Chapter 633

In Night City, cyberpsycho was a title—something you had to earn.

Ordinary lunatics? Those were just poor bastards overloaded with cyberware. Even if they fried their own cortex, at most they were just walking self-destruct programs. Gang punks could clean them up easier than unjamming a vending machine.

A real cyberpsycho? That was someone who could black out an entire district, or single-handedly wipe a gang crew, or turn a ripperdoc clinic into an art installation of flesh and chrome. That level of disaster was what warranted MaxTac’s pack of cyber-psychos showing up in person.