042: Special Override

Chips need to be inserted into a data slot to load.

Therefore, residents of the cyber era typically prepare extra data slots to keep one or two chips plugged in for long periods.

Examples include melee combat modules or hacking programs.

John, however, had no need for such things.

Any chip inserted into his body would be violently translated by the Blacklight, forcing the data directly into his brain via download.

A chip processed by the Blacklight would be completely burned out, much like a used specialized inhibitor, leaving it fit only to be pulled out and discarded. Afterward, his body would feel fatigued and dizzy, serving as another reminder that he needed to use a specialized inhibitor.

Theoretically speaking:

John could load more chips and clear them out with a specialized inhibitor before his body issued a warning, achieving an infinite loop. But the reality was that the moment this thought crossed his mind, he would experience a deeply ominous premonition.

Cyberpsychosis always claimed those who profaned their own flesh.

He could not understand the operating principles of the Blacklight, nor did he know whether there was a limit to his cranial capacity load, let alone whether the "specialized inhibitor" had any side effects at all.

John always prepared for the worst:

That his so-called uniqueness was nothing more than a delusion born right before a cyberpsychotic breakdown.

His brain now felt so swollen it made him nauseous, but with the doctor present, he had no way to pull out an inhibitor for relief.

The Blacklight read the chip.

His body involuntarily wanted to move.

The doctor handed him a tube of medicine.

Puff—

The inhalable medication had little effect.

John's body temperature continued to rise.

He took a moment to steady himself until he regained control of his body, then took a few light steps and threw two punches into the air like a warming-up athletic star.

Suresh Corporation had national backing in Europe.

They were a global supplier of technological weapons and also manufactured various derivative military products, such as this CQC-series combat chip.

It integrated a variety of combo techniques and, after version 5.0, had incorporated the close-quarters combat methods for standard street weaponry.

John now felt like a professionally trained athlete, capable of executing reactive movements according to a template, though it would still take practice to truly master and integrate them.

Yet as a starting point:

This high-tier, latest-model combat chip was already streets ahead of anything commonly found on the turf.

The other chip was the "Ronin."

It was a custom model produced by Haki Industries to be paired with melee blades, sold in limited regional quantities and issued solely as a gift for high-end members. It was fiercely sought after in the black market, and there was no telling where Aiden had extorted it from.

Safe Haven Corporation certainly knew its value.

The Ronin chip restricted the types of blades that could be used, and Aiden and his crew were unwilling to waste a slot on a katana. Thus, when John asked for it, they handed it right over, preferring to install chips with higher versatility.

[Data loading, download complete.]

John gripped the Gambler, executing a flawless draw and precisely sheathing the blade once more. Neurotoxin clung to the steel edge, leaving a faint visual afterimage lingering in the air.

Rian put down his wine bottle and pointed at him, saying:

"Corporations are heartless bastards. Chip loads keep getting heavier, forcing customers to upgrade to better cyberware. If your body can't handle it, it causes incompatibility... At best, you'll slice off a few fingers; at worst, it'll straight-up toast your neural synapses."

"You don't need to keep emphasizing cyberware safety over and over."

"Well, seeing as we're in the same boat, I'd rather not watch you die."

John nodded in gratitude, transferred the medical fee, and then asked, "Doc, do you know where I can buy some information?"

"What are you trying to look up?"

"Just catching up with some former colleagues."

John explained to Rian.

Corporate colleagues were different from gang brothers; people only hung out together when goofing off or working. Normally, everyone used the internal corporate communication channels, and contracts explicitly forbade adding personal contact details privately. Unless there was a romantic entanglement, you wouldn't even ask for another person's home address.

Most importantly, becoming close friends with your colleagues was the stupidest thing you could do—even a driver might betray you and step on your back for a promotion.

John wanted to investigate the truth behind the accident.

"I don't even know who else survived that accident alongside me. I need to talk to the survivors, find out who they are, and figure out what they know."

Rian Randall sighed upon hearing this.

"Street rules, John. Information falls under the fixer's domain. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Fuck, that tie-clip bastard."

John shook his head firmly and decided to head home to rest.

He activated the Atlanta Net, checked the status of his vehicles, and saw two Isenberg luxury cars parked in the device center—strictly speaking, completely out of his income bracket.

This was Eden City...

A dreamscape where risk and opportunity coexisted.

The Silver Knight was currently undergoing maintenance, having sustained a few bullet grazes when he drove it out to rescue Gino the day before. The only vehicle he could mobilize was the Alloy RCH.

John walked out of the clinic and entered the underground commercial street.

Industrial exhaust billowed up from the utility manhole covers, and all sorts of bizarre shops were wedged into the gaps between buildings. Clutter was piled haphazardly everywhere, and young people laden with cyberware spewed curses with every breath.

Rock music and clamor intertwined.

Black Gold Gang graffiti covered the concrete walls.

John pulled up his hood and walked through the dim corridor. The steps were damp, and a cold wind blew down the back of his neck.

He was being tailed.

John straddled the Alloy RCH only to have a gun pressed against him.

"Shut your trap, unlock the crypto-key right the fuck now, and get off the bike! Make another peep and I'll blow your kidneys out, hollow you out, and sell you to—"

"Ha—"

John sighed with a bitter smile.

The mugger behind him paused slightly, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in his wrist before his gun was snatched away.

Before the mugger could react, his vision went black.

John's counter-movement of disarming the gunman stemmed from the CQC chip; a sideways elbow strike directly shattered the petty crook's nasal bone. As he spun around, he saw several figures lunging out from the shadows, all wielding submachine guns.

Vroooom~

He twisted the throttle hard.

The Alloy RCH lifted its front wheel, letting out a sharp screech as it sped away through the neon-drenched streets of the East District.

The petty crook behind John desperately grabbed onto him, screaming curses like a terrified novice.

Yet the next second, the vehicle's speed skyrocketed.

The streetscape blurred in the blink of an eye.

A fierce gale rushed into the mugger's mouth, and he felt as though his heart had been ripped from his control and violently dragged backward.

John brought the front wheel down, leaning hard into a turn at the end of the street. The metal body of the bike ground the mugger's shinbones directly against the asphalt, shearing away the cybernetic enhancements completely.

He nearly passed out.

Yet John grabbed hold of him, pulled a tight drift right there on the spot, and returned to the scene of the incident.

Several gang punks watched as their companion was hauled back, their eyes wide, their hands trembling slightly as they gripped their guns.

John got up, stepped off the bike, and drew the Gambler.

He felt his limbs move instinctively, a gratifying sense of familiarity washing over him as the steel blade left its scabbard.

The morning sunlight was gone; the sky was gloomy, and the mouth of the dark alleyway was swallowed by the shadows of towering skyscrapers. Splashed blood mixed with a light, pattering rain as it trickled down into the storm drain. Cries of agony echoed intermittently, and neon lights refracted dazzling colors across the gray-black street.

John panted, trying to steady his heartbeat.

The entrance to the dim underground passage was already choked with corpses.

He turned around and saw the legless petty crook dragging himself forward.

Bang—

A gunshot rang out.