Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 679, Section 93: The Rematch with ACPA

As for ACPA, Carl had a very deep impression of it.

After all, everyone who loses their hands because of something will have some impression of it, not to mention that Carl later got an ACPA to study. Although Carl's understanding of ACPA might not be completely thorough due to factors such as model and type, he is indeed the person who knows ACPA best in the team.

Carl was actually quite surprised when he noticed the noise coming from the boxes containing ACPA.

It wasn't that he hadn't expected the ACPAs in the box to actually have a driver sitting inside, enduring the transport without saying a word, but rather that he hadn't expected the ACPAs to react so slowly.

Yes, slow.

According to Karl's research, ACPA should only take a few breaths—about three to four seconds—to be fully operational. Some modified ACPAs can even start moving instantly after activation, under the pilot's control. However, more than ten seconds have passed since the shooting and the assassins' actions before Karl heard the ACPA in the box start up.

If this were an assassination attempt, it would be quite illogical, as it would take too long and lack any sense of surprise. However, if you think about it again, the real assassins were indeed the group outside, and the three ACPAs transported in the box were just for safety, which seems quite reasonable.

Since they were originally intended as backup and preventative personnel, and were only accepted after the assassination squad's assassination attempt failed, it makes sense if the two were under different orders.

In other words, their squad channels might not be connected, so it was only after the assassin squad had been operating for about ten seconds that the ACPA inside noticed the commotion, consulted their superiors, or rather, took action under the orders of their leader.

"Thorn-"

A sharp metallic tearing sound pierced the air, and Karl looked up, his pupils serious.

The transport vessel before them, the reinforced metal box used to carry ACPA mechs and heavy weapons, was being violently torn apart like fragile tin foil.

The alloy steel plates of the box wall twisted and broke with a piercing groan, a hideous crack bursting from the inside, scattering debris everywhere.

Immediately afterwards, a crimson-painted mechanical hand emerged abruptly from the dark box. As its five fingers spread out, the hydraulic joints emitted a low hum. It casually rested on the edge of the crack, its fingertips digging into the steel plate, as if it were not a military-grade alloy that had undergone ballistic testing, but merely a piece of waste paper soaked in rainwater.

"Creak—crash!!"

Without the slightest hesitation, the mechanical arm yanked downwards, and the entire box wall, like flesh torn apart by the claws of a giant beast, snapped completely amidst a tooth-grinding metallic twisting sound. Karl could even see sparks flashing at the broken surface, and the exposed steel rods twitching like dying worms.

Karl's heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if trying to break free of the cage of his ribs.

He clutched his heart slightly.

To be honest, the emotions rising in Karl's heart right now are very clear, so clear that he can understand what he is thinking at this moment.

fear.

The feeling that arose in him was fear.

The past experience is like fireflies scattered across the fields of the heart, dispersing like starlight with a gentle touch.

Phantom pain.

A strange phantom pain made Karl instinctively clench his fist.

He still harbored some fear of the ACPA because of his past experience of losing a hand and nearly dying.

He did indeed still harbor that fear within him.

The ACPA mech before him was slowly rising from its wrecked transport container. Its hydraulic system hissed like a viper, and its scarlet paint gleamed blood-red under the stark white lights. Suddenly, its head sensor array lit up, and the hexagonal lenses contracted and focused like compound eyes, the cold red light piercing straight into Karl's retina.

It actually looks quite scary.

"call"

Karl let out a soft breath.

The medium ACPA, judging from the model number, is the same basic specialized version I've encountered before. However, this one seems to focus more on heavy armor and firepower. Judging from its limbs, its close combat ability should also be quite good.

This sense of familiarity, this subtle pain and fear.

"suck."

Karl took a breath, his eyes seeming to gleam slightly.

"This feeling is so exciting!"

Facing something that once evoked fear and pain for so long can feel surprisingly exciting, stimulating, and exhilarating.

A smile that was almost impossible to suppress was spreading across his face.

So, Carl smiled.

He laughed out loud.

“I was a little worried that if I went down there and ran into that ACPA driver who was the last one to go down, I would get beaten up by him because he could drive ACPA. But now it seems that even if he had ACPA, he would definitely not be a match for me.”

Carl recalled the person who had brought him pain and fear, but upon facing him again, that fear and pain had transformed into joy.

The joy was so clear that even the first ACPA driver to tear open the cargo box and step out could see it clearly through the sensors inside.

When the driver saw the smiling 'strange' Sixth Street gang member, his first reaction was to immediately activate the facial recognition device mounted on his armor—a device improved to counter facial projection technology developed by various companies, ensuring that the target was indeed the real person, not a holographic disguise.

Under the scanner's scan, the face of this eerie Sixth Street gang member was clearly displayed in the driver's sensors.

That face, that appearance, that smile!
There is absolutely no way it could be wrong.

The ACPA driver took a deep breath, and the mask sensed the change in his breathing and immediately released a high concentration of suppressive gas.

The cold, sedative was infused into his lungs through his trachea, quickly spreading into his bloodstream and forcefully suppressing his rapidly rising heart rate. He clenched his teeth, his knuckles turning white on the joystick, desperately trying to control the tension and fear surging in his chest.

They are war machines handpicked by the company. The daily injections of sedatives have numbed their emotions, and psychological training has suppressed their fear response to the extreme. They can remain calm amidst gunfire, execute orders precisely on the battlefield where flesh and blood fly, and even when facing death, their heart will not beat twice.

But Karl was an exception.

Death is nothing more than numbers jumping on a data panel, but the oppressive feeling that Karl brings is like an invisible hand that directly grips their brainstem.

It wasn't the fear of gun barrels or blades, but something more primal and sharp—like suddenly noticing synchronized footsteps behind you while walking alone in the dead of night, or like seeing your own face in a mirror with an unfamiliar smile.

Some fears need no reason. Just as an antelope smells a lion's scent without ever seeing its fangs.

"I'll deal with him."

The voice that suddenly came through the communication channel was like a sharp military dagger cutting through the electrical noise. It was the White Hawk Squad leader—the man codenamed 'Echo'. His voice was as calm as if he were stating tomorrow's weather, but it made the hairs on the back of the necks of the other two pilots stand on end.

“Perfect.” A hissing sound of high-pressure steam leaking from the seams of the armor, the scarlet ACPA slightly bent its knees, the military technology and New America symbols on the shoulder armor gleaming coldly: “Let me weigh how many pounds the bones of the legendary mercenary KK weigh.”

The hydraulic system emitted a low, dragon-like roar, the foot stabilizers crushed the concrete road surface, and this specially equipped ACPA, which was 30% heavier than other machines, stepped forward. A two-meter-long tungsten carbide slash extended from the left arm, and the rotating machine gun on the right wrist had already begun to pre-rotate.

The driver grinned behind his mask—a distorted smile that even neurotoxins couldn't completely suppress.

Inside his helmet was a yellowed holographic photo. In the image, young people in ACPA intern uniforms stood side by side. Sunlight streamed through the bulletproof glass of the training base, casting honeycomb-shaped spots of light on their still-youthful faces. Each of them gave the camera a standard graduation smile, the 'qualified product expression template' stipulated by the Military Technology Human Resources Department.

These smiles are now frozen in this photograph forever.

As the chief instructor of that pilot training camp, he personally pinned eagle insignia on the shoulders of twelve people, symbolizing their official graduation—including student 01, whom he was most proud of and believed could be recruited into the White Noisy Eagles later.

The hydraulic lines made a honey-like, viscous liquid flow sound; the armor's built-in stimulant injection system was pumping amber-colored combat serum into his veins. This serum could improve his nerve reactions and limb coordination by 20%, with the only side effect being subsequent nerve and limb damage.

“The lesson continues,” he said to himself in the private channel, the cold glint of his sword reflecting off the icy shell of his ACPA armor. “Today is the last lesson—”

The way to grip a knife for revenge.

This guy is very strong.

Karl could sense it.

Every movement of the opponent was carried with a breathtaking precision. It was not a mechanical rhythm that ordinary ACPA pilots could achieve, but a killing art that fused ergonomics, armor performance and battlefield intuition into one.

Carl had seen countless videos of ACPA and even disassembled ACPA himself, but he had never seen such perfect operational synchronization.

The hum of the hydraulic joints is always half a beat slower than the movement, but all the movements of this crimson machine are like a holographic projection with redundant frames cut off. The tungsten carbide sword is as light as a feather in the pilot's hands, the preheating rhythm of the rotary cannon is in sync with the breathing frequency, and even the angle adjustment of the rocket launcher on the back is as smooth as muscle memory.

—Compared to that former rival, the gap between the two is like an adult crushing a child.

To make a comparison between the two, at least four to five drivers of the same level would be needed to create the same sense of oppression, and they would have to cooperate perfectly, as if they were one person.

Upon noticing that ACPA had finally appeared, the rest of the people around him tacitly made way for Carl and this special Captain ACPA.

No one wants to be caught in the crossfire between the two sides.

The assassins knew they were facing Carl's Squad, and they understood that without overcoming Carl's Squad, they would have no chance of completing their mission.

Although this was unexpected, they had faith in their abilities.

Similarly, they also trusted the leader of their White Hawk ACPA squad, a former hero of the unification war.

Echo, a war hero of the new America, is known for his legendary feat of single-handedly defeating 27 ACPAs during the War of Unification.

To this day, both military analysts and company assessment reports list him as one of the best ACPA pilots in the new United States. Among his illustrious service record, the Battle of Blood Mist Canyon is particularly outstanding. At that time, the ACPA squad, which was on a push suppression mission, was ambushed by the Independent States Union in a narrow valley in Nevada. With all his teammates wiped out, Echo single-handedly annihilated two full-strength four-man ACPA squads.

A hero versus a legend – this is by no means a one-sided contest.

In the eyes of all ACPA pilots and assassins, even a top-notch fighter like KK would probably be no match for this war machine. After all, conventional warfare and street gunfights are worlds apart.

Carl and Echo's standoff lasted only five seconds. The two tacitly bought time for their teammates to retreat and avoid friendly fire. They both firmly believed that they could finish off the other and understood that this duel would determine the course of the entire battle. Both warriors shared the same resolve—to end the fight with minimal casualties and the fastest possible result.

The echo moved.

The crimson ACPA, like a runaway battering ram, crashed into Karl amidst the shrieks of its hydraulic system. The driver did not waste ammunition—against a target like Karl, the first round of fire suppression was often just to provide him with moving smoke. The tungsten carbide blade tore through the air, slashing down diagonally with enough kinetic energy to cleave a main battle tank.

Instead of retreating, Karl advanced.

He dodged to the side the instant the blade was about to strike, and the monomolecular wire shot out from Yi's wrist, wrapping around the hydraulic hose of ACPA's elbow joint. The friction between the metal fiber and the machine sparked dazzling sparks, and Carl used this force to leap into the air. The cleaver barely grazed his back, splitting a two-meter-long crack in the concrete wall behind Carl.

Bang-!
The EMP knife plunged deep into the seam of ACPA's shoulder armor, causing an electric arc to explode and the HUD in front of the pilot to flicker violently. However, the improved electromagnetic shielding coating developed by the latest Contau research was thicker than expected, and the system only malfunctioned for a second before returning to normal.

"Old tricks." The echo sneered. EMP protection was the most basic thing in ACPA. After quickly restarting the program, the ACPA's back rocket launcher unlocked instantly.

Karl's pupils contracted sharply.

With four high-explosive rockets igniting simultaneously, it was impossible to dodge within a distance of less than five meters. He suddenly tightened the monomolecular line, pressed his palms together, and forcefully threw himself towards ACPA's chest—the only blind spot in the rocket's trajectory.

Carl's body narrowly missed the rocket, the scorching exhaust leaving burn marks on his body armor. Accompanied by the heat and burning sensation on his back, the ACPA's metal shell rapidly magnified before his eyes—he heard the hum of the rotary cannon starting to heat up.

"Thought this was a blind spot?" The echoing voice was laced with sarcasm. Suddenly, six firing ports appeared on the ACPA chest armor, revealing the gleaming barrel array of submachine guns.

Carl twisted his body in mid-air, the monomolecular wire creaking at the joints of his prosthetic hand. The neurotoxin knife slipped from his sleeve and he caught the handle with his teeth. The submachine gun spewed fire, bullets sweeping across the ground, leaving a trail of smoking bullet holes—Carl was stuck to the ACPA's head observation window like a spider.

"boom!"

The punch, accompanied by a shrill scream of hydraulic system overload, struck ACPA's head. The armor-piercing gel rippled with the impact, and the echo's data chip calculated: Neck shock absorption coefficient, cushioning efficiency 93.7%, but impact transmission would trigger a 0.2-second visual system reset—

The ACPA's armor is very sturdy, but this doesn't prevent it from being a mid-sized ACPA. As for its protective capabilities, even with reinforcements, Karl still remembers that it cannot protect against a certain degree of point-penetration attacks.

During the visual system reset, Carl repeatedly clenched his fist as the time slowed down. As spiderweb-like cracks bloomed on the composite observation window, he saw the internal optical lens group switching to a backup view. Clearly, the pilot was close to completing the visual reset.

He then removed the small knife from his mouth, precisely wedging the tip into the crack. The pale green nerve agent, flowing through the small fissure like a bionic blood vessel, began to spread towards the core cockpit.

This toxin will enter the driver's body with the continuous injection of the drug.

After doing a lot of research on ACPA, Carl has figured out the best way to deal with ACPA.

ACPA's armor is not easy to destroy, but the pilots inside ACPA are just flesh and blood, and they are ACPA's weakness.

Once the pilot is dealt with, no matter how thick the ACPA's armor or how strong its firepower, it's nothing more than a machine that can't move.

(End of this chapter)