Chapter 90: Cyberpsycho
Jack once promised Mrs. Wells that as long as he was around, Oliver and Karl would never be in danger. Yet, during that mission, Karl had suffered severe injuries. Every time Jack recalled that moment, guilt weighed heavy on his heart. He believed he had failed to fulfill his duty to protect Karl, breaking his promise.
For someone like Jack, breaking a promise was something he would never forget. And today, facing James, standing in the middle of a firefight, there was no way he would let Karl fight alone again.
Just as James's arm-mounted projectile launcher fired its high-explosive round, before the shell even reached him, Jack moved.
He saw it.
After that last escort job, Jack had used what was left of his payment—after setting aside money for his car—to buy a cyberware implant. The one he chose was called the Synaptic Accelerator.
[Synaptic Accelerator]
A neural processor that regulates hormone balance when faced with danger.
When it detects a threat, the Synaptic Accelerator adjusts Jack's hormone levels, heightening his senses and slowing his perception of time, giving him an effect similar to a Sandevistan.
Jack saw it clearly—the muzzle flash from James's forearm, the slow trajectory of the shell flying toward him, and, in the distance, Karl's gaze locked onto him.
Watch closely, Karl. Oliver. Jack Wells is about to put on a show.
On the rain-slicked ground, Jack let his body collapse backward. One hand braced against the pavement, the other gripping his Saratoga submachine gun. With speed and agility that seemed impossible for someone of his size, he slid sideways across the ground, dodging out of the way.
The high-explosive shell roared past.
The impact tore through a nearby bioengineered tree, cutting it clean in half. Against the raw power of the projectile, the synthetic materials of the artificial tree stood no chance.
Good thing that was a fake tree. Would've been a real shame if it was a real one.
Night City still had real trees, though they were rare due to pollution. Even in Coronado Farm, the place that boasted the greenest landscapes in Night City, there were only about forty actual trees. But in Corpo Plaza, where corporate executives often walked, there were a dozen real trees mixed in with the synthetic ones. These poor plants already struggled to survive in this toxic air—getting blown apart in a firefight would just be adding insult to injury.
Jack hit the ground, gravel and broken debris tumbling around him as he raised his Saratoga and fired a full burst in retaliation. The recoil altered his sliding motion, but the kinetic rounds found their mark, striking James head-on.
A series of dull, rapid impacts echoed.
The bullets peppered James's body, but they might as well have been mosquito bites. He barely flinched, his armored skin absorbing the impact without issue.
The second activation of the Sandevistan had ended.
That made two.
Karl kept count in his head.
Six seconds had passed since the fight began. The NCPD officers, having finally processed what was happening, got their act together.
Following Johnson's orders over their comms, they repositioned, using bioengineered trees, police vehicles, and planters as cover. Raising their Lexingtons and other sidearms, they laid down suppressing fire.
They were trying. The moment the shooting started, they hadn't stopped firing.
But it was pointless.
Even their best weapons could only provide covering fire.
Because even the strongest weapon in their arsenal—their tactical shotguns—weren't powerful enough to pierce James's subdermal armor.
[Constitution Arms M2038 Tactical]
A reliable, old-model shotgun that had been around for years.
Still favored by low-tier gang members and NCPD officers alike.
Why?
Simple.
They couldn't afford anything better.
Among budget-friendly firearms, the Tactical was the cheapest, deadliest, and easiest to use.
In this price range, there was nothing else to ask for.
And against James Norris, it was nowhere near enough.
The NCPD's bullets rained down on James's back, but he didn't even consider turning around.
At most, the bullets could shave off the short golden hairs atop his head, carving a shallow groove into his scalp, but they couldn't do any real damage. A man like James, who had already given up certain body parts, wouldn't care about something as trivial as going bald.
Not to mention, his sanity was nearly gone.
The relentless crackling of gunfire, like a string of firecrackers exploding around him, didn't sound like police gunfire to him—it sounded like a battlefield.
This feeling.
This was the feeling.
The feeling that he was still needed.
That people still relied on him.
I am James.
James Norris, Lieutenant of the New United States!
I'm still on the battlefield, still fighting.
I haven't been discarded, I haven't been discharged as useless.
I'm not some washed-up veteran, forced to work for the very Militech I once despised!
I am special.
I have the highest cyberware compatibility in my entire unit.
I am different from the others!
The battlefield.
The enemy.
Death.
Red—the color of blood. James saw crimson droplets dripping from his own hands.
Black—the charred remains of gunpowder. He dodged an NCPD-thrown grenade and watched the dark blast mark it left on the pavement.
Fire—the scorching flames of incendiary grenades!
James lifted his head. Through the rain, he saw the neon holograms projected by the megacorporations. In his mind, they weren't just ads—they were fire, burning brightly.
How beautiful.
How dazzling.
How glorious.
As if the battlefield itself was calling to him, reminding him that he was still in control. That he was still standing tall. That he was still a soldier.
"Haha... ha... ha!"
Yes, this was it!
Right here—this was where he belonged!
Everything was just like before.
James Norris was still fighting!
"Hahahaha!"
Karl watched as James, laughing like a madman, weaved through the rain of bullets and explosions, dodging grenades with unnatural agility.
Unknowingly, James had triggered his Sandevistan again.
Karl's internal count advanced once more.
That makes three.
Time to recall the intel.
Even someone as tough as James Norris could only activate his experimental military-grade Sandevistan three times in a single day before reaching his absolute limit—before collapsing into unconsciousness.
It was time.
"Don't forget to vote, your support matters!"