Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 801, Section 11: Pensions and Loyalty
Under Carl's gaze, the members of the Terrorist Mobile Squad who were standing still did not hesitate for long.

As the first group of teammates roared and charged toward Karl, commands and instructions for the operation quickly rang out from behind their masks, and then they began to move.

Will they choose to join their teammates in an attempt to attack Carl and his group?

No.

These members of the terrorist mobile unit, who still maintained a semblance of rationality, did not forget their duties.

What are their responsibilities?

Violence begets violence; solve cyberpsychosis.

Does cyberpsychosis exist now?
Have.

The indoor light, which changed color, cast blood-red spots on the uniforms of the terrorist mobile team, and their figures flickered like death amidst the smoke and gunfire.

"Use violence to combat violence and solve cyberpsychosis"—this duty, which every member of the Violent Terrorist Mobile Unit remembers when joining, is burning in their minds at this moment.

Does cyberpsychosis exist now?

The mask scanner's answer was cold and definitive: Yes.

Beneath those same tactical helmets, the once-familiar call tolls are turning into frantic screams.

But so what? For the Terrorist Mobile Unit, dealing with a crazed teammate is as routine as replacing a damaged prosthetic body. Their recording chips store hundreds of similar cleanup records, each one as precise as removing defective products on an assembly line.

Even if the number of out-of-control cyberpsychotics breaks historical records tonight, the Terrorist Mobile Team's fingers remain as steady as a precise hydraulic machine, without the slightest tremor.

Their figures were swallowed up by the optical camouflage, turning into a blurry, distorted mass of light and shadow. Only when the mantis knife was extended did its blade reflect a cold, deadly glint under the neon lights—and even faster than the blade was the smart submachine gun that had already locked on.

Before the buzzing of the locked barrel had even faded, the bullet had already torn through the air.

The bullets seemed to be imbued with a malicious life, automatically avoiding friendly units in their trajectory, and then, like flies attracted by blood, frantically "attached" to the body of the cyber psychopath.

Each bullet precisely targets the cervical spine, brainstem, or heart—all the fatal points marked in the manual. The muffled thuds of bullets hitting flesh and bulletproof vests blend together, like raindrops pounding on a car roof.

This was an "internal purge" destined to be recorded in the files of the Terrorist Mobile Squad, no, the NCPD.

The actions of the Terrorist SWAT team now reveal its true nature: they are living weapons forged in Night City, hyenas that prey on cyberpsychotics.

Once they've identified the target as a cyberpsychotic, they'll begin their operation—without hesitation, without error, just a precise, assembly-line-like deadly strike.

However, this time, the intelligent bullets that were supposed to reap lives instead struck the target with a series of ear-piercing metallic explosions—sparkling fire leaped on the bulletproof armor, but could not tear through that deadly defense.

These cyberpsychotics were, after all, former members of the violent terrorist mobile unit. They were wearing military-grade bulletproof vests and had military-grade subcutaneous armor implanted under their skin.

Those bullets, which would have easily taken down street thugs and cyber lunatics, seemed to have hit an invisible iron wall, leaving only shallow dents on the armor surface before bouncing away powerlessly.

But the Terrorist Mobile Unit had anticipated this, so they targeted the gaps in the cyberpsychotics' defenses.

Both sides knew each other too well, even the flaws in each other's clothing and the areas that were not protected.

Bullets exploded against the body armor, sending up a shower of blue-purple sparks. A series of bullets struck the throat armor seam of a cybernetic psychopath, scattering metal fragments. A twisted, maniacal laugh echoed from beneath the tactical helmet. The madman, who had initially focused his killing intent solely on KK and his group, now sensed another threat emanating from the Terrorist Mobile Team. He whirled around, his prosthetic eye beneath the helmet flashing a crimson light—

In that instant, the air around him suddenly distorted.

A figure that had been maintaining optical camouflage suddenly appeared, its mantis knife on its arm springing out like a venomous snake, flashing cold light, and piercing directly into the chest of the cyber psychiatrist from behind.

Military-grade body armor and subcutaneous armor are indeed highly effective against bullets and blunt force, and can even withstand the slashing of ordinary sharp weapons—but these defenses are still too weak against the Mantis Knife specially made by the Terrorist Mobile Team.

With a muffled thud as the blade pierced the torso, blood gushed out from the blood drain groove of the mantis knife.

Ironically, this knife wasn't even standard issue for the Terrorist Mobile Unit; it was the 'Sunset' Mantis Knife, a weapon honed on the streets for years, which this member had been using before joining—now the perfect tool for eliminating his own out-of-control brethren.

As this member of the terrorist squad executed her 'kind,' she glanced in Karl's direction, and Karl understood the emotion in her turned head.

It seems that some people still don't intend to be fired, demonstrating their loyalty.

This saves Karl from having to worry too much.

At that very moment, a distorted light flashed across the edge of Carl's retina.

Almost simultaneously, his figure blurred for a moment like a holographic image with a poor signal—a mantis blade gleaming with a cold, eerie blue light slashed across where his throat had been, the resulting wind pressure ruffling a strand of black hair on his forehead.

“The same old trick.” As they passed each other, Karl extended his right hand, his five slender fingers unfolding as gracefully as a pianist’s opening move.

The single-molecule line that popped out from the wrist drew an almost invisible silver arc in the air. Amidst the subtle hum of the air being torn apart, the figure who relied on optical camouflage to launch a sneak attack suddenly froze.

As Karl closed his five fingers, a tremor, like the sudden stop of some kind of precision machinery, came from his palm.

The cyber psychopath was still in a forward-leaning posture, the cut on his neck as clean as if it were the result of laser surgery—what Carl was holding in his hand was a head with only the prosthetic eye still functioning. His scarlet prosthetic eye was still spinning wildly, and his teeth made a 'clicking' noise as they opened and closed.

"Hello," Karl greeted the head softly, the monomolecular thread at his fingertips threading into the access point on the head. "Goodbye."

Carl manually erased the cyberpsychotic's job record, leaving his service history in the Terrorist Mobile Unit as yesterday.

As for today?

He was fired yesterday, so what does that have to do with him today?

I've heard that some cyberpsychotics do have families—if they weren't all killed by him during his madness, then his contributions to the Terrorist Mobile Unit during his service cannot be ignored.

"I will send a compensation payment to your family, although I don't know if they will receive it."

Carl didn't explain the situation regarding the deceased Cyber ​​Mentally Illness, whether he had any family members or received any compensation.

After all, he can still come up with some money.

Since they'll all be working for the NCPD from now on, they'll be his people. And since they're on his side, the compensation should naturally be paid.

(End of this chapter)