Cyberpunk: The Relentless

"Broke again, huh."

That was the first thing Oliver said as he stepped down from the operating table, freshly installed cyberware in place.

"Yeah, we're completely broke."

Jack, who had finished his installation earlier, nodded in agreement.

This round of cyberware upgrades had drained almost all their funds.

"Money flows like water."

Karl stared at his account balance—just one million eddies left.

He had built it up to a nice 1.09 million, and then immediately spent a huge chunk of it on upgrading his neural processor.

Karl still had some money. But the team? They were broke.

"Well, we do burn through eddies fast."

Oliver inhaled a dose of stabilizers that Vik handed him and sighed.

"I spent a fortune on my Nekomata, Jack bought a bike, and Karl, you not only upgraded your cyberdeck but also bought that high-end monomolecular wire. What part of that sounds affordable?"

"Yeah, now I get why so many mercs stick with bargain-bin cyberware, even after years on the street."

Karl thought back to Mann's crew and Brown's squad. Both had been operating way longer than his own team, yet their gear wasn't much better.

Even Mann had only managed to upgrade his Projectile Launch System after the last job—it really put things into perspective.

"I see why so many mercs use second-hand cyberware, even knowing how risky it is. This stuff is expensive as hell."

Hearing that, Jack chuckled.

"So what you're saying is… our squad is already above average?"

"We're definitely a cut above."

Oliver finished inhaling the stabilizers, flexing his limbs as he spoke.

"Man, I feel powerful."

"Feeling cocky already?"

Karl eyed Oliver, curious.

"How's it feel? Holding up okay?"

"Haven't tested it yet. Gimme a sec."

Oliver turned to Jack.

"Jack, I'm about to get behind you."

And with that, he activated his Sandevistan.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Oliver took a moment to fully absorb the sensation before moving.

His body left a trail of afterimages in the slowed time, streaking across the space toward Jack.

But Jack was already turning to face him.

With his Berserk system, Jack's natural reflex booster had gotten a major upgrade. His hormone regulation enhancements allowed him to partially trigger time dilation at will.

At the same time, Karl stepped forward, his movements just as fast.

Oliver and Karl both extended a hand toward Jack.

To Vik—watching from the outside—all three had simply vanished from their spots.

Then, just as suddenly, Jack turned around, and their hands all met in the middle.

"Whoo! Nailed it!"

Oliver let out a celebratory shout—then did a double take at Karl.

"…Wait. Karl, how the hell are you keeping up with us now?"

"Hmm… how do I explain it?"

Karl thought for a second before responding.

"You could say I can now manually adjust my own hormones, nerve impulses, and synaptic activity at will."

"So… basically, your entire body feels like cyberware now? And you can control it like that?"

"More or less. It's like I've turned into a fully integrated system that I can actively manipulate."

"I get the medical terms—you know I study this stuff—but I don't fully grasp what you're saying."

Oliver tilted his head.

"So, in simple terms, not only are your reactions keeping up, but your movements too?"

"It depends on processing power. If I'm using my cyberdeck's processing for hacking, I can't keep up my reaction speed boost for long—and vice versa."

"Sounds like your processing power still isn't enough, huh?"

Hearing Karl's explanation, Jack realized something.

Even with the Arasaka MK.IV, Karl's computing power was already starting to feel insufficient.

"Man, your body really is something else."

Jack didn't fully understand the specifics, so he turned to Vik.

"Vik, any medical explanation for this?"

"Been in this business for years, and I've never seen anything like it."

Vik shrugged.

"If you really want an answer… I'd just chalk it up to a unique talent. Some people are just built different."

"Fine by me."

Oliver grinned.

"At least now we can all keep up with each other. I was a little worried Karl might get left behind."

"You know, guys shouldn't be too fast."

Karl smirked, waving a hand dismissively.

But he turned serious when he looked at Oliver.

"How's the Sandevistan feel? Think you can handle it?"

"For now, one activation feels fine. No clue what my actual limit is, though."

"Let's check again."

At Vik's request, Oliver lay back down on the operating table.

After a quick scan, Vik nodded.

"No signs of nerve desynchronization. No structural collapse. No melting or fusing either.

Could be that Zetatech's Sandevistan is just a well-optimized model that doesn't stress the body as much.

Or maybe you're just naturally built for this. Either way, your body's handling it pretty well."

Hearing that, Oliver grinned ear to ear.

"Hell yeah! I'm built different."

"Don't get cocky, kid."

Vik cut him off.

**"Even if it's handling well, Sandevistan is still a major load on the body.

Keep it under four activations per day—any more and you might start running into issues.

Oh, and check your immunosuppressant dosage."**

Vik handed Oliver a prescription sheet.

"Here's yours too, Jack. Take it together.

Rejection symptoms are rare, but they can happen. You guys are lucky—yours are pretty mild, so you'll only need to take these for a short while.

Once your body fully adjusts, you can stop taking them.

But listen up—no new cyberware until this adjustment period is over.

If you stack new implants while your body's still adapting, you'll end up dying in the streets."

"Got it, Vik. We know you're only bending the rules for us this time."

Oliver, being medically trained, had no intention of ignoring Vik's orders.

Besides, he was broke and didn't have the money for more upgrades anyway.

Vik had already prepared their immunosuppressants and placed them aside, ready to be picked up when they left.

"Now that that's settled, we need to find work."

With Oliver and Jack confirmed to be in good condition, Karl shifted focus.

"Only problem is… where do we find a job?"

Middlemen usually reached out to mercs when they had a fitting gig.

If no one was calling, it meant either the jobs weren't suited to them… or their rep was too high for the scraps currently available.

But being broke meant waiting wasn't an option.

As they debated whether to drop by The Wounded Coyote and pick up a few quick gigs, another idea came to mind—

A place where the jobs were bigger, and the pay was better.

It was time to hit The Afterlife.

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