April 18, 2021. 22:16. Burnaby. 12 days left till Italy.
A knot tightens in my stomach. A cyberpsycho? That's bad. Even a whole squad of cops can struggle to bring one down, and I've never run into one myself.
One of the Dead Kings at the door glances back, face gone pale. "For real? That's just up the block."
Mister doesn't answer. His head snaps up, posture gone rigid, and he's off—turning on his heel and practically bolting out the door without another word.
"Shit." I grab my bag, yank out my modified SMG, and sling it across my back. Handgun and combat knife—check. Strapped and ready.
"Stay here," I snap at the Dead Kings and the staff. "Lock it down. Don't let anyone in."
Ryker hesitates, then nods, pulling a handgun from his jacket. "Got it."
Remi, lingering by the bar, shoots me a curious look. "Yo, what's happening?"
"No time." I barely pause. "Cyberpsycho. Mister took off—I'm going after him."
Azure's eyes flick to me, concern cutting across her face. "Be careful."
I nod and sprint after Mister, pushing through the growing crowd outside. Onlookers hover at the edges of the chaos—phones out, faces lit by flashing sirens in the distance. Some shout, others just stare.
As I hit the main street, the scene unfolds like a nightmare.
Wrecked cars. Shattered glass. Bodies scattered across the asphalt. The air reeks of burnt rubber, blood, and smoke. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance, growing closer by the second.
I spot Mister first—moving low through the wreckage, sharp and deliberate, scanning for something—or someone. Then a distorted scream tears through the night, metallic and inhuman. He ducks behind a half-crushed SUV, dropping into cover.
"Shit," I mutter, sliding in beside him, my back pressed to the mangled frame. "The hell are you doing?"
Mister doesn't answer. His visor stays locked on the street ahead.
I risk a glance over the hood—and freeze.
Some grotesque freak show—an imposing figure in patched-up merc gear, his face a horrific mess of exposed wiring, scraped cybernetics, and red, glowing optics that looked more insect than human. Plates and cables tangled across his body, forming a crude exoskeleton with only traces of skin showing through the gaps.
He twitched in sharp, uneven bursts, head jerking like he was fighting something inside his own skull. In one trembling hand, he clutched a massive revolver, the barrel still smoking.
The psycho's optics sweep the street—and stop on us. Oh, fuck.
My pulse spikes. I'm about to move when Mister raises a hand, signalling me to stay put.
I bite my lip, contemplating if I should listen or not, my hand hovering near the grip of my SMG.
I bite back the urge to argue, one hand hovering over my SMG's grip. If the psycho opened fire, there's nothing either of us could do except hope to die fast.
"Fine," I mutter, forcing myself to stay down. Let Mister handle it. But doubt gnaws at me all the same.
If this goes sideways, I'm stepping in.
To my surprise, the cyberpsycho doesn't fire. He stumbles forward, clutching his head like it's splitting open. His voice crackles—warped and broken, but almost human.
"…h-hey… please… d-don't run… I… don't wanna… hurt you… I just—" His words fracture into static and glitch into nothing. His whole body trembles.
Mister shifts beside me, calm and deliberate. "You're still in there. Stay with me. What's your name?"
The psycho whimpers like an animal. "Nathan… where is—Nathan?" His optics flicker. "M-must… find… him… before they do."
"Who? Who's chasing Nathan?" Mister presses, steady in the middle of the chaos. "We can help. We can do this together."
Mister, you can't be serious.
Doubt builds in my gut. There's no salvaging this—nothing I've seen suggests he's stable.
I run scenarios in my head: break for cover, drag Mister out, sprint and draw fire. We're two heartbeats from being torn open.
The psycho lurches, fingers digging into his skull. "…can't stop… too loud… too bright… MAKE IT STOP!" His voice fractures, repeating like a broken record. "WHERE IS NATHAN?! PLEASE! ARGHHH!"
To my horror, he starts clawing at his own face—ripping out one of his cybernetic eyes with a wet snap. Blood and coolant spill onto the pavement in thick, oily streaks, pooling beneath him as his body convulses.
Mister edges sideways, trying to pull the psycho's focus. Too late.
The thing's head snaps up. Its optics lock on Mister—and something inside it breaks.
I move on instinct. I kick Mister's leg out from under him, sending him sprawling just as the psycho fires. The round slams into pavement where Mister stood—a hair's breadth from his skull.
"MOVE!" I scream, yanking Mister behind a pile of debris.
The psycho erupts into an animal roar and fires wildly, bullets tearing concrete and glass. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Each shot cracks like thunder.
I draw my SMG, heart pounding against my ribs. What the hell do I do?
Breathe. Focus.
Optics? Small target, maybe enough to blind him.
A round tears past overhead, punching clean through a car hood. I duck lower, jaw tight.
Joints? If he's armoured, the plates have to overlap somewhere.
Screams echo down the street. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
People scatter at last, running for their lives. Idiots, why didn't you run sooner? Then again—why the hell am I still here?
Flank him? Too risky. He's too erratic. He could snap left or right without warning.
Distraction? A car alarm, a rock—anything to split his focus.
But can I move fast enough without him emptying my skull?
Another stray shot shatters a streetlamp, sparks raining across the asphalt.
Think, Gina, think.
He's wired wrong—coming apart by the second.
If I spook him, he'll charge. If I hesitate, I'm dead.
My body coils, ready to sprint, to draw fire, to run if I have to. Fuck it, I'll leave Mister if that's what it takes.
Then—footsteps. Closing fast.
Remi and Azure slide into cover behind a nearby wreck.
"Broooo." Remi's eyes go wide. "What the fuck is that thing?"
Mister steadies himself beside us, dirt smeared across his coat. "Enhanced merc," he mutters. "He's gone psycho."
"Why are you both here?!" I hiss, eyes flicking between them.
Remi holds up his hands defensively. "I just wanted to see it, okay?"
Azure glares at him, ducking lower behind the car. "Yeah, and I wasn't about to let your dumbass get killed that easily."
I exhale sharply. "Whatever. Your funeral."
The creature spasms, clawing at its own chest, tearing open old wounds. Blood streaks over armour plates as its voice drops into a guttural, broken snarl.
Then, suddenly—he presses the revolver's barrel to his head.
"No… no… GET OUT… GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
One final, shattering scream—then the gunshot.
The cyberpsycho collapses, twitching twice before falling still.
Silence. Only sirens closing in from afar.
What the fuck did I just watch?
A shaky breath escapes me, my hands tight around my SMG.
Mister rises, brushing dust from his coat, muttering something under his breath I can't make out. The tension in his shoulders hasn't left.
I just stare at the body—another casualty of the city's cruelty.
"Wait—so what happened?" Remi asks, eyes locked on the cyberpsycho's body.
Mister adjusts his coat, his voice flat. "The drugs. It's spreading faster than we thought… and I was hoping to get a lead."
"Wait. What?" A chill crawls up my spine. "What's spreading? Who's we? You're awfully suicidal for chasing this."
"Haven't you seen the news? The cyberpsychosis cases are spiking. It's gotten so bad most of my clients are scared to even step outside."
"Well, yeah, I've seen that on the news. But what did you mean by 'drugs'?" I glance at Mister, but he cuts our conversation short.
Mister doesn't answer. "One moment." He pulls out his phone and steps away, leaving the rest of us standing in uneasy silence.
Now that the chaos has died down, the street feels eerily still. Sirens wail somewhere closer.
"That... was a person once," Azure murmurs, her gaze fixed on the body. "Did you guys see what set him off?"
I shake my head. "No. He was already losing it when we got here. Mister was trying to get answers—I have no idea why. You'll have to ask him yourself. I'm just glad none of us died."
Remi leans against a wrecked car, running a hand through his hair. "Shit. Do they always tweak out like that? I've seen vids, but that was next level."
Then, because he's Remi, he whips out his phone and snaps a picture. Neither Azure nor I stop him. "This is a fire pic, though," he mutters, grinning. "My chooms are gonna lose it when they see this."
"Dude…" I stare at him, one eyebrow raised. Several seconds of silence pass before I just scoff. "Forget it."
Azure sighs, deciding to answer his earlier question instead. "To be fair, not all cyberpsychos act the same. There's a lot of variance in how they break. This one was…" She looks to me.
"Yeah. He was more unstable," I finish. I check my gear, making sure everything's still in place. "Dude had so many implants, I couldn't even tell what part of him was still human."
Mister returns, sliding his phone back into his coat. "Sorry. That call was important." His tone sharpens slightly. "And I overheard your conversation—you're right. It's worse than the news is letting on."
"You mean the cyberpsycho cases?" I ask.
"No. Not just that. The police can't keep up anymore. Between the rising cyberpsychosis incidents and the gang and drug wars, containment's falling apart. They're barely holding the city together."
Remi crosses his arms, grimacing. "Ohhh shit. That lines up with what people have been saying."
Azure frowns, tapping her chin. "Drugs... cyberpsychosis... gang territory fights... You don't think they're connected?" She glances my way, looking for a second opinion.
I'm about to agree when another thought hits me. "Hold up. Even so, why the hell would you bolt out of the bar earlier without a word?" My eyes narrow on Mister.
He doesn't answer right away. The streetlight glints off his helmet, giving nothing away.
Just as I'm about to press him again, something flickers at the edge of my vision. Movement.
A shadow darts through the nearby alley. My hand instinctively drops to my gun.
From the darkness steps a figure—a small, lithe silhouette dressed in black from head to toe. She moves soundlessly, her form sleek and controlled. A flash of armour catches the light, and I spot a matte-black moto jacket that mirrors Mister's style. What the hell…?
Even the helmet is nearly identical—dark, reflective, completely concealing her face.
The voice that follows is low and mechanical, almost drowned out by the hum of the city. But unlike Mister's deep, warped modulation, this one carries a faintly feminine tone—young, uncertain.
"Is it... over?"
Mister stiffens, shoulders tightening again. "What are you doing here?"
The stranger doesn't answer. Instead, she steps forward, examining the cyberpsycho's corpse. Her movements are quick, jittery—like she's wired on edge or running on adrenaline.
"Ayooo?" Remi blurts out, eyes wide. "Is this, like, Mister Junior?"
Azure snorts, unable to help herself. "Looks more like a budget Mister."
The figure freezes at that but says nothing. She crouches beside the body, gloved hands brushing over the ruined cyberware—methodical, almost clinical, like she's cataloguing the damage.
Mister doesn't look fazed, but I notice his arm shift slightly—subtle, blocking me from reaching for my own holster.
"She's not a threat. At least, not right now."
"Uh-huh." I glance at him, unimpressed. "And you know that how?"
The figure's head snaps up, visor glinting under the streetlight. Her voice crackles through the modulator, low and slightly annoyed. "I'm not your enemy. I'm just… gathering data."
Mister lowers his guard a fraction and takes a slow step forward. "You need to leave. This isn't your business."
She doesn't move. "It's everyone's business when the gangs start losing it. This is the third one I've seen this week. The city's falling apart. Melders are selling to high schoolers now, and I'm pretty sure they're tied to the cyberpsycho outbreaks."
I glance at Azure and Remi. Both look as confused as I feel.
"Uh… who is she?" I whisper.
Mister exhales, the sound edged with annoyance. "Someone who thinks she can do what I do. A wannabe."
The girl huffs, crossing her arms. "I'm not a wannabe. I just… want to keep an eye on things."
Remi smirks. "What, like a fan or something?"
Her visor tilts his way, and I swear I can feel the glare. "Shut it. I don't need commentary from you."
Mister shakes his head. "Don't bother trying to get answers from her. She's been following me for a while. Thinks I don't notice."
The figure flinches, hands twitching at her sides. "But I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were." Mister's tone sharpens. "And you're going to leave. Now. You're dealing with things way beyond your league."
His tone of voice—it's like a parent scolding a child.
She hesitates, fists clenching, then exhales and straightens up. "This isn't over. I'm going to find out what's causing this."
"Good luck," Mister says quietly.
The girl lingers a moment longer before melting back into the alley, her footsteps nearly silent.
Azure exhales slowly. "So we're really just going to ignore her?"
Mister doesn't respond, already dialling his phone. "It doesn't matter. Focus on the cyberpsycho. Blake needs a full update on what went down outside the Vix Lounge."
He steps away to make another call, leaving me to process what just happened. A wannabe Mister? Someone trying to do what he does… but why?
Azure nudges me. "That was weird. Maybe even creepy. You think she's dangerous?"
"If Mister says she's not a threat, I'll take his word for it," I reply, scanning the street. "Still—I'm keeping an eye out."
Remi shrugs. "Eh, if we get another badass in the mix, I'm not complaining."
The words barely leave his mouth before flashing lights wash over the street.
Sirens.
Two police cruisers skid to a stop near the wreckage. Officers pour out, weapons drawn.
"Hands where we can see 'em!"
We freeze. No point in running.
Mister doesn't flinch. He steps forward, flashing a badge—something sleek, corporate, and high-clearance. What the…?
An officer near the front stiffens immediately. "Tch. It's you."
Mister murmurs something low and quick. I can't make it out, but whatever he says works—the tension bleeds out of the squad within seconds. Once things settle, he casually resumes his call with Blake like nothing happened.
"They're clear," the lead officer says. "Witnesses only. Log their aliases and move them along."
They take our info one at a time—alias only, no scans, no records. The cops clearly have bigger problems tonight.
When they reach the body, the cleanup team radios for a corporate contractor to handle the rest—damage control, reports, disposal.
Business as usual.
…
April 18, 2021. 23:27. Burnaby. 12 days left till Italy.
Our walk back through the side streets to the bar is quiet.
Aside from Mister, none of us say a word. Remi, Azure, and I just move in silence. I'm still trying to process everything that's happened in the last hour.
All I want now is quiet.
Something far from sirens, flashing lights, and the body cooling on the pavement.
The night feels colder. Maybe it's the wind. Maybe it's just fear settling in.
By the time we reach the bar, Mister's finished his call with Blake. He stops us before we step inside.
"Blake's fully updated," Mister says evenly, lowering his phone. "He still wants Artemis stationed in Dead Kings' territory, at least for now. He's expecting more trouble—other gangs moving in, maybe more cyberpsycho activity."
He makes a quick circular gesture—first at himself, then at Azure, and finally at me. "He also wants us to monitor his implants and mental state—just to make sure he's not at risk of turning."
I blink. "Wait—Blake's worried he might go cyberpsycho?"
Remi leans forward with a grin. "Oh hellllll yeah, count me in too. I'll ask the big man if I can tag along—could use the action anyway."
We step inside. The door swings shut behind us as we head for a booth. Some of the Dead Kings linger by the windows, keeping watch, but Mister reassures them it's under control. While he deals with the staff, we settle in and keep talking.
Azure crosses her arms, her tone serious. "It's not that crazy, honestly. It makes sense. People overloaded with implants are always at risk. The more chrome you bolt on, the more it screws with your emotions and sense of self. Your brain chemistry can't keep up—juggling the nerve load and the strain of running that much tech." She gestures as she speaks, tracing shapes in the air. "Eventually, basic emotions—anger, fear, empathy—they dull or twist. Your brain's just fighting to stay sane. And once you tip over... there's usually no coming back."
She sighs, hands dropping to the table. "Unless you're rich enough for constant therapy and meds, I guess."
I tilt my head, recalling something I'd read. "Right, but didn't some corps start experimenting with new tech? Forced conditioning? Brainwave manipulation?"
Mister returns and taps the edge of the table. "Yes. Those exist. But there's more to it. Rumours say a new drug's hit the streets—something that spikes your pleasure centres hard. But if you've got implants, it accelerates neural breakdown."
I frown. "If that's true… it'd explain the spike."
Remi looks between us. "Shiiiiit. So you're saying one hit and boom—psycho mode?" He pauses, scrolling through his phone. "Wait, I think I've heard of that. Some chooms said it hits good. Might've even ordered a batch once. It's called SynthCoke, right?"
Mister tilts his head. "Correct. The Melders are pushing it through the city."
Remi's face lights up. "No shot. I can hook you up with a batch if you want—hella cheap too."
"I'm not looking to buy," Mister says with a low chuckle. "But I'd appreciate knowing who's selling. For… business reasons."
"Say lesssss, choom. I'll send you their deets."
Azure bursts into a snort, then a laugh. "Of-fucking-course you of all people know about the drugs."
"Heyyy, don't knock it till you try it." Remi waves his phone at her. "Stuff hits good after work."
"What work? You mean flirting with the next girl you see?"
"Ey, I'm a loyal guy." He smirks at her. "I lock in when I need to. Don't do me dirty."
Their banter fades into the background.
I stare at the tabletop, their laughter turning to static in my ears. The weight in my chest settles again—heavy and impossible to ignore.
If this turns into a city-wide problem, I can't help but think of Mom. Part of me wonders if my civilian friends will be safe too. I shove the thought aside, telling myself they'll be fine.
But what about me? Would I survive? My money, my home, my career—everything I've worked for... I can't lose it. I won't.
I force the thoughts down before they drown me.
Mister's voice cuts through my spiral.
"Everyone, focus. Don't forget Blake's requests." He scrolls through his phone, eyes sharp. "We're to help secure Dead Kings territory and investigate the cyberpsycho issue."
He pauses, thumb hovering over the screen. "But there's a complication. It might conflict with Dante's Italy job."
Azure groans, slumping back in the booth. "Well, that's just perfect. You can't be in two places at once."
Mister nods. "I'll relay that to Blake. We're already locked into Dante's contract—maybe there's room for a compromise."
He starts typing out messages to Blake, then fires off a quick update in the group chat—Tetra, Shock, Dante, and Wissen—summarizing everything that's gone down tonight.
A few seconds later, Tetra replies.
"Holy shit, what happened over there? Shock and I are making food right now, but I'll tell her what's going on. I don't know what I can do, but if needed, I could call my family for some extra help, maybe?"
Mister thumbs back a reply. "Sounds good. If we do need your family's help, I'll make sure to repay the favour."
Another ping—Shock's reply lights up the screen.
"Hiiii! Count me in!!!! Someone's gotta keep Blake alive anyway."
Remi leans back with a grin, clapping his hands. "And there we have it—Team Dead Kings, baby. Gotta support the hometown heroes."
I raise an eyebrow. "You do realize the 'hometown heroes' are gangsters, right?"
Remi just shrugs. "Minor details."
Azure shakes her head but doesn't argue. "If fighting breaks out near my shop, I'm in. Just don't expect me to charge headfirst into a gunfight."
Mister pauses, reading another message. "Blake responded. He's not happy, but he gets it. We'll handle what we can here before flying to Italy. After that, we'll reassess the city's situation."
Silence settles over the table—and the group chat. For now, at least, everyone's thinking the same thing.
This isn't ending anytime soon.
A groan slips out as I rub the top of my head, eyes shut tight. Twelve days until Italy, and I already feel like I'm being pulled in three different directions. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
Without thinking, I grab my phone and message Wissen. "Man, I'm so screwed. I'm getting dragged into three different messes, ugh."
His reply comes faster than I expect. "Hahaha, you'll do fine. Take it one step at a time. You're very capable."
He follows it with a dumb emoji of some cartoon guy giving a thumbs-up, and despite everything, I smile. Classic Wissen. "I'm sure you don't need this reminder, but focus on stabilizing the situation there. Once things calm down, you can regroup and focus on Dante's job. Also, there's something your group should know. I'll type it into the chat for everyone."
I take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. At least he's always there to hear me out.
A minute passes before the group chat notification pops up. Wissen's next message is marked bold on the screen.
"Attention all. Arasaka has taken an interest in assisting with the current cyberpsycho situation. They've contacted me about a collaborative effort. If you're investigating the spread, they wish to help by deploying one of their assets. His name is Michelangelo."
The moment I see the word Arasaka, a chill runs down my spine. "Huh?" I whisper. I'm not the only one—Azure's eyes go wide, and even Mister stiffens.
"Arasaka?" Azure leans closer to read my phone. "Why the hell would they get involved? This is way too low-level for a corp like them."
"Yeah," I say, shaking my head. "If Arasaka's involved, it's either worse than we thought or they've got a personal stake."
Mister immediately types another message. "Wissen, I request that you don't add Michelangelo to the chat. Send his number directly to me."
Wissen replies within seconds. "Of course. Michelangelo is technically an external asset, not officially part of the crew. I'll send his contact info directly to you."
I glance at Mister, who's already checking his phone. He stares at his phone, not making a sound. He doesn't seem particularly pleased, and it's pretty obvious.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
He doesn't look up. "Arasaka doesn't move without a reason. If they're sending a cyborg, it means they're either covering something up or testing a project."
Remi snorts. "Michelangelo? What, is he gonna paint the bad guys to death?"
Azure crosses her arms, frowning. "Great. Gangs, cyberpsychos, and now Arasaka. This is getting ridiculous."
Another message flashes on my screen from Wissen. "Michelangelo's specs are top-of-the-line. If you've heard of Adam Smasher, he uses a similar chassis—modified to his preference. Michelangelo will be working with your team for now."
My stomach drops. Adam Smasher?! You've got to be kidding me.
"Perfect," I mutter. "So now we've got a corporate goon who's probably more machine than man."
Remi shrugs, surprisingly casual. "Ey, you know what? As long as he doesn't shoot at us, I don't care. More hands on deck, right?"
Azure shakes her head. "You're way too relaxed about this, man. Arasaka doesn't help out of the kindness of their heart. They always want something in return."
"I agree," I say, nodding. "Wissen never mixes up his teams once they're set. If he's letting someone join in—especially Arasaka—then something's seriously wrong. Whatever's going on has to be bad enough that even he's willing to break his own rules." I make a mental note to ask Wissen what's really happening.
Mister slips his phone into his coat pocket, his voice dropping low. "We'll be careful. Michelangelo might be useful, but we can't trust him."
I lean back, uneasy. Something feels off. I glance at Mister, and he meets my eyes with a subtle nod, like he's already thinking the same thing.
"He's not part of the original crew," Mister says, keeping his tone calm but firm. He glances around, making sure no one nearby is listening. Even in a 'safe' place like this, I know better than to assume privacy. "We'll keep him separate from our operations. Corporations like Arasaka are always searching for leverage. If they catch wind of Dante's railgun project or the Dead Kings' movements, it could compromise everything."
"Then why accept the help?" I ask quietly. "Feels like we're walking straight into their game. But... I guess it's not like we've got a choice right now."
"You're right. That's exactly it. We're in deeper than we thought. If Arasaka wants to handle the cyberpsycho problem, fine—let them. But we don't owe them anything."
Remi lifts a brow. "So what's the play? We babysit this Michelangelo guy or what?"
"Essentially, yes," Mister says sharply. "He joins us in the field, but we keep our distance. Let him handle the heavy work when things blow up, but don't rely on him. He's a variable we can't control."
Azure mutters, "Great. Another wildcard. Just what we needed."
I exhale through my nose, trying to keep my frustration in check. No matter how hard we plan, it always feels like we're reacting instead of leading.
For now, things are stable. But deep down, I know this is just the calm before the storm.
Mister looks around at all of us. "I'll keep tabs on Michelangelo for now. If Arasaka makes a move against us, we'll know."
Almost on cue, Wissen's final message pings on my screen. "By the way, Arasaka will reach out soon. Keep your comms clean. Good luck."
I pocket my phone and glance at Azure. She just shakes her head, expression grim. "This is gonna get ugly. I can feel it."
"Yeah," I murmur, my thoughts spinning. "If this goes wrong, we won't just be dealing with gangs and psychos. We'll have a megacorp breathing down our necks."
Part of me wonders if I'm making the right call by staying. But something in me can't walk away—not when my city's this close to becoming a war zone.