《Robocop (Cyberpunk 2077)》


 Prologue

    How long I had been waiting for this game. CD Projekt RED never released anything bad. A world of the future, cool guns, and shootouts with loads of cyber implants. Finally, after completing the purchase, I started downloading the game. I hope my computer can handle this beast. Yeah, the system requirements are off the charts, but it''s okay, you, my dear, have handled many games before. I gently patted the system unit next to me.


    After preparing some chips and soda, I was ready to enjoy this masterpiece all night long. Finally, the download was complete, and I pressed launch. Oh, damn, what a cool Cyberpunk 2077 intro. Goosebumps ran all over my body, the in-game footage was beyond praise. If the graphics are really like that in the game, then it''s a bomb.


    I pressed "new game". So, who do I want to play as? Well, the choice isn''t particularly wide, but judging by the early reviews, it doesn''t matter. So I pick randomly, choosing the street kid, and start customizing my character. After finishing that, I quickly entered the game. The fans in my computer roared loudly. As soon as the opening scenes of the game appeared, the computer started to lag terribly, and then it caught fire. Acrid smoke from melting plastic filled the room, which was tightly closed. Flames burst out, scorching the wallpaper. I didn''t have time to recover from the shock before the room was engulfed in flames, and my consciousness started to fade from the carbon monoxide. So much for playing.


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    My consciousness was being pulled through some kind of darkness. I felt absolutely nothing, and there was only emptiness around me. My thoughts were sluggish and heavy.


    Memory block loading


    Memory initialization 12%...35%


    Some ancient symbols appeared before me. I barely understood their meaning. Am I hallucinating? Some light started to break through ahead, and some images began to fill my mind.


    57%......76%


    Maybe I just got drunk, and I''m having the DTs. After sleeping a bit, I''ll wake up in my bed.


    84%...99%


    Memory synchronization


    Now the scene before my eyes became clear, and I began to feel the world around me and hear the sounds of the city bustle.

 Someone elses memory

    Replaying Matthew Carrington''s memories.


    Looking out of the car window, I watched the streets of the city that had become both my home and my prison for almost thirty years. I felt that I couldn''t leave it¡ªfamily and work bound me here. Especially family: sometimes I dreamed of walking away from them because they only brought me disappointment. But I am a man, and it is my duty to provide for them, despite my wife''s endless requests and the constant whims of the kids, who never stopped asking for new toys, like the latest phone and fashionable clothes. Fortunately, my job as a detective and my good service allowed me to earn enough to cover all their whims.


    Damn the job, I thought it was noble. Solving cases, helping people, finding the truth, and catching the guilty¡ªthis was how I envisioned my future. But the reality turned out to be much darker: I had to do terrible things to find evidence, and the crime scenes I visited filled me with disgust. At first, everything was going well; my track record of successfully solved cases allowed me to climb the career ladder quickly and earn widespread respect. But when I got involved with the cartels, things went downhill fast. They had connections in high places and began to pressure me, hindering my work. It got even worse when I managed to put a cartel boss behind bars¡ªafter that, attempts on my life became more frequent.


    I even worried that they might harm my family, but so far the feds were successfully protecting them, and they didn''t seem to be of much interest to the cartels. It seemed they only thirsted for my blood.


    At the next traffic light, the car stopped at a red light, and a bright advertisement billboard lit up outside the window. It featured a large slogan: "A New and Wonderful Future." Then a video played, showing robots replacing hard labor, lifting heavy loads, working in the fields, and operating in hazardous areas. What a wonderful future, I thought sarcastically. If we are replaced by machines, we''ll be fired immediately, and then what? We''ll be struggling to survive, suffering from hunger. This won''t lead to anything good, I thought gloomily as I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.


    God, even this one pleasure has become fake. There''s no real tobacco in them anymore; they''re made from synthetic substances with a chemical taste. Real cigarettes have become incredibly expensive. It would be better to quit smoking, but stress and fatigue wouldn''t let me. Opening the window, I exhaled the smoke outside and spat bitterly.


    "What''s got you in a bad mood, Matthew?" asked my partner, Brendan Fletcher, who was behind the wheel. Up until that moment, he had been quietly driving the car, even though he had been my partner for a long time. Before him, there had been many others, many of whom couldn''t handle working with me, or met an untimely end. In our department, it had become something of a bad omen: if someone was assigned to be my partner, it meant they were in for a tough fate.


    "Same as always, Brendan. In our line of work, there''s no room for any other mood," I replied. In our practice, a joyful day was a miracle, and miracles didn''t happen.


    "True enough," he agreed. The light turned green, and we continued on our way.


    Our path led to the city''s slums, following a tip from an informant. Carlo DeVargo had been spotted in one of the apartments in this area. Our task was to verify this information and, if we found him there, to apprehend him immediately.


    The slums of New Caden were among the most crime-ridden in our state. Every house was a breeding ground for drug dens and brothels. The people living here matched the environment: addicts, gangsters, and prostitutes. Visiting such places was absolute hell for me. It revealed the true essence of humanity, its vices, but the job required us to be in such places.


    "We''re almost there," Brendan informed me, and as I looked around, I recognized familiar landmarks.


    We stopped at a checkpoint that separated the slums from the rest of the city. These were set up to isolate such areas from the more prosperous parts of New Caden.


    Brendan showed his detective badge, and we were quickly allowed through. The metal barriers parted, opening up a path into a world that truly resembled a casino where you could lose your life at any moment.


    The filthy streets were populated by homeless people begging for alms and various vendors pushing their wares on every corner. The buildings were all the same height and design¡ªthis area had been built on the cheap. They didn''t even have elevators, so we had to climb up to the eighth floor on foot. Quite the joy, really.


    Rat-tat-tat, bam-bam, rata-tat-tat...


    In this area, shootouts happened constantly, and even passersby paid no attention to the sounds. Why didn''t law enforcement impose order here? It was simple: the residents of this place were practically not considered citizens of our city, and therefore, we weren''t obligated to help them. But if these "non-citizens" tried to leave the area and get into the more prosperous districts, they could be dealt with as harshly as anyone pleased¡ªjust to discourage the rest from attempting to go where they didn''t belong.


    Our car stopped in front of the supposed location of Carlo DeVargo. Another building, indistinguishable from the others.


    "How long are we going to be stuck here?" Brendan inquired, pulling out his phone and starting to scroll through his social media feed.


    "As long as it takes," I replied. Unfortunately, that was our reality. The higher-ups were pressuring us to get him behind bars as quickly as possible.


    "Can we grab a bite somewhere?" Brendan asked again.


    "Here? If you want to die, go ahead," I answered. The food sold around here could hardly be called that. To cut costs, they put anything and everything into it.


    "Fair point. Then we just wait," Brendan said, falling silent.


    I decided to quickly go over the dossier of our target, pulling out my UIP, a special device that helped identify criminals and contained a database on practically every citizen. It was a flat block with a holographic screen.


    "Let''s see," I thought. Weapons sales, smuggling, and dealing in illegal substances, nothing unusual¡ªthere were many cases like these. But organizing an assassination attempt on William Allford''s son, the head of Megatech Corporation, which produced military-grade weapons and special equipment, was a serious crime. The son couldn''t be saved, and his body was found in a bag at a waste processing plant.


    No wonder we were under such pressure. "Alright, enough looking at the same information again," I decided. Being the top detective sometimes brought more problems than benefits, as in this case.


    I kept a close watch on the front door of the building, occasionally glancing at the windows. Everything outside remained calm, not deviating from the ordinary.


    The silence started to bother me. Usually, something would have happened by now: a fight, a strange event, or some other unusual occurrence. But everything continued to seem normal.


    Something was definitely wrong. I began searching for details, discrepancies in people''s behavior, or signs that we were being watched. However, as I quickly scanned different directions, I found nothing outstanding. Nervousness began to take over; I didn''t like this uncertainty.


    "Damn it, calm down. You''re not a coward, you''re a real man. Get a grip," I whispered to myself. I started taking slow, deep breaths, then quick exhales. Slightly calmer, I focused and began looking for any signs or clues.


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    Watching a homeless man, I noticed he wasn''t particularly skinny, as if he wasn''t starving. He sat with his head down, wearing dark glasses that hid the direction of his gaze. One of his hands lay under some trash, as if something was hidden there. What else was odd about him? His position¡ªhe was in a spot with a perfect view of the street, and hardly anyone was passing by him.


    He definitely wasn''t a regular homeless person, but this could just be my paranoia. I needed more evidence. I now searched more methodically¡ªlooking for spots from which we could be watched and potential places for a sniper. A balcony directly above us or the one opposite on the other side of the street would be ideal. No, the car was reinforced with armor, and firing from above would be pointless; we could quickly drive away. The windows were more vulnerable, meaning they might try to shoot at them.


    "What''s got your attention, Matthew?" Brendan asked, noticing my shifting gaze. Up until that moment, he had been quietly driving the car, even though he had been my partner for a long time. Before him, there had been many others, many of whom couldn''t handle working with me, or met an untimely end. In our department, it had become something of a bad omen: if someone was assigned to be my partner, it meant they were in for a tough fate.


    "Same as always, Brendan. In our line of work, there''s no room for any other mood," I replied. Unfortunately, that was our reality. The higher-ups were pressuring us to get him behind bars as quickly as possible.


    "Can we grab a bite somewhere?" Brendan asked again.


    "Here? If you want to die, go ahead," I answered. The food sold around here could hardly be called that. To cut costs, they put anything and everything into it.


    "Fair point. Then we just wait," Brendan said, falling silent.


    I decided to quickly go over the dossier of our target, pulling out my UIP, a special device that helped identify criminals and contained a database on practically every citizen. It was a flat block with a holographic screen.


    "Let''s see," I thought. Weapons sales, smuggling, and dealing in illegal substances, nothing unusual¡ªthere were many cases like these. But organizing an assassination attempt on William Allford''s son, the head of Megatech Corporation, which produced military-grade weapons and special equipment, was a serious crime. The son couldn''t be saved, and his body was found in a bag at a waste processing plant.


    No wonder we were under such pressure. "Alright, enough looking at the same information again," I decided. Being the top detective sometimes brought more problems than benefits, as in this case.


    I kept a close watch on the front door of the building, occasionally glancing at the windows. Everything outside remained calm, not deviating from the ordinary.


    The silence started to bother me. Usually, something would have happened by now: a fight, a strange event, or some other unusual occurrence. But everything continued to seem normal.


    Something was definitely wrong. I began searching for details, discrepancies in people''s behavior, or signs that we were being watched. However, as I quickly scanned different directions, I found nothing outstanding. Nervousness began to take over; I didn''t like this uncertainty.


    "Damn it, calm down. You''re not a coward, you''re a real man. Get a grip," I whispered to myself. I started taking slow, deep breaths, then quick exhales. Slightly calmer, I focused and began looking for any signs or clues.


    Watching a homeless man, I noticed he wasn''t particularly skinny, as if he wasn''t starving. He sat with his head down, wearing dark glasses that hid the direction of his gaze. One of his hands lay under some trash, as if something was hidden there. What else was odd about him? His position¡ªhe was in a spot with a perfect view of the street, and hardly anyone was passing by him.


    He definitely wasn''t a regular homeless person, but this could just be my paranoia. I needed more evidence. I now searched more methodically¡ªlooking for spots from which we could be watched and potential places for a sniper. A balcony directly above us or the one opposite on the other side of the street would be ideal. No, the car was reinforced with armor, and firing from above would be pointless; we could quickly drive away. The windows were more vulnerable, meaning they might try to shoot at them.


    My attention was drawn to a van parked right next to us, but without wheels and with an open hood. Initially, I thought it was just another car that had its wheels stolen. But now I realized it was the perfect spot for an ambush. There could be people inside with heavy weaponry, and as soon as they saw an opportunity, they would open the door and start shooting at us with everything they had.


    Rechecking all possible hiding spots for the bandits, I ruled them out as unlikely. The remaining two options stood out from the rest, and thus were the most probable. But one question plagued me: if they really had set up an ambush, why were they waiting? Why weren''t they taking any action? Perhaps it really was my paranoia, and everything was actually fine. I needed to calm down. Everything I was feeling was the result of severe fatigue and overwork. Maybe my imagination was just playing a cruel joke on me.


    "You seem nervous. Is something wrong?" Brendan asked, meeting my gaze. I pondered for a moment.


    "No, everything''s fine," I replied.


    As I reached for a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, I noticed a child looking at our car. He made a gun out of his hands and "shot" at us, then ran away with a smile.


    There was no doubt now¡ªthis was an ambush. We needed to act before it was too late.


    "Brendan, we''re in an ambush," I called to my partner quietly, hiding my concern.


    "Ambush? Where?" he tensed up and started looking around.


    "Stop fidgeting and sit still. Don''t give us away. If we provoke them, they''ll open fire," I snapped at him angrily.


    "Alright," he calmed down a bit, "but how do you know it''s an ambush?"


    "The van next to us. There are probably armed men in there, along with watchers all over the street, and the abnormal calmness outside." My assumptions might not be enough, but in a situation where our lives were at stake, it was better to be safe.


    "I think you''re just paranoid," my partner didn''t believe me at first. But my cold stare made him continue, "Alright, I believe you. But what are we going to do?"


    "You floor it, and we get out of here. There might be a shootout, but that''s our chance to escape," if they reacted too slowly, we had a good chance.


    "What about Carlo DeVargo?" Brendan asked.


    "Nothing, if we want to make it out alive today," I replied with regret. We''d have to endure another reprimand from the boss, but that was far better than dying here.


    "And if you''re wrong?" another question from him, which was beginning to irritate me.


    "We''ll find out. If we drive off and they start shooting, we''ll know I was right. If not, we''ll come back later, alright?" I compromised.


    "Alright, so should I drive off normally or at full speed?" he asked for final clarification.


    "Full speed," I said.


    "Then on the count of three," he carefully started the car. Good thing they had replaced our cars with electric ones, so they ran completely silently, **"3, 2, 1."


    As soon as he counted to one, he floored the pedal. The car took off quickly, with a slight skid. After just a few meters, the van''s doors suddenly swung open, and a machine gun barrel emerged. Homeless people on the street grabbed weapons and started firing at us. Bullets pounded the car''s body, creating a metallic sound. The windows held up, only cracking slightly.


    We quickly sped away from the shootout, accelerating and disappearing around the corner. My suspicions were correct, and we were indeed walking into an ambush. It seemed our informant had fed us false information to set us up.


    "Damn, you were right. They could''ve killed us back there," Brendan said nervously, increasing the car''s speed.


    "We need a new informant; this one sold us out," I said, frustrated at the wasted time.


    "Well, thanks to you, we got out," he turned to me and patted my shoulder," you have the best deduction skills."


    Through his arm, I noticed a truck approaching in the side mirror, heading straight for us. There was no time to warn my partner, and it was already too late. The truck crashed into the side of the car with full force. It felt as if time had slowed down, and I saw the moment of impact in detail: the door caved in, tiny shards of glass scattered across the interior, and the force of the collision pushed the car towards a building. We broke through a concrete wall and finally came to a stop after crashing into another wall.


    The car was badly mangled from the impact. The force of the crash blurred my consciousness, and my eyes began to close. The last thing I saw was my partner, crushed against the dashboard, literally flattened.


    In a daze, I recalled my childhood and dreams. How we used to sit by the river and fish with my father.


    "So you want to become a policeman?" my father asked, baiting the hook before casting it into the river.


    "Yes, I want to fight crime and make the world a better place!" I replied enthusiastically.


    "That''s a good goal, but remember, it''s a tough job. Be honest and fair," my father advised seriously.


    "I''ll be the best!" I proudly puffed out my chest, and my rod almost fell into the river as a fish started pulling it away.


    Clumsily, I tried to grab it, but it kept slipping out of my hands. My father then took the rod and helped me reel in the catch. We caught a huge fish.


    "Remember, to be the best, you mustn''t lose sight of anything," he said, pointing at the fish I nearly lost.


    "Okay," I replied sadly.


    "Don''t be sad, champ. Let''s go cook our catch," he said, taking our gear and heading home.


    That was the last time we fished together. Soon after, he was killed by a wretched junkie, and the court sided with the murderer, claiming there was not enough evidence to convict him. My mother and I appealed to various institutions and hired lawyers, but it was all in vain. It turned out the killer was a relative of one of the judges, and he was let off the hook.


    Such injustice enraged me, taking a toll on my mental health. Only a month after the tragedy did I manage to pull myself together. I went to the river and remembered those last moments with my father. That was when I decided to become a detective. Thus my life took a turn, and I became who I am today. The dream started to fade, and darkness set in.

 Who am I?

    In the darkness, sounds started to reach me. At first, they were indistinct, but gradually they became clearer until I could make them out.


    "Open this piece of scrap metal and get that bastard out," I heard a voice through the haze.


    I heard the sound of a grinder cutting through metal. Opening my eyes slightly, I could see them breaking open the door on my side, cutting through it. My memory quickly returned, and I remembered what had happened. Looking around more attentively, I saw the place we had landed and the bandits standing around with weapons. My partner was apparently dead, crushed; the main impact had hit his side. Even the car''s armor didn''t save him from the collision.


    I started looking for a weapon; at least I wouldn''t surrender without it. Taking a pistol in my right hand, I reached for the dashboard with my left, pressing the emergency signal on the screen to call for backup. I also tried to activate the combat mode in the car, but it showed a signal error. During combat mode, the protection system activates: an automatic turret should emerge from the trunk, guided by the car''s tablet, along with support combat drones for reconnaissance.


    It seemed all I had was the pistol and the car''s self-destruct system. It would literally blow me up along with everything nearby. At least I''d take these bastards with me before I die.


    "Hurry up and open it, he''s come to, get him out," I focused on the one speaking. It was Carlo DeVargo, standing right next to the car. He noticed my gaze and ran his hand across his throat, "Know this, you won''t die quickly like your partner. First, I''ll flay your skin off, then I''ll tear out your bones, and only then will I chop off your head and send it to your family, hahaha," the scumbag laughed nastily.


    Let''s see how much fun you''ll have when backup arrives. The tablet beeped: "Emergency signal canceled." Canceled? I tried pressing the button again, but it displayed "unavailable." Then the message "System locked" appeared.


    "What, the system''s not responding? Know this, your own bosses sold you out," the bastard shouted with a smile.


    Damn, he''s right; it could only be blocked from headquarters. Why did they do this to me? It seems a few officials I had taken down and others I was digging into decided to get rid of me. It was to be expected. Well then, I''ll activate the self-destruct system by holding down the special button. A port for the key opened. Taking it out of my pocket, I inserted it and turned it, but nothing happened. Confused, I opened my eyes and looked at the activated self-destruct system, which did not work.


    "What, it''s not working? Too bad," Carlo was already next to my window, mocking as he pointed at the port, "Well, I almost feel sorry for you."


    That routine car inspection was a week ago. Back then, I thought the car felt different but didn''t give it much thought, though I should have. It looks like they stripped everything they could. It''s surprising they didn''t remove the armored windows. No, I would have noticed that. All the internal systems that only activate in emergency situations are hard to notice in normal times.


    It seems the last hope is indeed the neutron bomb. It will blow everything to pieces here. I got it from an arms dealer I arrested. I kept it for myself, not handing it over as evidence. I didn''t know it would actually come in handy. Since there''s no chance of surviving, why not use it?


    Taking the armored case from the back seat, where I stored my important documents and this grenade, I hesitated to use it only because of the many collateral casualties, and I wanted to avoid them. But to hell with it all. Entering the password and opening it, I removed the safety and initiated the detonation process. All that''s left is to release the button. For the final act, I showed it to Carlo DeVargo.


    His eyes widened in surprise, and he stared at it in fear. It seemed he recognized what it was.


    "Don''t be hasty, man, let''s make a deal," he said tensely, stepping back.


    "So, what were you planning to do to me?" I decided to taunt him a bit.


    "Nothing, don''t be hasty. You have a family, you want to get back to them, right?" His voice was a bit shaky. Though I don''t particularly love my family, they are still my family, and I do want to live.


    "Here''s the deal: your men leave now, and we walk together to the edge of the slums. I go my way, and you go yours."


    "They''ll catch me there, I can''t agree to that," Carlo hesitated to agree.


    "I don''t care, either that or you die," I gave him an ultimatum. You can''t negotiate with bandits.


    "Alright," he raised his hands in agreement.


    I started to get out of the car. With some difficulty, I opened the door. Slightly staggering, I walked towards him, his goons aiming their weapons at me.


    "Now, order your men to leave," I commanded him.


    "Everyone out!" he shouted at them.


    They hesitated slightly but complied. We headed towards one of the cars. I continued to hold the grenade in my left hand, while aiming the pistol at him with my right.


    Listen, you''re a smart guy, why keep working and living where you were betrayed? Maybe you should join me?" he started to persuade me.


    "Save your sweet talk for someone else," I couldn''t even stand to listen to him.


    "Fine," he sat in the driver''s seat, and I climbed into the passenger seat.


    "Hurry up and drive," I nudged him slightly with the pistol.


    Silently, he started the car and drove forward. I noticed his men following us in their cars.


    "Call them and tell them not to follow us," I said.


    He hesitated slightly, and I decided to press him.


    "Now!" I shouted.


    Reluctantly, he took out his phone and dialed a number. Someone on the other end picked up quickly.


    "Yes," he said.


    "Don''t talk to them, just give the order," I didn''t want to give him a chance to communicate with his people.


    "Understood. Don''t follow us, I''ll handle it myself," Carlo ordered and hung up.


    The car that was following us soon fell back, and we continued along the empty road.


    "Are you really going to do this? Hand me over to the cops, get another commendation, and swallow the betrayal?" he started playing mind games, trying to influence me.


    "Drive silently," I said roughly.


    "Miserable salary and endless work. Is that the life you want? They keep you as long as you''re useful. Once you bore them, they''ll toss you out like trash," he clearly didn''t understand me.


    "I said, shut up," he was really starting to get on my nerves with his attempts to manipulate me.


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    "Join me. A man with your talents can make a lot of money," in his next attempt at verbal persuasion, I hit him on the head with the butt of my pistol.


    He cried out in pain and grabbed his head with one hand. I had slightly cut his head, and blood started to flow. He lost control briefly and didn''t try to speak again, continuing to drive in silence.


    Soon we approached the checkpoint, and upon seeing our car, the military raised the alarm. They grabbed their weapons and aimed at us. The turrets turned and activated laser targeting, fixing it on our bodies.


    "Stop the car," I ordered Carlo.


    The car stopped thirty meters from the gates. Putting away my pistol, I got out of the car. But the neutron grenade was still in my hand, and I couldn''t deactivate it. It looked like I had rushed in activating it. I made a big mistake, and the blow had severely damaged my head.


    "I''m Detective Matthew Carrington, transporting a criminal," I shouted to the guards.


    Hearing me, many of them looked at one of the commanders at the checkpoint. Hesitating, he took the sound amplifier.


    "We can''t confirm your identity, but there''s definitely a dangerous criminal next to you, stay where you are," he said through the loudspeaker.


    Have they erased me from the database? They''re acting too quickly. It''s going to be difficult to get back in.


    "Check the cameras, my partner Brandon Fletcher and I drove in here two hours ago," I shouted again. There should be records of our entry in their logs.


    The commander consulted his subordinates, and after a brief communication, he used the loudspeaker again.


    "Where''s your partner?" the commander addressed me.


    "He died in the line of duty," I replied.


    After a few more minutes of internal communication, he addressed me again.


    "Detective Carrington, what''s in your left hand?" Damn, I was afraid they''d notice the grenade. Lying was pointless, their cameras would identify what I had.


    "A neutron grenade," I said, showing my left hand, which I had previously hidden behind my back. Their relaxed demeanor instantly vanished, and all weapons were now aimed solely at me.


    "Why do you have a banned weapon, and an activated one at that?" the checkpoint commander asked with displeasure.


    "I had to activate it to get out of an ambush, and thanks to it, I''m still alive and was able to apprehend this criminal!" I shouted, trying to clarify the situation.


    "Stay where you are and await further instructions," he ordered.


    "I understand," I said, finally able to relax a bit. I decided to check on my detainee. As soon as I glanced at him, I saw a mocking smile in his eyes. He was showing me his phone. Damn, I should have taken his mobile. He contacted his people. I was about to snatch the phone from his hands when I heard the familiar sound of a rocket launching and saw the characteristic smoke trail heading towards the checkpoint.


    An explosion rocked the area, and gunfire erupted from the slums with various weapons. In response, the automated systems returned fire. The car Carlo was still sitting in sped off. I didn''t hesitate and drew my pistol, shooting at the tires with precision, hitting them all.


    He lost control and crashed into a high barrier. I immediately dropped to the asphalt and started crawling towards the car, bullets whizzing over my head, and rockets hitting either the checkpoint or rebel positions.


    When I reached the car, I saw that Carlo had slumped over the steering wheel. He seemed either unconscious or dead. The gunfire continued outside, but it seemed the military was losing the upper hand. I needed to get out of there alive and in one piece.


    I couldn''t escape with him, but I couldn''t leave him either, so I had to eliminate him. Without further hesitation, I shot him in the head a couple of times. He twitched a few times and then went still. He had been alive after all.


    Crawling between the high concrete barriers, I moved towards the checkpoint. I just needed to get there, and I could slip away. Just in case, I decided to get rid of the neutron bomb to cover my retreat. Summoning all my strength, I threw the bomb towards the enemy positions. The grenade activated a few seconds later, starting to whistle and gather momentum. The light grew brighter, and when it hit the ground, an explosion eradicated everything in its path. The shockwave threw me several meters.


    My head hit the asphalt, and everything went dark. Sounds merged into chaos, and various images flashed before my eyes. I felt blood trickling from my ears.


    Events unfolded rapidly after that. Reinforcements arrived immediately, cordoning off the entire area and simultaneously eliminating all the bandits. I was arrested and taken in for questioning. I only gave the bare facts that I could prove, avoiding anything that could be used against me. Despite the recklessness of my actions, my mission was technically accomplished, and the dangerous terrorist was dead, although he was needed alive.


    I was held until evening when finally, my superior came to my cell. The door creaked open, and with a touch of sarcasm, he walked in.


    "Hello, Matthew. Rough day, isn''t it?" he asked, waving his hand for all the guards to leave.


    "That''s an understatement. What''s my verdict?" I asked, already envisioning a prison with iron bars or, at the very least, a more gruesome method of disappearing in the dark alleys of the slums.


    "Your actions were reckless and foolish, although you''re considered one of the smartest people. The consequences of your actions cost the police dearly, with numerous deaths at the checkpoint, plus an entire section of the district wiped off the map by your neutron grenade. Such feats deserve the death penalty, or if you''re lucky, a life sentence," he stated his perspective on the incident, confirming my suspicions. What a damn day. "What do you have to say about that?"


    "Shit happens," I quipped.


    "This only happens with you. We were already preparing your convoy, but unexpectedly, an order came from higher up ¨C drop all charges and dismiss you, stripping you of all honors and awards, including any achievements," said the Chief, looking at me with a serious expression.


    "No more being a detective, huh?" I smirked.


    "Essentially, you''re a nobody. I doubt anyone would even hire you as a janitor. But that''s not all. Due to the severe financial losses caused by your actions, all your property will be seized in favor of the state," he concluded his stern monologue, and I felt a flicker of anger flash across my face. Despite many years of service, I felt this was a gross injustice.


    "Is that all?" I contained my anger, understanding there was little I could change now. But in time, I would get my revenge and find those who wanted me dead.


    "Yes, that''s all," he said, closing the folder of documents and knocking on the door. "Escort him out," the Chief ordered the guards.


    I was thrown out of the police station faster than I had been brought in. All I had left was the clothes on my back, and all my property was confiscated. With dark thoughts, I headed to a bar, though I had no money. Maybe my old bartender friend would pour me something.


    My steps led me to the bar that had become my second home. I often came here to unwind, drink, and smoke. Damn, I wanted a cigarette now, but I had none. Oh well, time to try and get thoroughly drunk.


    Stumbling into the bar, I sat at the counter, and the bartender, my long-time friend, greeted me immediately.


    "Welcome our gloomy detective Matthew Carrington, a true legend. Nothing escapes him," he started, but I cut him off, not wanting to hear a long spiel.


    "Just pour me a drink," I asked.


    "Bad day?" he asked, deftly twisting a bottle and pouring a shot.


    "Not the first," I downed the shot in one gulp. "Another."


    "I see you''re not in the mood for conversation," he agreed, filling my glass again.


    So I sat there, drinking, pouring liters of alcohol into myself. My mind began to fog, and my thoughts became unclear. It felt like everything that happened today hadn''t happened to me. As I reached for another drink, the bartender moved the glass away from me.


    "Sorry, Matthew, but can you pay for what you''ve had?" He no longer looked friendly.


    "I''ll pay, just a couple more glasses," I insisted, banging my fist on the counter.


    "Pay and leave, please," the bartender refused.


    "We''ve known each other a long time; I''ll pay," despite my drunken state, I noticed the strange change in his behavior.


    "Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. I don''t know you at all," the bartender said, and I began to suspect something.


    "Why are you saying this?" I asked.


    "Pay and leave, or we''ll throw you out and take the money by force," he almost shouted, and the security guards approached me.


    Smiling, I did something completely out of character. I tried to lunge at one of the approaching guards with all my might, but the alcohol had sapped my coordination, and I fell with a crash. The guards grabbed me and dragged me out through the back exit. My attempts to resist were weak, and I couldn''t fight them off. Once we were in a narrow alley, they threw me to the ground and started searching my pockets angrily, then began to beat me. I just lay there, trying to protect my vital organs from the blows. It seemed they satisfied their anger and left me lying on the asphalt.


    After a couple of minutes, I tried to get up, but my attempts were futile. My legs buckled with every step. To make matters worse, it started to rain, and all I had on was my jacket. The heavy downpour soaked me through, but it helped me come to my senses a bit and stand up properly.


    So I walked the streets, aimlessly. I had no purpose anymore; I had lost my will to live. I didn''t even know how I could get revenge. I was overwhelmed by a strong craving for a cigarette, and I decided to ask a passerby. At that moment, a man passed by, almost hidden in the shadows, as the streetlights barely touched his silhouette, and it was hard to make out anything under the umbrella.


    Error 5:;%?"(¡í";*


    Damaged brain areas


    Rebooting simulation


    Error


    Retry failed


    Postpone error


    End of memory


    My head felt heavy. Two sets of memories collided and began to intertwine. Mine and... mine? It was hard to say otherwise. I perfectly remembered all the experienced moments and thought it was me.


    Initiating...

 Life After Death

    Night City, 2070


    Another war had ended with the signing of a peace agreement. Night City had become a free city, where the interests of large corporations intersected. Many companies returned with great enthusiasm, the market was flooded with new technologies, and in this chaos, crime reached a new level. No one could handle the rampaging gangs, and the streets fell completely under their control. The police became a minor threat to these ruthless bands.


    The Militech Corporation, known for its advanced military developments, launched a new ambitious project called "Life After Death." Their philosophy was simple: why worry about human resources when they could become infinite?


    The main focus of all human life had always been the study of one''s own essence. What is the soul, mind, and consciousness? All these studies were aimed at one goal ¡ª to uncover the secrets of the human body and extend its lifespan. The "Life After Death" project was about preserving the mind of a deceased person and subsequently resurrecting them in a new body. Attempts had been made repeatedly, but in most cases ended in failure: the test subjects went mad, their brains, now representing only code in the form of zeros and ones, could not correctly form a sense of self and consciousness, leading to fatal failures and the destruction of their personalities.


    In a laboratory surrounded by cold walls and flickering screens, Michael Baker, a leading specialist in the field of neurotechnology, worked. Militech had brought him in to implement this project with one goal ¡ª to create an immortal army so that no corporation could ever stand against them. He was examining the latest brain sample.


    "So, who''s next?" he asked his assistant of Asian descent. Although she didn''t particularly enjoy working for him, she diligently performed her duties.


    "Matthew Carrington, worked as a detective in the police, died in 2030, his brain was preserved as a unique sample," said the girl with numerous cyber-implants that allowed her to work better with flesh.


    "Alright, starting the simulation," he said, monitoring the data.


    Matthew Carrington''s (Michael''s) POV


    Loading...


    These words again. What do they mean?


    Loading additional module...


    Creating permanent connection....


    15... 56... 99... 100.


    Launching Program K3-8 "Life After Death."


    I didn''t understand the symbols that constantly floated before my eyes. It felt like something tugged at me, and suddenly I was filled with a mass of feelings, an indistinct sound, as if someone was rummaging in my ear, creating a multitude of unpleasant sensations. I barely felt my body and tried to open my eyes, but nothing worked.


    "Alright, it seems everything''s launched, let''s try. Matthew, can you hear me?" a voice sounded. It was strange, unnatural.


    I tried to respond but couldn''t.


    "Speech modules are still loading," a softer voice with an accent that sounded Japanese echoed. The distinct sounds of the language were clearly noticeable, and the voice seemed a bit distant. How do I recognize accents so well? These memories surfaced immediately, a practice in my work as a detective to notice small details, although two sets of memories still slightly hindered my normal thinking.


    What speech modules? I didn''t understand. Did I lose my voice and now have an implant? I''d seen people who had undergone such operations; they had a special device on their throat to imitate a voice.


    "Alright, got it, let''s continue. Brain frequencies are within normal limits, no errors, simulation is going well," the male voice said again. Strange doctors, what are they talking about? "How well has the memory transferred?"


    "About 83 percent, some of it was lost, he was in stasis for too long," the Japanese woman''s voice sounded.


    "Not bad, we''ve made good progress in our research. Alright, the speech module has started. Matthew, say something," the man said.


    "T...ttt...aaasss mn... oyyy," I tried to say something, but the words were distorted, and I didn''t feel like I could speak. The sounds came out of me on their own.


    "Alright, the decoding is incorrect. Hold on a second, there, error corrected," the man said.


    Rebooting speech module... 12%... 54%... 100%...


    The words appeared before me again. I barely understood anything. I wanted to get up, open my eyes, and finally look in the mirror. I didn''t feel my body. My memories blurred like a vague dream. In my past life, I was Michael... or maybe Matthew? I couldn''t understand what was happening to me. A sense of loss and uncertainty tormented me.


    "Now everything should be fine. Try again," the man said.


    "What''s happening to me? Am I paralyzed?" I asked. My voice was robotic, devoid of any emotion despite the storm of feelings inside me.


    "You could say that. Your condition matches that term," the man replied.


    "Speak plainly. Why can''t I open my eyes? Why can''t I feel my body?" I demanded.


    "Plainly? Alright. You don''t have a body. All that''s left of you is your brain, which died a long time ago. All you are now is fragments of your memory," the doctor responded.


    "You''re lying! That''s impossible, it''s absurd! Medicine isn''t capable of such things," I exclaimed angrily, but my voice remained calm and monotone. There was nothing in my memory about such technologies. Even in the more advanced world of Matthew, this didn''t exist.


    "Increased risk of rejection, mind rejection rate at 10%," the Japanese woman''s voice echoed.


    "Again, I was too blunt. Let''s break it down step by step, no need to panic. But really, he shouldn''t be able to feel anything, so what''s the reason, hmm..." the scientist mused.


    "The mind is trying to adapt based on old principles and build new realities under previous criteria," the Japanese woman suggested.


    "That''s somewhat justifiable," the scientist confirmed.


    "What are you talking about? Answer me, or you''ll regret it and not get away with just a broken tooth," I said.


    "Ha, amusing, but alright. It''s the year 2070, you died in 2030. Progress has reached unprecedented heights, and you''ve become part of our ''Life After Death'' project. We restored your personality from your brain," the scientist explained.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I pondered his words for a few seconds, finding similarities in my consciousness, the minute details, sounds, and the happenings around me, as well as the words before me. The more I became convinced of the state I was in, the more I wanted to escape, to run away from this truth. Had I died and been given someone else''s memory?


    "Mind rejection risk at 47%," the assistant announced.


    "Matthew, please calm down. The situation isn''t as dire as it seems, I assure you," the scientist said.


    This only made me angrier, and I tried to do something, anything, but all I managed were robotic sounds. I couldn''t be a damn brain in a jar; it just couldn''t be.


    "Mind rejection risk at 61%," the Japanese woman announced.


    "Alright, shut it down, we''ll try a different approach," the scientist ordered.


    My thoughts became heavier, and I didn''t want to think at all. Was something pulling me? What was happening?


    End POV


    "Yes, it''s tough. I''m not a psychologist and I''m bad at handling the workings of the mind. Any suggestions?" Henry asked his assistant.


    "First, introduce yourself. Knowing your name can help create a more comfortable environment. Create a favorable atmosphere, tell him he''s part of a life-saving program and that we managed to restore him. And give him a goal," suggested the Japanese woman, Masashi.


    "Alright, let''s try that. Let''s lower the emotional module to about 45 percent, then gradually increase it to seventy during the conversation," Henry agreed.


    "We wanted to keep as much humanity as possible," Masashi reminded him doubtfully.


    "Yes, I know. But colder thinking will make it easier to accept the circumstances," Henry acknowledged, rubbing his temples.


    "I''m starting it up," Masashi said, her fingers poised before the holographic monitor.


    "Yes, start it. And wait, erase the last memory logs, we''ll start over," Henry waved his hand dismissively.


    Matthew Carrington''s POV


    Loading...


    Loading additional module...


    Creating permanent connection...


    15... 56... 99... 100.


    Launching Program K3-8 "Life After Death."


    I didn''t understand the symbols that constantly floated before my eyes. It felt like something tugged at me, and suddenly I was filled with a mass of feelings, an indistinct sound, as if someone was rummaging in my ear, creating a multitude of unpleasant sensations. I barely felt my body and tried to open my eyes, but nothing worked.


    "Can you hear me, Matthew? I''m Dr. Henry Baker, a leading scientist in robotics and human brain research. You are part of a life-saving program. We were able to restore your brain. Could you say something?" an unfamiliar voice sounded. Matthew, yes, or am I Maxim?


    "What''s happening to me?" I asked. It seemed this was the doctor. I needed to remember: did I die in a fire in my room or in an explosion at a checkpoint? My name was trying to come off my tongue. I wanted to say that my name was Maxim, I was just a student. But all my memories insisted: I am Matthew Carrington, a detective.


    "You were severely injured and died in 2030. Today is September 2070. Medicine has advanced significantly, and we were able to save you," Henry explained.


    "I see. What is my condition?" I asked, hoping that my body wasn''t in as bad a state as it seemed. Though I couldn''t feel it, I still had hope.


    "You have completely lost your body. We are currently in the process of replacing all your limbs with robotic ones," Henry informed me. His words hit my mind hard. What did he mean by "completely lost my body"?


    "I don''t understand," I said. I didn''t just fail to grasp my current state; I also couldn''t comprehend how they had revived me fifty years later. I knew there were cryocapsules that wealthy people used to freeze themselves and wake up in the future when they could extend their lives.


    "It''s hard to accept, but this is the situation. We''ve revived you, and it''s up to you to decide how to proceed," the doctor said.


    "Live as a robot? Not feeling or sensing anything? That''s worse than death," I said. In such a state, I wasn''t going to live.


    "Oh, not at all. Technology has advanced to an incredible level. There are many augmentations that allow you to realistically experience various tastes, touches, and even pleasure," Henry replied.


    I fell silent, pondering. If that were true, the situation wasn''t as terrible as it seemed. But I didn''t see the point in living. I wasn''t in my own time. Where was my family? They were probably all dead by now. With the levels of air pollution, I doubted they had lived another fifty years. Maybe I had grandchildren somewhere, but why would they need a useless grandfather? First, I needed to figure out who I was, setting aside thoughts of family.


    Matthew Carrington''s POV


    "You can continue working in the police force. Believe me, your skills will be highly valued. There are many unsolved cases in this city, and you would be a very useful person," the doctor said.


    This statement triggered a surge of anger in me. The police? Going back to serving the authorities, taking the hits, realizing the futility of my work? No, that''s not happening.


    "Mind rejection risk at 48%," the familiar voice with a Japanese accent announced.


    "And I haven''t introduced you. This is my assistant, Masashi. If you don''t want to work in the police, we will find you something else that suits you," Henry said.


    "No. Just disconnect me. I just want to die again," I said, wishing for it all to end.


    "Sorry, but we can''t disconnect you. A lot of resources have been invested in you, and we want to get some return on that investment," Henry replied.


    At that moment, everything became clear to me. What kind of life-saving organization was this? It was all empty talk. They were just another bunch of crazy bastards wanting to use people. I wouldn''t be surprised if I wasn''t even considered a person, meaning I had no rights. The perfect slave for them.


    "Mind rejection risk at 72%," Masashi announced.


    "Shut it down, I honestly don''t understand," Henry said.


    My thoughts became heavy, and I didn''t want to think at all. Something was pulling me down. What was happening?


    End POV


    "So, what went wrong?" Henry asked.


    "It seems he didn''t like your words about the police and the refusal to disconnect him," Masashi replied.


    "Damn, alright, let''s try again. Do we have anything that can help us?" he asked Masashi, clearly at a loss.


    "We can alter some memories to include patriotic feelings, a desire to fight criminals due to some tragedy," Masashi suggested.


    "Yes, exactly, do what you think is necessary," Henry agreed.


    Masashi nodded, though she thought to herself that Henry was almost completely useless in working with the mind, but his skills in robotics were too good to ignore. She finished enhancing the patient''s emotions around memories of his father, giving him a greater sense of purpose in fighting criminals and slightly reducing the negative background of his life memories.


    "It''s ready," she said.


    "Excellent, start K3-8," Henry instructed.


    Once again, Matthew Carrington was waking up. Next to the operating table stood a module that stored the entire volume of the brain''s memories. Technology had advanced to astonishing heights. Data storage units could now hold enormous amounts of information. The same Braindance technology, which recreated all the user''s feelings and memories, was used here to transfer an entire personality.


    And once again, an almost identical conversation began.


    POV Matthew Carrington


    "You can continue working in the police force. Believe me, your skills will be highly valued. There are so many unsolved cases. Crime has not diminished at all, and only you can stop this rampant lawlessness," the doctor said.


    This news stirred mixed feelings within me: something inside resisted, but I had dedicated my entire life to fighting criminals and striving to cleanse the world of evil. For my father, I had to continue my work.


    "I''ll think about it. I need time to accept myself," I said.


    "Of course. If you need anything, just let us know," the doctor replied.


    "By the way, when will I be able to move?" I asked.


    "We need to request a body from our Militech headquarters, prepare some documents, and you can start your new life," Henry responded.


    "I see," I said.


    The whole situation with my condition seemed strange and unnatural. I struggled to feel like myself. My head was in turmoil: I remembered the life of a student named Maxim, but now I felt like Matthew. Every time I tried to recall something, I hit an impenetrable wall. Previously, old memories always flickered at the edge of my consciousness, like echoes of the past. Now, when I tried to remember something, I encountered only emptiness.


    Life would never be the same for me again. Now I was just a semblance of a living person, a shadow of my former self. If what he said was true and it was now 2070, it was hard to accept. What was the point of living? My time ended long ago. My goals used to be simple and clear: to put criminals behind bars, raise a family, care for the future. Now, only work remained, cold and soulless, like the world around me.


    "I''ll leave you alone for a while to think, but know that we will have to shut you down for the night and put you into a kind of sleep," Henry said.


    I heard footsteps retreating, and it seemed they really had left. All that remained was to accept my current state. I sat in the darkness, realizing that my old life was gone. The weight of these thoughts pressed heavily on me. There was much to ponder about the "Life After Death" project. What a name! Maybe I really was lucky to be revived, but for what purpose?

 Body devoid of feeling

    Suspended in a state where you cannot influence your fate, you hear only the faint hum of nearby equipment. Surrounding you is darkness, and a status blinking on the periphery: "Active."


    I distinctly remember how Michael died. He died for a rather stupid reason because the game didn''t sink, what a ridiculous joke. But how I died was a mystery. I remember walking down the street. There was a heavy rain, and a person with an umbrella passed by. I wouldn''t be surprised if those I had angered finally found me and caught me on my first mistake. For detonating a neutron grenade within the limits of a checkpoint, the authorities wouldn''t pat me on the head.


    Maybe it was a killer hired by mafia bosses to eliminate me, or maybe it was the authorities themselves. Thus died the greatest detective¡ªI smirked at that nickname. In reality, I didn''t consider myself as such. I was just good at correlating the right facts and arriving at the correct conclusions. That was enough to solve most cases.


    Everything else¡ªthe dark side of my life: peeping, eavesdropping, surveillance, stealing personal data. I had to do all that for the job. It didn''t give me pleasure, but it was necessary.


    Load 77%


    A message popped up, and next to it was written: "Recommended action: enter sleep mode."


    Gradually, the percentage grew higher and higher. But the process didn''t go any further because I heard approaching footsteps.


    "Matthew, it''s me, Henry. I hope you''ve had time to think, but now it''s time for you to go into sleep mode," said the doctor.


    "Is this message ''load'' because of her?" I asked.


    "Correct, it reflects the state of your mind. It''s similar to wakefulness, and everyone needs sleep to rest, including you," the doctor confirmed.


    "I understand, we can proceed," I said.


    "Hmm, alright. Now, you''ll feel as if you''re submerged in water," the doctor said.


    With his words came the sensation of being immersed in warm water. A heaviness filled every cell of my body, my thoughts became slow and sluggish. A soothing silence enveloped me, and the darkness wrapped around me like a soft, calming blanket. I felt the tension fade away, as everything around me slowed down and blurred, losing its sharp contours. A feeling of peace and weightlessness took over, and I sank into this state, not wanting to return to reality. It was like a deep sleep, where time lost all meaning, and you just existed, free from thoughts and worries.


    "Sleep mode"


    Configuring all systems...


    Error check...


    Troubleshooting... Error


    External module missing... Searching...


    Ignoring...


    State satisfactory...


    System restoration...


    Launching K3-8...


    I was abruptly pulled from the state of rest, and I woke up, as much as one could say in my condition.


    The mode changed to "Active."


    System load: 1%.


    "Matthew, are you alright?" came the familiar voice of the doctor.


    "Yes, as much as possible in my condition," I said. Responding to this name felt so natural.


    "Good. Let''s go over your capabilities a bit. In the lower right corner, there''s a small square, mentally wish to open it," the doctor said.


    I roughly located where it was and tried to open it, but nothing happened. Mentally, right? Trying again, I imagined pressing it, and suddenly an information window popped up.


    "This system allows you to monitor your current state. Here you can understand the condition of your body, though it''s currently inaccessible. You can also find error logs, the state of your mind and memory, and much more," the doctor explained.


    "Like a game," I said, looking at the window. I remembered playing similar games, and my kids played them too. Damn, it''s so hard when two memories mix together.


    "Yes, probably. But this is just augmented reality for now, nothing more. Although, for you, there will be checkpoints," the doctor said with a smirk.


    "What checkpoints?" I asked, completely not understanding what he was talking about. Checkpoints are save points in a game, but in reality?


    "It doesn''t matter for now. Your new body should arrive today," the doctor replied. Finally, something more than empty inaction.


    "That''s good news," I said sincerely.


    "Now let''s go through a few tests to ensure the integrity of your mind," the doctor said.


    "Alright," I replied.


    "Let''s start with something simple. What''s 2+2?" the doctor asked.


    "Child''s play. Four," I answered.


    "Not bad. How about 9 times 6?" the doctor continued.


    "Fifty-four," I answered.


    "Excellent, your mathematical skills are intact. Now, a logic test. If the right bucket holds four liters of water and the other bucket has a hole, how much water will it hold?" the doctor posed a strange example.


    "Do you take me for an idiot?" I asked.


    "No, we need to determine if your cognitive skills are intact or if you''re just a collection of memories," Henry said.


    "Alright, none, it will all leak out," I answered.


    "Correct. It''s now 11:30 AM, September 7, 2070. What day was it the day before yesterday, and what time was it an hour ago?" the doctor asked.


    "September 5, 2070, 10:30 AM," I answered.


    "Okay, you are oriented in time, and your thinking abilities are intact. Let''s test your main talent¡ªdeduction. I''ve always admired this trait in a person; only a human can truly find a thread to the truth from nothing," the doctor said and paused for a moment, apparently searching for a puzzle. "Here it is. In the evening, there were five sisters in the house: Sarah was drawing, Catherine was knitting, Martha was playing checkers, and Sveta was singing. What was the fifth sister doing?"


    "Easy," I was about to answer when I got a short circuit. The words froze, and I couldn''t get the answer out.


    System load: 50%


    A red message blinked.


    "You don''t have to answer, it seems we need to increase the power of the equipment. I''ll address this issue later," the doctor said.


    "No, I know the answer. She was watching TV," I said, confident that she couldn''t have been doing anything else.


    "Good," the doctor said.


    Silence settled, only the slight rustling of his clothes could be heard. Could I have answered incorrectly? But it couldn''t be otherwise.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "Alright, I''ve checked everything. Your body will arrive soon, and I have to go," he said, and I heard his footsteps receding.


    End POV


    Leaving the room, Henry Baker headed to the adjacent room, where it was easy to observe the patient through the opaque glass. Entering, he saw the assistants monitoring the data.


    "It seems the technology isn''t working as it should," he said.


    "Is something wrong?" asked Masashi.


    "He didn''t solve the riddle," Henry said.


    "And what was the correct answer?" she asked.


    "Playing checkers with her sister," Henry replied. This riddle was old, often asked of children. Any adult should have easily answered it.


    "So, should we send him back for rework?" asked Masashi.


    "No, no. Let''s see what happens next," he said. After thinking for a moment, he decided that the consciousness was just missing something, and perhaps with a bit more time, everything would fall into place.


    The scientists continued analyzing the data from the patient, noting every change. Matthew, meanwhile, was trying to deal with everything that had happened to him. He was still trying to figure out if he had solved the puzzle correctly, searching in his thoughts for what was wrong with him. The answer was quite simple: he was merely an imitation of Matthew Carrington, albeit a very high-quality one, into which the soul of an unlucky guy had randomly ended up.


    When the scientific department requested a police automated cyber body of the "Enforcer" class, Miltech quickly responded by sending one. These models were not in high demand, and most of them were gathering dust because they were often hacked and disabled. Compared to their counterparts used for full cyberization of humans, they became real fighting machines. Creating a proper robot with AI was almost impossible due to the risk of AI rebellion. Such is the world of cyberpunk.


    The body was promptly delivered to the underground lab and brought to the room on a special stand. Henry, entering with Masashi, began the process of connecting the consciousness.


    POV Matthew Carrington


    Finally, my body arrived. I hope it won''t be too ugly, I cheered myself up with a simple joke.


    "Now we will start the data transfer," the doctor said.


    Preparation...


    Data transfer 5%... 10%... 32%...


    Inside me, something started tearing apart, as if I were being divided into several parts.


    46%... 77%... 89%...


    Damn, I can''t remember anything, wha-tttt, ssppaauk.


    99%.


    Module configuration...


    Drive activation...


    Augmentation launch: cyber body "Enforcer" (serial number 56K0-12).


    Type: automated shell (modules removed).


    Purpose: police robot for suppressing armed conflicts.


    I was jerked again, and my memory returned. A bright light flashed before my eyes; I couldn''t understand what was in front of me, everything was blurry. My body moved slightly, I felt my fists clench, then suddenly I was propelled forward even though I only wanted to sit up. I crashed into a table, scattering equipment on the floor and collapsing onto it.


    "Masashi, reduce the power level to a minimum," ordered Henry.


    I stopped struggling on the broken equipment and tried to stand up as slowly as possible. I managed to do it, holding onto the table for support, and was able to get to my feet.


    "Check all systems, make sure the signals are transmitting correctly," Henry ordered the assistant.


    Now I could take in my surroundings. It was a white room with several tables made of unfamiliar material, covered with various equipment. On one of the tables was a capsule containing my brain, connected by numerous wires leading to the equipment. I reached out my metal hand and gently touched the glass.


    "You understand correctly. That''s your brain," Henry said from somewhere behind me.


    Turning around, I saw the scientist who had been talking to me all this time. Instead of eyes, he had some sort of visor, and his hands were clearly not made of flesh. It didn''t seem to bother him; on the left side of his head were several ports with wires plugged into them. He was dressed in a dark leather coat over a dark T-shirt.


    "This is my assistant, Masashi," Henry introduced her, gesturing towards her.


    My assumption that she was Japanese was correct. She had soft facial features, dark hair, and glasses with numbers and symbols displayed on them. Her fingertips had some devices with thin needles. She was dressed in a white lab coat and white pants.


    "How do you feel?" Henry asked, drawing my attention back to him. He had approached quite close.


    "Strange," I said, trying to understand my feelings and how to control my body. I seemed to feel my arms and legs, but controlling them felt different, as if I was imagining how it happened.


    "Good, you can access the status window to check all systems," Henry said.


    I decided to do just that. Consciously touching the window, I saw a program window open before my eyes. Now I could see my body through the profile window. I looked like a humanoid robot. Instead of the usual eyes, I had only projectors with red lights, and a block was glowing in the center of my chest. An antenna protruded from my back. In my time, I had seen various robots, but this was on a completely different level. The design was elegant and practical. On my chest was the word "Police," which gave me a strange feeling. The interface design seemed so familiar. Where had I seen it before?


    Here is the continuation of the translation:


    "What else is there?"


    Characteristics:


    Energy - battery charge level (1% equals 15 minutes of operation in idle mode; under load, the rate is five times higher).


    System Load - the degree of load on memory modules and processors (the more complex the task, the higher the load).


    STRENGTH - the mechanical force the mechanism can withstand and the maximum weight it can lift (1 equals 25 kg).


    TECHNICAL - armor rating (1 equals first-class protection).


    Intellect: ???? (unable to display).


    It really was like some kind of game.


    Mentally switching to another tab called "Augmentation," I saw a diagram of my body with many slots in it. Each one read "modules not found." It seemed this body was entirely bare.


    "So, how do you like it?" Henry asked. His voice distracted me from viewing; I had already seen the other tabs. Closing the window, I could see the world around me again. A message appeared in the center of my vision.


    Loading visual modules...


    Messages began appearing right before my eyes. In the lower left corner, the message "Active Mode" was lit up, with the battery level above it, and the body status was displayed like a health bar.


    No connection to the police department, database upload impossible.


    Another message at the top.


    "Unusual," I said.


    "Humans adapt quickly to new things. Unfortunately, this is all we can provide for you. Everything else you''ll have to earn yourself," Henry said.


    "So, you''re letting me go?" I asked, my tone uncertain.


    "Of course, why would we keep you? Although you will have to visit us every week so we can monitor your health. You''ve already been assigned a place at the police department. You''ll be an intern for now; a lot has changed during your sleep," Henry said.


    "Can I leave right now?" I asked.


    "No, everything needs to be checked, you don''t want your body to suddenly fail," Henry replied.


    The most unpleasant part began¡ªthey started testing me. Even as a robot, I couldn''t escape their obsession with checking and knowing everything. They tested even the most absurd things. The first thing I noticed about myself was how my emotions were becoming weaker; I almost stopped reacting to anything, everything felt muted. If I were alive, I''d be huffing and puffing with annoyance and expressing it in every possible way, but now that feeling was still there, though at the edge of my consciousness. I even felt like spitting on everything and lighting a cigarette, but I remembered in time that I could no longer do that, or at least not for now. I hope tobacco hasn''t turned into complete crap while I was in a dead state.


    "So, we''re done with everything, now Masashi will brief you on the current world situation," Henry said.


    "You are in Night City. It''s a free city. The main currency is eurodollars. You interact with everything through your interface, located in your left hand. Calls, internet access, and any network interaction happen through your interface, built into the head module. The body requires recharging; you will need to be in sleep mode in a special charging unit, located in the police department. All available charging locations will be uploaded to your map. All duties will be assigned to you on-site, and the rest you will understand in the process," Masashi explained.


    "I understand," I replied. Although something inside hinted to me that the name Night City sounded familiar, I''d heard it somewhere before.


    Well, as the conspiracists used to say, that we''d all become puppets of the state through chips in our heads? It seems this has become a reality. If the scientists before me, with a few implants, are anything to go by, I can imagine what the rest have. Maybe it''s not all that bad, and they use such technology just for work.


    "Let''s head to the exit," Henry said and led me. But as soon as I passed through the door, my vision got disrupted, I stopped hearing, and my body froze. Words blurred and turned into some unknown symbols.


    Error %;?¡í);%¡í"%_"


    "Are you okay?" the doctor''s voice sounded.


    The visual module restored, and I could see again. Henry was next to me, examining me.


    "What happened?" I asked, as I was now in a completely different room, some kind of hall. Several employees were moving back and forth, paying no attention to me.


    "Looks like a minor glitch, nothing serious. You need time to get used to the body," the doctor said.


    This seemed dubious to me. I didn''t understand how I ended up here, as if I was just stepping out of the ward, and now I''m already here. I started to suspect that they hadn''t told me everything, or they were just controlling me, the body, and the machine mind. Even with my knowledge, I understood that all this could be easily manipulated at will. I had no control over myself.


    "Don''t worry, if there''s a glitch, contact us immediately. I added my contact to your profile," the doctor said. A message blinked in the interface, "New contact: Henry Baker," along with his picture. "Wait a bit, your escort will arrive soon to take you to your duty station."


    While waiting, I looked around the hall. It was designed in a minimalist style, the walls were of a single color. The floor seemed to be made of black metal. Several screens hung on the walls, showing footage of the city. That''s when I saw what the world had become.


    Some devices were flying in the air, most buildings were designed in a minimalist style but with many bright neon signs, glowing words, and lines. Elements of old architecture could be recognized in the city. One thing was pleasing¡ªthe sky was clear; perhaps they managed to avoid catastrophic air pollution.


    The footage of this city eerily reminded me of something.

 Night City

    With my vision, I noticed a man approaching us. Although I was contemplating the scenes of the city, I didn''t forget to keep an eye on my surroundings ¨C an old habit. Wait, a habit? Usually, that is typical for the living, at least that''s what I think.


    "Here is your escort," Henry said, pointing to a man in a formal suit.


    "I will accompany you to your destination," he responded simply. I extended my hand as if to greet him, but he just looked at me strangely and didn''t respond. Clenching my hand, I lowered it. Doesn''t he want to greet a robot?


    "Well, I still have a lot of work to do, so good luck to you, Matthew," the doctor said and quickly walked down the corridor.


    My escort didn''t say anything, heading straight for the exit. Have all people lost their manners? Nevertheless, I followed him. As soon as we passed through the automatically opening doors, I finally saw the world with my own eyes. And, let''s just say, I had mixed emotions.


    It seems that people of the future have completely lost their sense of taste. The clothing on many was simply atrocious. Why would someone wear a pink tank top and neon pants with holes? Or have a different skin color? I don''t understand what happened to human taste in clothing. I''m not a big fan of fashion, but even I find this terrible. The streets were filled with people, each uniquely modified: some with glowing eyes, some with metal limbs, and some didn''t have human skin at all, having replaced it with something utterly unimaginable.


    Time flows on, generations come and go, but damn advertisements will always be plastered everywhere they can. Skyscrapers with shimmering advertising screens towered on every corner, offering everything from implants to artificial entertainments. Holograms projecting half-naked models and purchase prompts flickered everywhere, blinding and annoying.


    The driver opposite me was dressed to the nines in a perfectly pressed suit. He spoke little, or rather, he didn''t speak at all. He drove the car, following all the rules and not exceeding the speed limit. The car itself didn''t particularly surprise me: yes, the design had changed, but the general features remained the same. Inside the cabin, there were no familiar buttons; all control was carried out via an interface.


    Night City was the first city of the future that I saw. I have nothing to compare it to, but what I have already seen is enough to say: almost nothing has changed. People remained the same, but now they just inserted various pieces of metal into themselves. I still doubted whether I was needed in this time, perhaps I should start thinking about my shutdown. To be honest, I still didn''t see much sense in living. The only thing I really want right now is to find information about my family, hoping that I can somehow help them. At the end of my life, I left them with almost nothing. I had little money in my savings accounts, I hadn''t bought any stocks or real estate, except for my main house.


    Error.!"?;;¡í""§«(¡í";..,??***


    Suddenly, interference appeared before my eyes, and my body began to convulse. Through the visor, I saw my hand flailing involuntarily. My consciousness couldn''t gather itself. What kind of malfunction was this?


    System restored.


    They said everything was fine with me, so where did these malfunctions come from? Am I supposed to live like this until the end?


    "Hey, I hope you didn''t fry your circuits. How about you don''t die while I''m supposed to be escorting you, okay?" my escort finally asked, showing his "politeness." Wishing me dead when he''s not around... wonderful.


    "Don''t worry, I''ll take you with me," I said, not intending to tolerate his arrogant face. There were plenty of these types in my time too. How many of their verbal filth I had to listen to.


    "Fz," he made an indistinct sound and turned away from me, driving on.


    I already didn''t like my life, just as before. Well, at least I don''t have to get used to it. I hope I never see him again.


    Returning to admiring the city, I tried to cheer myself up, but I involuntarily remembered the last time I admired the views. My sad reflections were interrupted by the car slowing down. Looking ahead, I saw a barricade: two police cars were standing in the middle of the road, and several officers were standing in front of them with weapons at the ready. One of them, noticing the stopped car, approached the driver''s window.


    My driver immediately opened the window.


    "What happened, officer? Why is the road blocked?" he asked.


    "None of your business, turn around and get out of here," the officer didn''t stand on ceremony and immediately showed him his place. Then he noticed me and stared for a few seconds. "Well, this smells like jail. Where did you get a Militech police cyberbody?"


    The officer immediately became cautious, keeping his weapon at the ready. I noticed all these movements, having practiced similar scenarios many times.


    "This is Militech corporation business, I''m their employee. If you don''t want to die, step aside and let us pass," my escort said, not intending to lower his tone in front of the lawman.


    "Whatever business it is, it''s still a combat robot. Show the authorization documents," the officer insisted.


    "You seem to have forgotten yourself. By tomorrow, you''ll be scrubbing toilets and will forget about your job forever," my escort snapped back.


    "I am an officer on duty, and you have already broken several laws. There is little stopping me from using my weapon," the officer said, aiming his gun at us. The corporate arrogance instantly vanished.


    "I apologize, there was a slight misunderstanding. This is a new model I''m taking to the department for duty," my escort said, softening his tone.


    "What nonsense? This autonomous cyberbody is useless, they are all being decommissioned. Why do we need another one?" the officer asked and was about to start a more aggressive interrogation when another officer approached us.


    "Collins, what''s going on here?" he asked.


    "Captain, there''s a police combat robot here," Collins said.


    "Alright, let''s see," said the officer, his eyes flashing briefly. "I see, everything is in order, there is information about its serial number, it''s being assigned to us. Matthew Carrington?" the captain asked.


    "Yes, that''s me," I replied.


    "So, you''re a borg, huh? You should have said so, but why this model?" Collins remarked. "You must have been through a lot if they had to replace almost all your body parts."


    "You guessed wrong, he''s entirely made of chrome," said the captain, whose eyes were still flickering.


    "How''s that? Won''t he go psycho?" Collins cautiously asked his commander.


    "I don''t know, ask the higher-ups. Our job is to follow orders," the captain replied.


    "Got it," Collins said.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "And you? Right now, we have a group of dumb kids and idiots who decided to go on an adventure. They had the bright idea to rob an implant shop located near our station," the captain said, waving us off as he walked away.


    "You heard him, you''d better leave," the officer said and also departed.


    "Damn, what bad luck, now we have to wait," my escort said, hitting the steering wheel with his hands.


    From his words, I understood that there was no other route. Even in my time, the police always acted cautiously, even against the most inept, if they had weapons. Even a monkey with a gun can shoot you if scared. Finding the right button, I opened the door.


    "Wait, where are you going? You can''t leave," he said, watching as I got out of the car.


    I had been lying dormant for forty years, suffering in uncertainty, and now that I''m back in this world, why not do what I wouldn''t have before? Rules always stopped a person from madness, but there are those who are willing to risk and break them. I was tired of living the old way; maybe it''s worth trying something different.


    "Just stretching my legs," I said, closing the car door.


    Steel legs stepped onto the sidewalk, kicking up city dust. Looking around, I noticed onlookers beginning to gather in search of a show. This is something I don''t understand about people. One bullet is enough to lose your life, so why, with your mouth open, walk toward your demise? How much easier it would be if we didn''t have to set up blockades every time. From civilians deciding to satisfy their curiosity.


    I walked straight to the blockade, with all the passersby stepping aside to let me through. Just as I was about to reach the police officers, someone yanked my arm. Turning around, I saw my corporate escort. He was clearly displeased.


    "You need to get back in the car. You''re Militech property," he said.


    "Being property is the last thing I intend to be. I''d rather die again," I replied, pulling my arm free. Time to relive my youth.


    I used to be a detective. Yes, our main job was to gather evidence of crimes, and of course, sometimes we had to shoot. But I wasn''t always a sleuth. Like everyone else, I graduated from the police academy and started as a trainee, working my way up as an officer. Unpleasant arrests of all kinds of people, often having to ignore the foul stench of bodies, rummaging through places I''d rather not remember. Naturally, there were plenty of shootouts. Suppressing gangs, arresting dangerous criminals, and much more. We went through plenty of ammunition.


    "Captain, since I''m joining your force, I''d like to participate," I said.


    "Couldn''t sit idle. Duty calls? I''d be glad, but sorry, bureaucracy is a thing. Until you''re registered with the department, you''re a civilian," the captain replied.


    "Robots are needed to suppress armed criminals, so how am I different from them? Just one of many," I said, noticing a couple of combat drones near the building.


    "Maybe so, but I don''t know much about you. Forgive me, but I''m not risking my hide for a stranger. No hard feelings?" the captain said, extending his hand. "By the way, I didn''t introduce myself. Roger Macken."


    "Matthew Carrington," I replied, extending my hand but not squeezing his fingers, fearing I might crush them. I had already noticed how much stronger this body was.


    "You seem quite reasonable. So why did you go for a full body replacement?" the captain asked.


    "I had no other choice," I said.


    "Maybe. I''m not ready to give up my living body, but it''s not for me to judge. I don''t know your story. Just know, we don''t care how chromed out you are, but don''t even think about catching cyberpsychosis and endangering your colleagues. Head straight to the medical center at the first sign of symptoms," the captain said. He mentioned some kind of cyberpsychosis multiple times. The doctor never brought it up. I''ll need to find out what that is.


    "Does this happen often?" I asked.


    "A couple of times in the morning to wake up, one for lunch, and of course, a dessert in the form of a shootout with a gang. Every damn day," Collins said with a smirk. The other officers smiled; it seemed to be some sort of inside joke.


    "They''re joking. Night City is a crazy place. We can''t keep up with everything. Too many people here want to grab a bigger gun and kill more people," the captain said, raising his hand to his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He lit it and began to exhale the smoke. Damn, how I wished to feel that breath of junk again.


    "I understand," I replied.


    "Attention, two vehicles are moving from the southeast, heading straight for the fourth blockade," came the dispatcher''s voice from the car. The captain''s eyes flickered for a moment.


    "Copy that. Everyone to combat readiness, disperse the civilians, take positions," the captain ordered.


    The officers quickly opened their cars and started pulling out their weapons while the others were actively shouting, dispersing the crowd. As I said, it''s as if they''re eager to walk into their death. Panic and chaos ensued, leading to the logical conclusion¡ªpeople getting trampled. The first to fall were already being ignored, trampled underfoot. Turning away from the sight I had seen many times over the years, I decided to watch the police work. To avoid getting in the way, I moved to the side, closer to the building. Usually, bandits start shooting at the cars, and there''s a better chance of surviving if you stick close to the wall and lie down.


    Taking standard positions behind the cars, the officers prepared to face the uninvited guests. The siren wailed at full strength. The corporate''s car sped away, and it seemed he completely forgot about me. But that was fine; his company didn''t bring me any pleasure.


    Two cars burst around the corner, armed criminals sticking out of the windows. One of them had a huge metal tube resembling an RPG. I wasn''t entirely sure, but my doubts were quickly dispelled when a rocket flew out of it, aimed directly at the blockade. As if on cue, gunfire erupted from all sides.


    I heard the familiar whizzing of bullets, but there were other sounds too¡ªunfamiliar to me, like buzzing or something similar.


    Soon, the rocket hit one of the cars, causing a powerful explosion that tossed the police car like a toy. Even from a distance, it was clear it weighed a lot. The officer behind it was severely injured and lay motionless on the ground.


    Indiscriminate fire from the bandits had already begun to result in casualties among ordinary citizens. The officers managed to stop the vehicles with precise shots to the tires, causing both cars to crash into the buildings on either side. Now it had turned into a cover-to-cover firefight. Their charge had failed. If they had broken through, shooting the police would have been an easy task, but now it was a positional battle.


    I wasn''t going to stay in cover any longer. I calmly approached the weapon lying on the ground and picked it up. Let''s see what we have here. Looks like an assault rifle. Here''s the magazine, the bolt, and the safety. It seems not much has changed in some weapons, or the police are poorly equipped. It''s unusual for the magazine to be so close to the handle, and you have to hold it by the barrel. Hopefully, it doesn''t heat up during firing, though there is a cover here. Looking at my metal hands, I realized the futility of my concerns.


    "Let''s see what this body is capable of," I said, taking the weapon and magazine from the fallen officer. He clearly had a bullet in his left eye; no one survives that.


    Removing the safety, I aimed and opened fire on the enemies. The first few shots hit one of the bandits, but he didn''t die immediately. He quickly retreated and, putting something in his mouth, took cover. Damn, I emptied so many bullets into his body, and he''s still alive? Noticing me, they returned fire. A couple of shots hit my armor, and I quickly ducked back into cover. It was a concrete column, and dust showered down on me. Inspecting the hit locations, I saw that the paint was only slightly scratched. This body is armored, after all.


    Feeling more confident, I peeked out from cover and started suppressing their positions with fire. They immediately threw a couple of objects, which could only be grenades. With a long roll, I dived behind a parked car, quickly ejecting the empty magazine and loading a new one. Moments later, a series of explosions went off.


    Time to fry these bastards. With this battle cry, I stood up again and began firing. With a final dash, I reached their car and, coming almost face-to-face with their positions, killed three of them. Their bullets futilely pinged off my body, ringing and scraping against the metal. One of them was still moving, trying to reach his weapon. I made a couple of confirming shots to ensure he stayed down. What tough people.


    A quick magazine change, and I resumed firing at the remaining enemies. They now saw me as the primary threat, focusing all their fire on me. The rocket launcher appeared again; I didn''t react in time, and the projectile rapidly headed toward me. In the last split second, I managed to jump to the side, but it wasn''t enough, and I was thrown several meters, slamming into a wall.


    The screen filled with interference, and a flashing message appeared:


    Body integrity level reduced to 40%. Recommended action: proceed to the repair bay.


    A list of damaged modules and their effects on the system followed:


    Multiple module damages.


    Right arm: 90% damage.


    Left leg: over 80%.


    Part of the right torso: 68% damage.


    Visual modules: 30% damage.


    Body mobility reduced by 70%.


    Energy consumption increased by 63%.


    The visual modules kept glitching as I got up. The criminals had forgotten about me and resumed their shootout with the police. Apparently, the fact that a rocket hit me was enough for them. Inspecting my body, I saw the right side was wrecked, with sparks and minor damages everywhere. My weapon was useless, bent beyond recognition.


    Struggling to stand, I found I could lean on my left side. Fortunately, I had been thrown not far from the car of the gangsters I had killed earlier. Crawling to their bodies, I grabbed all the grenades they had, carefully tying them together. Now, I needed to figure out how to activate them. Finding something resembling a pin, I pulled it from all the grenades and threw the bundle with a strong toss. It landed perfectly at their positions.


    A powerful explosion erupted, practically wiping out their positions from existence.

 Police department

    The dust began to settle, and through the clouds of smoke, the scattered bodies of the bandits could be seen. The gunfire had ceased, and everything was finally starting to return to normal. I was still twisted from the damage, but I felt no pain, absolutely nothing. I just understood that I was missing the necessary limbs, and that was all.


    The officers began inspecting the bodies of the bandits, and those who showed any signs of life were handcuffed. A surviving captain, whose bulletproof vest was torn in several places, apparently from bullet hits, approached me.


    "You really surprised me. Usually, these dumb skulls are good for nothing but cannon fodder, but look how everything changes when someone knowledgeable is in charge," said the captain. With a deft motion, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Of course, I should charge you under Article 24-K6 for unauthorized shooting and killing people. But I didn''t see Matthew Carrington involved in the confrontation, just one of these fools, and you just got caught in the crossfire," he added with a smirk.


    "I understand," I replied.


    "Well then, let''s get you to the vehicle, and we''ll take care of all your broken parts by evening," he said, waving to a couple of his men. "Alright, guys, grab him and drag him to the van."


    I was dragged to the van and seated on one of the seats. A girl approached me, took out some tools, and began working on the damage.


    "I''ll fix the energy leak and weld some critical nodes for now, and later they''ll replace everything," she said.


    "Are you a doctor?" I asked.


    "Hah, if only. I''m a technician," she replied and finished her work in a moment. Without asking, she connected a cable to my head. "Let''s see. They''ve stripped you of almost all protection, our modules, and weaponry. Okay, everything else seems fine. Wait, is your entire body chrome? I thought there would be internal organs. How are you even sane? Hold on, no brain either? Are you an AI?" she asked in amazement, cautiously pointing a gun at me.


    "Calm down, Catherine, he''s human, if you can call it that. It''s new technology, they put a living person into a robot''s body. Soon, we''ll all become like this," said the captain, sitting down next to me.


    Their eyes flickered for a moment.


    "Understood. Squad, gather up and move out. We''re no longer needed here," said the captain.


    A few moments later, other operatives began loading into the van. It was strange; usually, the police ensure everything is under control before leaving, but they were leaving almost immediately after the confrontation.


    "Why are you leaving the scene so quickly?" I asked out of curiosity.


    "We''re a strike team; our job is to hit hard and that''s it. The patrol units will handle the rest," replied the captain.


    "Not the best profession, but you won''t get bored," added Collins.


    It seemed they had their own division of responsibilities.


    "What other units are there?" I inquired.


    "Max-Tac and..." the captain began to say.


    "Corp dogs," Collins interrupted. His face showed clear dissatisfaction.


    "And you, Collins, envy them and want to lick the corpos'' boots the most," one of the soldiers said with a laugh.


    "Screw you, Richard," Collins responded good-naturedly.


    "Yeah, the first ones are the real terminators, fighting against others like them, almost entirely cyberized. They exist to suppress cyberpsychos, overloaded with chrome. The second ones are corporate government servants, with higher pay and better conditions. They handle territory security, negotiation control, and the like. Practically hired security," the captain explained.


    Now, among colleagues, I was heading to my place of service. They were much more pleasant than my previous companion. I hope he didn''t get away so easily and that a couple of bullets hit his car.


    From inside the van, it was impossible to tell where we were going or what was around, as the thick armored walls gave no view. Only through the window between the driver and the cargo area could the road be seen. The vehicle drove into an underground parking lot, and the officers immediately opened the doors, unloading outside. They gently picked me up and carried me to the elevator.


    "A bit of bureaucratic procedure, and then straight to the repair shop for you. We have a staff ripper who will replace your damaged modules with those we have in stock, install our implants, and everything else will be at your own expense," the captain said in parting. He patted me on my metal shoulder and went about his business.


    They brought me to a desk where an officer was stationed.


    "Hey, Mark, can you help register a new officer?" one of my escorts said.


    "A robot?" he asked in surprise.


    "No, a borg," the same escort replied.


    "Got it. Connect the personal terminal to the interface," he said. Realizing he had said something silly, Mark took my left hand, pulled out a cable, and connected it to a port next to the computer. "You''ve been sent an introductory package of documents. You''ve been assigned the rank of private, and the list of duties and regulations is in the documents. You are entitled to the standard set of police implants; install them as soon as possible. Glad to have you on board," he concluded.


    Symbols started flickering before my eyes, but everywhere there was a red error message:


    "Loaded database cannot be unzipped, module damage."


    After finishing the registration, the two officers dragged me further.


    "We''ll give you a little tour. We''re heading to the technical department where our ripper works, next to the weapons warehouse and the evidence dock. There''s also a small hand-to-hand combat hall and a shooting range. Try to sign up early; otherwise, you''ll never get a spot, there''s always a queue," Richard said.


    "Thanks for the help. By the way, I don''t know your names," I said.


    "I''m Richard, and this is George, but everyone calls him Hamster," Richard replied.


    "Hey, don''t tell him that," George protested.


    "It''s because he loves stuffing his cheeks so much that food falls out," Richard explained with a smile.


    "Nice to meet you. My name is Michael," I said.


    "We know," Mike responded.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Finally, we reached a room labeled "Office 23. Sarah Stone, Staff Ripper."


    They brought me into a brightly lit room. In the center was a chair resembling a medical chair, surrounded by equipment, including a circular saw. It felt like I had walked into a maniac''s lair, not a doctor''s office.


    "Why did you bring this heap of scrap to me?" asked a woman with a short haircut, the tips of her hair dyed. She was dressed in a police uniform, only with a cross on her shoulder patches. Her jacket was unzipped, revealing a short top and an impressive bust. If I were still alive, I would have tried to hit on her immediately.


    "This is our new colleague, Matthew Carrington," said Richard.


    "That''s a bad joke," she replied.


    "See for yourself," Richard said, and her eyes flickered for a moment.


    "Holy shit, what luck! Put this pile of scrap metal on the operating table," the ripper said. Her face clearly showed displeasure towards me.


    "Actually, I''m alive," I said. Though she was attractive, the words coming out of her mouth were far from charming.


    "I couldn''t care less," she replied.


    "Don''t worry, Matthew. Sarah is an excellent ripper and a good person. She just shows her character this way," Richard said, laying me on the operating table.


    "Have you not been kicked in the balls for a while, Richard? Because I can arrange that," Sarah said, not appreciating his comment.


    "And she packs a punch too," Richard added, then quickly left, seeing Sarah''s patience wearing thin. George followed him hurriedly.


    "They''ve become too relaxed," she said disapprovingly and began working on my body, quickly inserting some cable into my head.


    Connecting a diagnostic module, Sarah started her work.


    "So, where did you get such damage, arriving here so soon?" she asked, activating the robotic arms that began moving around and dismantling my body.


    "In a nearby shootout," I replied.


    "Today''s incident? Got it. So, you don''t have any combat modules installed; everything was removed. The serial number of your body shows it''s been in storage for the past year. And you''re an old model too," Sarah commented.


    "That''s how it is. Is that going to be a problem? I was brought back from the dead not too long ago," I said.


    "What do you mean?" Sarah asked.


    "Exactly what I said. Until recently, I was dead, and now I''m sitting in a robot body talking to you," I explained, deciding to lay out my problem immediately, hoping she could help as a specialist.


    "Sounds like nonsense. No technology can protect you from death. I don''t understand, are you an AI?" she asked warily. Suddenly, she removed my faceplate, revealing only the electronic components of my body. "Who are you? Speak!"


    "I only know that I''m Matthew Carrington, and Militech implanted me into this body, saying I was part of a revival program," I said.


    Sarah laughed loudly, her strong, almost hysterical laughter echoing through the room.


    "Hahaha! Good joke. Corps and charity! Yeah, those arrogant bastards would sooner shoot themselves than give you a piece of synthetic. But that''s not my business; I don''t want to get involved with them. Listen up, I''ll install all your modules, and then I don''t want to see you here again. Got it?" she asked. Her behavior indicated a negative experience with them, and it seemed she didn''t trust AIs and cybernetic people, likely due to some tragic event.


    "Yes, I understand," I replied. Now I was sure it wasn''t that simple. If every local says the same thing about Militech, then they probably have other interests regarding me. But what? I had no idea. Testing technology, and I''m the guinea pig? This assumption seemed most plausible. They''re trying to revive people, and my preserved brain conveniently came their way. Or inconveniently, depending on how you look at it.


    "Connecting module 23si-police. Connecting to database. Database not found."


    "Searching. Damaged data found. Unpacking."


    "Loading database."


    The screen displayed a multitude of different documents with various titles. When I glanced at Sarah, information popped up beside her:


    Sarah Macol


    Age: 37 years


    Occupation: Police


    Position: Staff Ripper


    Criminal Record: None


    Marital Status: Widow


    Recommendation: Do not engage.


    More and more robotic arms were working on my body. They quickly replaced damaged parts with new ones, connecting them to me.


    Combat Implant Connected ¡ª Zubr.12 Targeting System.


    Communication Implant Connected.


    Network access restored. System update required. Do you wish to start the update? Yes/No.


    I selected "Yes," understanding that it couldn''t get any worse. Suddenly, everything went dark before my eyes, and I was forcibly sent into sleep mode. However, I could still think clearly; there was simply nothing¡ªlike being locked within my own consciousness. Maybe it was time to make it a bit better? I had heard that one could create a personal corner within their own mind.


    In front of me appeared the lawn of my old home, the same swings. Approaching them, I touched one. Suddenly, I found my hand¡ªmy real hand. I immediately headed to the house and found the nearest mirror to remember what I looked like. I was already over thirty. Despite the tired look and smoker''s lungs, I was still fresh. I wore the same clothes as on my last day. This was definitely me, Matthew, not that kid named Mike.


    Things didn''t go as planned, did they, Matthew? I noticed a framed family photo. Holding it in my hands, I realized how much I missed them. I regretted not spending enough time with them. I wished I could go back, quit being a detective, stop spending nights at work, and take up something peaceful, like working with documents. Sitting, doing nothing, and gaining weight. Such a simple and happy life.


    Everything around me began to disappear rapidly, as if someone was pulling me out of my imaginary home.


    System Active.


    Quickly checking my indicators, I saw that everything was back to normal, with no errors or damage.


    "I''m done. You can leave and try to show up here as little as possible," Sarah said, stepping away from me and heading to one of the windows. She lit a cigarette.


    "Thanks for your help," I said, getting up.


    I wasn''t angry at her and didn''t try to justify myself. I could barely believe that I was now more machine than man. Though I didn''t fully understand who AIs and borgs were, it seemed to be a sore subject for many. Since I now had network access, I decided to see what I could find about myself and my situation.


    Quickly finding information on the events of 2030, I noticed there was nothing about me in the news. Stories of fallen officers usually made the headlines. It seemed I had been completely erased. The news continued with reports of battles with numerous criminal groups. These skirmishes escalated into a full-blown armed conflict, ending tragically for the entire city. By 2035, the city ceased to exist.


    I tried to find information about my family, but it was as if they had vanished. This hit me harder than I expected. Sitting against the wall, I realized that even a robot struggles with such emotions. Sitting here, I had lost all motivation to move forward. Maybe it was time to end this life once and for all?


    Error **:%;¡í"(§¬:¡í")(§¡


    Suddenly, I convulsed, finding it hard to think. My body began to spasm, but after a few seconds, it calmed down. What was I thinking about? I couldn''t recall the last few minutes. Another glitch.


    Right, I had just left the ripper and wanted to check my duties. The trainee''s workday starts at eight and lasts until eight in the evening. Twelve hours¡ªisn''t that too much? Next, I report to Sergeant Jemian Todd. Seeing his image, I immediately knew who to look for.


    So, information from the police department. Congratulations on your enlistment. Blah-blah, lots of empty words. But here''s the gist: due to your circumstances, you''re provided with temporary housing for a year. Then followed a long list of things not to do in the service apartment.


    There should be a map somewhere. Finding the right tab in the interface, I entered the address mentioned in the message. The route was immediately mapped out from my location to the apartment. The building was five hundred meters from the workplace.


    With that sorted, I headed out, wanting to take a look at the city. I had no desire to explore the department, as I would be spending enough time there and would get sick of the sight of its walls.


    I easily found my way to the main hall, where many officers were busy with their tasks. Working in the police force involves not only shootouts but also immense bureaucracy, where almost every action has to be documented. This is done to maintain legality, or so they say.


    Reaching the city streets, I freely wandered through them. Right, I wanted to learn what cyberpsychosis and AIs are. The definitions popped up immediately.


    AI (Artificial Intelligences) ¡ª Highly advanced systems created to perform complex tasks, manage technological processes, analyze data, and interact with humans.


    Cyberpsychosis ¡ª A term describing a psychological disorder that occurs in people who have excessively modified their bodies with cyberimplants. It''s believed that an excessive number of cybernetic implants can lead to a loss of humanity, emotional instability, and aggressive behavior. Cyberpsychosis manifests as uncontrollable rage, paranoia, and, in extreme cases, a disconnection from reality.


    Absorbing these definitions, I felt a twinge of understanding about the fears and hostility people had toward beings like me. With this new knowledge, I continued exploring the city, my new reality settling in.

 Meeting local color

    I walked aimlessly, just wandering the streets. All the passersby tried to keep their distance from me, either afraid of the police or because everyone had something dark on their conscience. More than once, my new interface highlighted a person''s various crimes right before my eyes. It was as if I knew their entire life if I requested additional data from the police databases.


    My new module easily identified implants in people, showing their entire structure. Almost everyone had an illegal module, without a serial number or place of installation. I wondered how this was possible. By investigating the data, I realized that black markets were thriving, and little had changed in people. Where there is law, there will also be its opposite.


    Where do the implants on the black market come from? This discovery shocked me. At first, I thought that gangs simply robbed implant shops, and that was the end of it. But it turned out to be much worse when I learned about the Scavengers'' organization.


    The entire list of their crimes didn''t fit in my memory block. They were too numerous and brutal. Selling and kidnapping people, skinning them for organs and implants, robberies, violence, murders. The list of their deeds constantly grew. I couldn''t understand how the city''s government could allow this. Why weren''t there military forces to eradicate this plague at its root?


    To my regret, I realized that this was a free city, and hence all the consequences of such freedom. An amusing sign "City of Dreams" was lit up on one of the skyscrapers. More likely, it was a city of the dead, judging by the death statistics. To this sad fact were added five percent unaccounted for. Most likely, these were those who could not be found or determined whether they were alive or not.


    I didn''t think I would see such a future. It seemed to me that the world would become more perfect, and people much smarter. Looking at how one freak was injecting himself right on the street and shivering, apparently from a high, you realize that this is far from the case. Everything around reminded me of something. Some part of my memory was trying to break through the fog, showing fragments of familiar images. I felt that I had seen this somewhere before. Familiar names flickered here and there, like ghosts from the past.


    Right now, I wanted to get to my apartment as quickly as possible and think everything over, despite what was happening around me. I needed to disable the facial recognition module¡ªI was seeing too much of people''s vices. The implant tab showed that all modules were active, and I mentally wished I could disable them all, which I did with this module.


    It became much easier without a bunch of information in front of my eyes. Maybe there are settings where the search works only on demand? A ripperdoc could solve this problem, but she took an instant dislike to me. The others looked at me warily, but showed no trace of hatred. But she had very strong negative emotions, evident in every movement and expression on her face. Although it puzzled me that her facial expressions were mostly on one side of her face. Strange, maybe paralysis? I don''t know, I won''t guess, I''ll ask Mike; hopefully, he''ll tell me.


    Incoming call: Henry Baker. Accept/Decline.


    Here was my attending physician. Accepting the call, I saw the doctor''s face on the screen.


    "Matthew, I''m calling to check on your condition, are you alright? I received information that you were injured during the police and gang confrontation," said Henry.


    "The body was partially damaged, but the ripperdoc fixed everything," I replied.


    "Good. Nothing strange happening?" he asked.


    "No, nothing like that," I said, omitting the malfunction and my internal turmoil. Now I trust them even less; as soon as you browse the internet, you constantly come across mentions of this company. They always take what they want and don''t care about your opinion.


    "Great. Don''t forget to come for a scheduled check-up this week. I''m glad you''re alright, but I can''t talk long, work is waiting," said Henry.


    "I understand, see you," I replied.


    "See you," he said and disconnected.


    Through all this, I almost automatically reached the building where I was supposed to spend the night. It was small, only ten stories. Strange, even in my time they usually built no less than twenty. Upon entering, I saw a great mess in the corridor, and all the walls were defaced with graffiti.


    All I had was the apartment number and nothing else. I needed to go through all the floors to find where it was. Maybe there was some kind of information stand or something similar. To my disappointment, I found only a broken screen. Perhaps it had been an information terminal, but now it was just trash.


    After walking around the first floor, I didn''t find the right number. Damn, who came up with this system? I''d like to tear his hands off. Next to each door was a display showing the apartment number. Some of them were dim, making it difficult to understand what was written. After going through the entire floor, I couldn''t make any sense of it. It was as if all the numbers were scattered randomly, without any order or logic.


    I had to go through every floor to check everything. My main problem was the malfunctioning elevator. At one point, it stopped for a whole twenty minutes. No matter what I did, it wouldn''t move. I was about to break that damn door to get out when the elevator, as if sensing the threat, suddenly started working. Luckily, there were stairs, and I used them for the rest of the way.


    Stepping onto the fifth floor, I heard the sounds of cursing. A man''s voice was raised, using plenty of swear words. Finally, reaching the source of the noise, I saw two freaks with crossed arms near one of the doors. They quickly noticed me and immediately looked scared.


    "Damn, Rex, that bitch called the cops," one of them said. They had no weapons in their hands. Mentally, I activated the facial recognition module.


    Name: Richard Pinkens (nickname Rich)


    Age: 25


    Employment: None


    Crimes: Petty hooliganism, robbery


    Marital Status: Single


    Recommendation: Detain if suspicious.


    The screen displayed information about the second person, who was loudly cursing. He had a short haircut, several metallic lines on his face, and chrome-plated fingers.


    Name: Keith (nickname Keith)


    Age: 29


    Employment: None


    Crimes: Petty hooliganism, robbery


    Marital Status: Single


    Recommendation: Detain if suspicious.


    Such information was provided on the second accomplice, who clearly didn''t know moderation in food.


    "Shit, what''s going on, how many are there?" came a voice from inside.


    "Just one, this dumb piece of metal," said Rich.


    "Does he have a gun?" the question came again. Their behavior seemed strange to me. They didn''t look like serious gangsters, more like petty hooligans.


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    "No, completely empty," replied Rich.


    "Then tear him apart for parts," said the unknown voice.


    "Yeah, boss," they shouted in unison and, rolling up their sleeves, headed towards me.


    Strange, do they even have any intelligence? Even assuming I didn''t have a weapon, which I might have behind my back, I was still stronger than them. A rough analysis showed that they didn''t have many implants and the ones they did have weren''t very effective. Why weren''t they afraid of the police and instead wanted to confront it? People in this city had strange thinking. Either the law here meant nothing.


    I wasn''t going to stand there for long since they attacked me first. With a determined step, I approached them and, without saying a word, knocked everything out of Rich with a single punch. His teeth flew out of his mouth in a spray, and he collapsed like a felled tree. The punch was indeed strong¡ªsome advantage of having mechanical parts. Keith froze in shock, looking at his unconscious partner, but quickly followed him with the same outcome. I would need to find out how much it costs to completely replace a jaw, just out of curiosity.


    Having dealt with them, I immediately headed to the open door and almost immediately saw the kitchen, where a man completely covered in tattoos and with metallic lines along his spine was beating a woman. Her face was bruised and severely swollen. My metallic footsteps were loud enough, and he heard them, turning to face me.


    Name: Samuel Swick (nickname Rex)


    Age: 35


    Employment: None


    Crimes: Robbery, murder, assault, drug trafficking, extortion, illegal arms trading


    Marital Status: Single


    Recommendation: Detain under any circumstances, lethal measures permitted.


    This one was far scarier than his unlucky subordinates. In his hands were retractable Mantis Blade implants. And his list of crimes was truly impressive.


    "Damn useless idiots, I always have to do everything myself. Don''t be afraid, bitch, I''ll deal with him quickly and get back to you," said Rex, cracking his neck first to the left, then to the right, and started towards me.


    "Samuel Swick, surrender and lie on the ground with your hands behind your back," I pretended to be a robot, trying to speak as monotonously as possible.


    "Try and make me," he said with a smirk and extended a knife that shot out from his forearm through some mechanism. He lunged, aiming straight at my chest.


    With a quick move, I stepped to the left, dodging his attack. I delivered a swift punch to his stomach¡ªthe force of the blow threw him back, sending him flying back into the kitchen and stopping only when he crashed into the wall.


    "Khhkhkhk...," he coughed, clutching his stomach. "Damn it, what a piece of shit...," he spat blood, glaring at me furiously. Then, despite the blood running from his lips, he rushed at me again. He swung his blades wildly, trying to hit me, managing only to scratch me slightly.


    Finally, seizing the moment, I struck upwards, smashing his head into the ceiling. His eyes immediately rolled back, and he collapsed to the floor motionless. The instructions still permitted the use of lethal measures. Considering his list of crimes and seeing him in front of me, I decided he wouldn''t live. Grabbing his skull, I dragged him out of the apartment. With my other hand, I grasped his chin and sharply twisted his neck. There was a crunch, his body twitched a bit more, but then everything went still.


    The system marked him as neutralized and recorded him in the database as dead.


    "What should I do, they will kill me...," a weak and trembling female voice said.


    Name: Katherine Wright


    Age: 32 years


    Place of Work: Heywood Clinic


    Position: Nurse


    Crimes: Fraud


    Marital Status: Divorced, two children


    Recommendation: Do not touch.


    Perhaps my actions were hasty and abrupt, but they were the first to decide to attack me.


    "Calm down, they''re dealt with, and they won''t cause you any more trouble," I said. This made the woman cry even more.


    "They''re from the Sixth Street gang, I''m done for," she said through her tears.


    Information about the Sixth Street gang immediately appeared in my database.


    The Sixth Street gang is a paramilitary organization composed of veterans from the Fourth Corporate War and recent wars, retired military personnel, former corporate security officers, and civilians with military training. They are the dominant gang in Arroyo and Rancho Coronado, Santo Domingo, Glen and Vista del Rey, Heywood, as well as Charter Hill, Westbrook.


    "Why did they attack you?" I asked.


    "You''ve always ignored us," said Katherine.


    "You can reach out at any time. The police will help you," I replied.


    "Ha, that''s funny. It''s easier to hang myself than to wait for your help. And what do you want, robot?" she said.


    "I''m not a robot. Matthew Carrington, police officer. If you need help, you can contact me," I said. Deciding not to bother her with my presence any longer, I wanted to leave but stopped. What should I do with the body?


    "Ma''am, what should I do with him?" I asked, genuinely unsure of the proper protocol in such a situation.


    "You''re with the police, why ask me? Just dump him on the street, the scavengers will deal with the body by morning," she said.


    I looked at the body with doubt. I decided to try contacting the police. There had to be a special channel for officers. Finding the right one, I connected, and after a few moments, a voice came through.


    "Dispatcher here."


    "This is Private Matthew Carrington. I have a dead criminal and a couple of unconscious ones. What are the next steps?" I asked.


    "Send the data on the criminals," came the reply. How do I send a message here? Oh, attaching his personal data, I sent the information.


    "Received, wait for the service. They will handle it," the voice on the other end cut off.


    With that done, I picked up the dead gangster''s body and grabbed one of the unconscious ones, heading downstairs. Seeing me with the bodies on my shoulders, everyone quickly started moving aside and heading in the opposite direction. Once outside, I dropped the bodies and started waiting.


    My wait wasn''t long. First, a police car pulled up nearby, and two officers got out.


    "So, rookie, giving us work? What do we have here, petty hooliganism, I see. And this one, looks like he''s not a survivor," said one of them, according to the database, it was Derek.


    "Alright, let''s not take too long. Send us the footage of the incident, and you can go," added his partner, Sam.


    Video? I doubted for a moment, rummaging through the tabs, and indeed found the logs, where there was a recording from my visor. I immediately sent them the necessary data.


    "Alright, I see, another bunch of tough guys with big balls. Good job, or else they''ll soon stop fearing us if we let this slide," said Derek.


    "Okay, take care," said Sam.


    Quickly loading the two toothless criminals into the back seat of the car, they left. Almost immediately after, a black van with a morgue sticker on the side pulled up. It was clear what they were here for. The guys didn''t even greet me, quickly lifted the body, and stuffed it inside. I didn''t think they were some scavengers or anything like that, clearly seeing the positions of these people.


    Finally, freed from the sudden work, I resumed my path from where I had stopped. I had to go back up to the floor where the confrontation took place. Blood splatters still remained on the floor. But the apartment of the rescued woman was still open, and I decided to check if she was alright. Entering inside, I froze.


    The woman was hanging from a rope squeezing her neck; according to the indicators, she was still alive. Running up to her, I quickly tore her from the noose. Her face was swollen and heavily bruised. It seemed her heart had stopped, but her brain was still alive. I couldn''t perform artificial respiration, only chest compressions. Quickly checking, I realized I had something for such cases: an "Emergency Rescue Kit." Opening a small compartment on my back, I took out several injectors. Information immediately appeared on them:


    Trauma I - Application method: injection. Briefly accelerates the natural healing of the body''s wounds. Side effects: weakness, reduced reaction, appetite.


    Taking one, I injected the drug into her arm, and it automatically administered the medicine. For greater effectiveness, folding my hands on her chest and pressing carefully, I continued performing chest compressions. Gradually, her breathing started to recover, and soon she coughed and began to gulp for air. Opening her clouded eyes, she focused her gaze on me.


    "Can''t even die in peace," she said bitterly, tears rolling down her face.


    "You shouldn''t make hasty decisions. Death changes nothing. But as long as you''re alive, you have a chance to change a lot, especially since you have two children," I said.


    "Children... They''re all I have. I lived for them, but I''m so tired. Every day working myself to the bone, with no prospects, for a meager salary. I had to borrow from them, there was no other choice. They''ll come again to take the money. Better to die on my terms than from their torture," Katherine said, sobbing.


    "And yet, try to live for your children again. Think of what will happen to them without you," I said, trying to restore her sense of purpose.


    "What''s the point? I don''t want anything anymore," she said, getting up and heading to the bathroom. "You''re really not just a borg. They wouldn''t care about human emotions. You can go. I''m not going to kill myself anymore."


    She disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the sound of running water. Standing there for a moment, I realized I couldn''t save her forever. If she truly wanted to die, there would be nothing left for me to do but let her go.


    When I was carrying Rex''s body, I took a shiny chain from him. Leaving it on the table, I exited the room, heading off to find my apartment.


    After traversing several floors, I finally found it. Placing my personal port to the interface, the door opened. Entering inside, I saw that the room was in much better condition than the rest of the building. There was one bed, a small table against the wall, dim lighting that turned on automatically, and a large window with a view of the Heywood district.

 First work day

    I was in sleep mode, dwelling within my mind. I sat in a familiar chair where I loved to spend my evenings. Lighting a cigarette, enjoying a simple movie, I tried to relax. The film on the screen was fragmented; faces and objects were distorted. These were just memories, which the human mind does not retain with minute precision. Unlike a robot''s memory blocks, I recalled the events of the past battle and even the trash lying by the roadside perfectly reproduced in my consciousness.


    The taste of the cigarette I lit was just an imitation, but it felt so real. I smoked them often, and they were well-embedded in my memory. Just like everything around me. What I remembered well was reproduced perfectly, and what I didn''t was distorted. I examined the coffee maker, but inside, I saw only emptiness because I didn''t know its workings, while its exterior was flawless.


    Several times I replayed the last memories of my life. Here I am walking down the street, heavy rain obscuring my view. A person with an umbrella approaches, and then ¡ª darkness. I couldn''t see who it was. Perhaps it wasn''t their fault ¡ª too little information. However, replaying the final moments several times, amidst the rain''s noise, I heard more footsteps. They were somewhere in the distance, but clearly behind me. So, was I attacked from the front and the back?


    Rewinding, I noticed a person pressed against the wall. He wore a jacket with a hood pulled down. The tattoo on his neck looked familiar ¡ª he clearly belonged to some gang. I''ll open the archives and check the case files; maybe I''ll find similar tattoos.


    After finishing the review of my memories, I decided to look at the second memory. Watching clips from life, I clearly remembered when and what happened to me. The last minutes of my life... Wait, what''s that frame on the screen? I''ve seen this somewhere before.


    Of course, that hall! I looked at the screen, and there were exactly the same frames. What''s happening? I started to shake slightly from what was happening, and I began to search more intently. Watching memories of this game, I found more and more similarities. Cyberpunk 2077, that''s the name of this game. Am I stuck in a damn game?


    No, this is nonsense. Matthew lived in this world in 2030, and technology was advancing by leaps and bounds, so this is possible in reality. So who am I? Maybe I am detective Matthew, who died in 2030, or Mike, who died in 2020? I can only try to figure it out. What if Matthew did die, but his brain was preserved and decided to be revived? And if you imagine that his soul left his body long ago, another must have entered the empty shell, and I appeared. But the machine''s memories replaced the old life. I don''t believe in the afterlife and soul migration, but there are no other explanations.


    In the corner of the room, the alarm clock suddenly rang, as obnoxious as ever. It was 7:00 AM. The sound was just as I remembered it. Approaching it, I turned off the alarm. I have time to figure this out.


    Active Mode


    As soon as I thought about it, I awakened. Opening the interface, I checked the condition of my body.


    Statistics:


    Energy - 54%


    System Load - 2%


    Strength - 5


    Technique - 3


    Intelligence: ????.


    I still can''t get used to the fact that my body is just a set of characteristics. Looking at my mechanical hands, I finally got up. My work shift starts at eight in the morning and lasts twelve hours. This is the standard time. A full shift is twenty-four hours when you must be on alert every second. This is usually the schedule for patrol officers. Since I am attached to the patrol, this schedule applies to me as well.


    I moved downstairs. Descending the stairs, I stopped on the fifth-floor landing as I almost bumped into yesterday''s victim. It looked like she was heading to work too. Most government organizations have the same schedule, so there''s nothing surprising about the encounter.


    "Good morning, Catherine Wright," I said. So, she decided to continue living after all.


    "And what are you doing here?" she was genuinely surprised to see me.


    "My apartment is a few floors up," I replied.


    "Hmm, so you live here," she said.


    "Yes," I confirmed.


    "Good to know," she replied and, walking around me, headed down. I didn''t stand there and followed her.


    "Why are you following me?" she asked indignantly, turning around.


    "I need to go downstairs to work too," I explained. She narrowed her eyes a bit, as if trying to see something in me, but what could she see besides the visor and mechanical face?


    Turning back around, she continued her descent.


    "What''s your name, savior?" she asked without looking back.


    "Matthew," I replied.


    "Thank you again for helping with the gang and for stopping me from doing something irreversible," she said.


    "Glad to serve; after all, I''m a police officer," I said. She only smiled and shook her head. I already suspected that the suffering of ordinary citizens didn''t concern law enforcers too much, though I could be wrong. "If they come after you again, feel free to call me," I sent her my contact information through the network.


    "I''ll manage on my own," Catherine said. We parted ways at the exit, and she headed in a different direction. It was time for me to get to my new workplace.


    The trip didn''t take long, and soon I was standing before the doors of the police station. Just as I was about to enter, the doors slid open.


    "Hey, rookie!" shouted a voice from behind. Turning around, I saw a police car with its window rolled down.


    Name: Demian Todd


    Age: 38


    Place of Work: Haywood District Police


    Position: Police Officer (Sergeant)


    Criminal Record: None


    Marital Status: Married, three children


    Recommendation: Do not engage.


    It seemed this was the sergeant who would be training me. I approached the car, and the door opened.


    "Hop in, I''ve already signed all the necessary documents," he said. Sitting inside, I was able to see his face. Short haircut, a light smile, and a cheerful look. It was as if he wasn''t a seasoned police officer, but a happy person. "My name is Demian Todd. For the next month, you''ll be under my supervision."


    "Matthew Carrington," I said, extending my hand. Demian promptly responded with a handshake.


    "Nice to meet you, and I hope you have a good service in our department," said Demian. The car started, and we drove off.


    "Thank you," I replied, feeling a bit taken aback by his demeanor.


    "The job isn''t too hard. Our task is to patrol Haywood and respond to any incidents," Demian explained.


    "I understand," I said.


    "Don''t worry, nothing too serious happens. Sometimes we have to shoot, but it''s mostly small-time hooligans. We aren''t supposed to fight gangs; that''s what the assault teams are for," the sergeant continued.


    "I''m not afraid of shootouts," I replied. With this body, taking a few bullets without feeling pain wasn''t scary. Death didn''t frighten me either; I''d been to the other side, and there was only emptiness.


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    "Got it, so you''re not new to this. Where did you serve?" he asked.


    "Nowhere," I replied, not understanding the question.


    "Strange, you seem like you''ve served. Lost your body, holding up strong, like you''ve been through a lot. Thought you were military," he said.


    "No, I worked in the police," I replied.


    "In the police? Hm, demoted and now rehired. Happens," he said.


    "No, I just haven''t been on duty for a while," I explained.


    "Strange, but who knows what the bosses are thinking. They come up with all sorts of nonsense. Don''t worry, I see you''re one of us. I don''t care who you were before or that you have a metal body," he said with a smile. I couldn''t understand where he got so much zest for life. Does he even know where he lives? "By the way, look. This is my daughter; she recently started walking, and she''s only a year old," he said, showing me a picture of a child standing on her own two feet.


    "Congratulations," I replied, hesitating a bit.


    "Thank you. I also have an older son and daughter. I''m so happy for them. I always come home and hug them tightly. Although they resist, I know they are always happy to see me. If it weren''t for them, I would have lost the joy of life a long time ago," he said. Now it became clear that he has close people he deeply loves, and this makes him happy.


    "Do you have a family?" he asked.


    "I did," even through the robotic voice, the bitterness was evident.


    "Sorry, I didn''t know," he said with sincere regret, realizing he had touched on an unpleasant topic for me.


    Our journey continued in silence. After inspecting the city streets, I decided to take a closer look at the area where I live. According to the information available in the database, this was mainly a residential area with many houses where the majority of people lived¡ªfrom the richest to the poorest. There were three gangs in the area, and their interests often overlapped, leading to fights. I had seen cartel wars a couple of times before, and it never ended well. Here, no one even tried to monitor them. Gang members walked the streets freely, without fear of being pursued. The sergeant didn''t react to them at all, as if they didn''t exist. However, I could clearly see the patches and symbols on their clothing.


    "Patrol car 4318, code 38, Fourth Avenue, ''Pink Dolphin'' club," the dispatcher said, the sound coming from the radio built into the dashboard.


    Code 38: two or more individuals have entered into a physical conflict, without lethal consequences.


    The system immediately provided a decryption of the code.


    "Patrol car 4318, received," the sergeant responded. The car sped up and abruptly shot down the road. "Follow protocol, you stand aside and cover in case of anything," Damian said.


    Soon, we entered a dense stream of cars. The sergeant turned on the siren, and breaking all the rules, we overtook cars on the opposite lane, brazenly squeezing between vehicles. Stopping on a street where numerous neon lights dazzled even my visor on such a sunny day.


    Getting out of the car, I saw the sergeant briskly heading towards the doors of a building with a bright pink dolphin sign. I immediately guessed it was a club. Two bouncers were standing at the entrance, and upon noticing the police, they stepped aside, one of them saying something into a comm.


    Upon entering, I was immediately blinded by a multitude of bright colors flashing throughout the room. Loud music played at full blast, and people partied wildly, clearly not knowing what to do in the morning. Although, perhaps these were those who stayed overnight.


    We were met by a club employee, and we followed him, pushing through the crowd. I saw utter madness in the eyes of these people, as if they didn''t understand where they were and what was happening around them. The program immediately began analyzing the state of the people around me. Apart from alcohol, there were many other substances in them, making them behave inadequately. No wonder a fight broke out here. But I was puzzled by something else¡ªwhy was the police called? Usually, security handles everything that happens inside and doesn''t particularly want to involve law enforcement, precisely because of the substances in such establishments.


    The employee leading us entered one of the doors, and the music''s sound immediately disappeared as soon as we stepped inside. The soundproofing here was excellent. We went upstairs, and screams of people were immediately heard. The bright VIP lounge sign gave me a simple answer: it looked like it was someone rich, and the club owner didn''t want to spoil relations. If the police handle it, there will be no complaints against him.


    Bang-bang


    We immediately heard two muffled shots from somewhere above.


    "Follow me, rookie, code 30C," the sergeant said, pulling out his gun. I still hadn''t been issued a weapon. My kit only included a non-lethal shocker built into my arm.


    Code 30C: two or more individuals have entered into an armed conflict.


    We immediately hurried, running upstairs as people rushed down trying to escape the gunfire. There was a large panoramic window overlooking the hall. Down there, people heard nothing due to the loud music and continued dancing. Dodging civilians, we approached the source of the gunfire.


    "Sorry, rookie, but you go in first, you have armor that can withstand any small calibers," the sergeant said.


    "Got it," I replied, understanding that it was logical; I had nothing to risk, unlike him.


    Bursting into a room lit by red lamps, I saw a man who was clearly not himself. He kept rubbing his eyes with his left hand, holding a gun in his right. He was half-naked, wearing only pants. He was shooting aimlessly in different directions.


    Name: Peter Johnson


    Age: 29


    Place of Work: Militech Corporation


    Position: Head of Testing Department


    Crimes: Fraud


    Marital Status: Single


    Recommendations: Armed, neutralize without lethal measures.


    Weapon: M-10AF Lexington


    Type: Pistol


    Kind: Automatic 9mm Pistol


    Magazine: 20/4 (remaining ammo)


    He was firing at an overturned table, a makeshift shield that blocked the view of his potential target, making it a frequent choice for cover. But with such erratic shooting as our troublemaker''s, you could stand still, and not a single shot would hit.


    The sergeant entered the room right behind me, using me as cover, and aimed his weapon at the suspect.


    "Drop the weapon and lie down on the floor, or I will open fire," he ordered.


    Seeing us, Peter nervously raised his gun. I acted faster: closing the distance, I delivered a blow to his stomach, sending him flying a few meters back into a couch. He started coughing intermittently, clutching his abdomen. Picking up the dropped pistol, I glanced at it and attached it to my leg.


    "Damn, rookie, you didn''t need to hit him so hard; he''s not our client anymore," the sergeant said.


    "What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.


    "He has a gold status with Trauma Team. It''s easier to let them take him than deal with the paperwork and courts for the next month," the sergeant explained.


    "But he broke the law, used a weapon, and possibly killed someone," I objected.


    "You''re new, but we have our ways here. Understand, we''re limited in every way. If he killed someone, we''ll charge him and lock him up, but otherwise, we''re powerless," he said, moving towards the makeshift barricade and peeking behind it. "Rookie, get the first aid kit; a couple of bullets hit this poor guy."


    Approaching, I saw a bleeding man holding his leg. The injury didn''t seem serious. Taking a medication from the bag, I administered it to him.


    "Okay, we''ve stabilized your condition. Do you have Trauma Team insurance?" the sergeant asked.


    "Yes, yes, I do. They''re already on their way," he replied.


    "Good, our job here is done. We just need to wait for Trauma Team to arrive, and then we can leave," the sergeant said.


    A girl lying on one of the couches caught my attention. Something was clearly wrong with her. She was covered with only a small sheet. Approaching her, I connected the analyzing module. The scan revealed numerous drugs in her system, her condition critical due to a severe overdose. It wasn''t hard to guess what had happened here. A couple of corporate folks decided to have some fun and found a victim to pump full of drugs, and the conflict was the least that could have happened under the influence of alcohol and drugs. Maybe they fought over who would be first.


    " What do we do with her?" I asked, unsure of what to do.


    "We''re not an ambulance. She doesn''t have insurance and can''t afford medical services," the sergeant replied. I realized that money dictated everything in this city. Leaving the girl to die just because she couldn''t pay for our help? Taking out a detox medication, I administered it to her.


    "All medicines and supplies used off-duty will be deducted from your salary," said the sergeant standing beside me.


    "I don''t care," I replied.


    "Got it. Don''t forget to take her with you and bring her home. Otherwise, your help will be for nothing: as soon as we leave, there will be those who''ll pump her full of drugs again," said the sergeant.


    I looked at her details.


    Name: Miranda Hill


    Age: 21


    Place of Work: "Pink Dolphin"


    Position: Escort


    Crimes: Fraud, robbery


    Marital Status: No information


    Recommendation: Do not intervene


    With additional information, I found her address. She lived in the poorest areas of Heywood. A few minutes later, operatives burst into the room. Their equipment was clearly better than the police''s. It was strange that they were better armed than my commander. He had only a small pistol, while they had grenades, assault rifles, and armor.


    Two operatives with small cases ran to the fallen troublemakers and began stabilizing their condition. The rest surrounded them with weapons, keeping an eye on the perimeter.


    "Officer, was the client Peter Johnson the instigator of the conflict?" one of them asked, approaching the sergeant.


    "Correct," the sergeant confirmed.


    "His gold card status will be revoked, and future insurance costs will increase by 40 percent," he said. It wasn''t clear why we needed this information.


    After administering several medical preparations, they placed them on stretchers and quickly started to carry them out.


    "That''s it, let''s go," the sergeant said.


    I lifted the girl, carefully wrapping her in a cloth, and followed. I couldn''t leave her here. Though I wasn''t a Samaritan, it was hard for me to accept such inhumanity in modern society. Just leaving someone to die¡ªhow could that be right? Then again, who was I kidding? This kind of thing happened in my time too, but now it''s all out in the open, with no pretense or cover.