, his entire body tilting sideways.

A specialty round of unusual caliber embedded itself firmly in Fenrir's temple.

Although it only penetrated his subcutaneous armor without piercing his metal skull—which produced a heavy metallic *clang* upon impact—the immense kinetic energy still threw Fenrir entirely off balance.

Struggling and dizzy, Fenrir swung his mantis blades blindly toward Mercer's original position.

V moved with lightning speed, reaching out to pull Mercer into her embrace.

Simultaneously, the cyberware shutdown finally punched through the ICE, locking down his cyberware.

Fenrir's speed plunged abruptly.

"Zzz-woom!"

The sound of electromagnetic propulsion rang out at that exact instant. Mercer's pistol tracked onto Fenrir's head, and as he vaulted to the side following the momentum of V's pull, a tungsten-tipped round propelled by electromagnetism delivered a follow-up shot straight to Fenrir's temple.

Unlike V's bullet, the fully charged tungsten-tipped round possessed formidable penetrating power that not only pierced the enemy's skull but also carried an electromagnetic charge that triggered a minor secondary EMP micro-detonation inside Fenrir's brain.

Fenrir's wildly swinging mantis blades froze mid-air. His body convulsed before finally collapsing limply to the floor.

Though it took longer to describe, this entire sequence of actions had transpired in less than two full seconds!

Panam, who had rolled behind the bar, hadn't even managed to stand back up to fire before she witnessed Mercer and V executing the kill on Fenrir with the flawless coordination of a routine practiced a thousand times.

Mercer shoved her away, using the monowire to force Fenrir back; V raised her gun and fired a headshot; Fenrir tilted sideways; Mercer's pistol finished charging; V pulled him clear of Fenrir's final desperate slash; and Mercer delivered the fatal shot while retreating...

This fluid sequence of events left not only Panam, but many of the mercenaries who had just drawn their weapons, secretly awestruck.

Mercer panted heavily, his back pressed against V—though it had to be said, at his current height and build, he looked almost petite nestled in the embrace of V, who stood a solid one meter seventy-six.

V was taking deep breaths as well, her eyes blazing with exhilaration. Laughing loudly, she wrapped one arm around Mercer while using her pistol to pump three consecutive follow-up rounds into Fenrir.

"Eat shit! What's the point of installing all that scrap metal?"

Mercer felt something soft brushing against the back of his neck, bobbing up and down with V's laughter.

This height was actually pretty great; being flat-chested was fantastic, too. It would be even better if he could be hugged facing the other way... Who said being short had no perks?

"A, you're pretty badass too! That reaction time and marksmanship—you don't look like a netrunner at all!"

V's excitement hadn't faded yet. She hooked her arm around Mercer's neck, walking shoulder-to-shoulder and completely forgetting to let go.

Glancing sideways at the bulky mercenary whose arms were still spurting blood, she spat on the ground. "This your boss? Dumbass, still want to call me over for a drink?"

The bulky brawn was reduced to emitting low, pained groans. Nearby, the security guards experienced a mix of relief and a massive headache.

"Put your guns away! I need to check with Boss Rogue on how to handle this..." A burly bouncer turned and aimed his weapon back at V, who was still holding her pistol as if ready to continue the firefight, speaking with a tense expression.

V's confidence had surged back considerably. Facing the fierce-looking bouncers, she didn't flinch in the least, offering only a dismissive smirk before holstering her weapon.

Then, she noticed Mercer turning his head, gazing at her over his shoulder with a calm expression: "I gotta say, V, holding me like I'm your girlfriend... In private, I wouldn't mind, though."

Only then did V realize the awkwardness of the posture. She quickly let go, offering a sheepish laugh. "...I got a little carried away."

Mercer straightened up, glancing back over—with how well her outfit covered her, he hadn't realized she was quite so well-endowed.

V looked left and right, pretending to be very busy as she hurriedly changed the subject: "So, uh, how'd I do?"

"Not bad. Looks like I didn't pick the wrong person."

Mercer nodded, giving her a favorable review.

In this world, ordinary people facing someone enhanced with a Sandevistan were usually like lambs to the slaughter.

Forget counterattacking; they couldn't even see the opponent's movements clearly.

If an unenhanced mercenary facing such an opponent could merely perceive what the other person was doing, they were already exceptionally capable.

Only someone like V—completely devoid of cyberware, yet able not only to see but to actively combat such an opponent—deserved to be called a true genius.

Mercer turned his gaze. The five-person mercenary squad was now completely out of commission; the netrunner was still twitching on the floor, his brain likely fried and overheated by Mercer's counter-intrusion.

Fenrir was thoroughly dead, his brain turned to smoking pork by the EMP.

The bulky mercenary's thick arms lay scattered on the ground, blood still hissing and spurting from his shoulders.

As for the shotgun-wielding teammate who had first tried to administer the sedative, he had been carved into three pieces right at the start, beyond any hope of saving.

Only the lone rifleman knelt on the ground in total despair, making whimpering sounds akin to weeping—in the blink of an eye, a mercenary squad that had made a name for themselves in the Afterlife and earned the respect of being called 'Big Bosses' on the streets...

Had thus reached their end.

Mercer shook his head, his heart—which had been pounding furiously—finally steadying once more.

Damn...

This was Night City, a place where you never knew when disaster would strike.

It was sure as hell exhilarating!