Chapter 4

In 2075, on an unspecified day, an incident prompted a rapid NCPD response to a general store in Republic East, Santo Domingo.

According to a customer who called it in and was later questioned, the scene inside was a massacre.

Nearby surveillance cameras had been destroyed the day before—likely by local Six Street thugs—so the only footage recovered was from inside the store. But it captured nothing of the actual attack.

The victims: five known Six Street punks. Cause of death: dismemberment by extreme heat.

The state of the bodies was beyond horrific—data unrecoverable, limbs severed with brutal precision. The assailant’s ruthlessness was evident.

No suspects were seen fleeing the scene. The case was filed under the NCPD’s unsolved database.

"This the chip with the whole incident on it?"

"Yes, Wakako-sama. It’s from one of our union members stationed for surveillance. There are two files: normal speed and a slow-motion version."

"Fast work. Good. Back to your post."

"Yes, excuse me."

After sending the Tyger Claws operative out of her office, Wakako slotted the chip into the port at her neck.

The image flickering across her retina showed the general store where the group that killed Masahiro often loitered. At first, it was just a normal, dull afternoon—nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, seconds later, a Delamain cab pulled up. The back door opened.

No one got out.

The door soon closed again, and the vehicle drove off—like someone had just stepped out for a breath of fresh air and quietly moved on.

Moments later, a young man approached the shop. He peeked inside, then immediately fell on his rear and started screaming.

The video lasted less than a minute. Judging by this alone, it looked like someone had stumbled onto the aftermath, mere seconds after the crime.

Then the same video began again—but this time, from the moment the Delamain cab’s door opened, it played in slow motion.

It looked like something out of a storyboard: frame by frame, a girl in black overalls with short black hair and crimson eyes darted into the store.

One punk barely caught in the camera’s angle was shown cloaked in a pale blue-white arc—his body and tech split apart, replaced in an instant with a butchered corpse.

She moved through them, one by one. By the time she was done, the girl exited through the front entrance like nothing had happened and got back into the rear seat of the cab.

The entire act—beginning to end—took less than three seconds.

Standard monowires can be fitted with electrical mods, turning them into tech-whips that damage machines and drones. But this one was different. The blue-white heat trail, the way it cut—this was an ultra-heated superconductive monowire, plasma-grade temperatures.

What appeared on the footage was a prototype military-grade monowire. A single-molecule cutter, superheated in an instant through superconductive energy.

No off-the-shelf tech worn on the wrist could produce that level of output. The girl had likely chromed her entire right arm.

And that kind of gear—a minor should never be using it in the first place.

Wakako let out a long sigh and rubbed the corners of her eyes.

"Haaah… What a bizarre piece of gear she’s gone and attached to herself. Ain’t something a street doc should even be touchin’. That’s the kind of hardware a first-rate merc’s supposed to run."

And the fact that the one wielding it had a Sandevistan Mk.4 implant only added to the gravity of the situation.

The Mk.5 is the only upgrade beyond it—and those only exist in two forms: Tian-T’s Warp Dancer and Militech’s Falcon.

Top-of-the-line, both of them. Not only rare, but they require compatibility most people don’t have. They’re practically nonexistent on the street.

The Mk.4, despite being a generation behind, still qualifies as specialist-grade. It’s rare and priced accordingly.

"…Really, where the hell did that kid get her hands on that?"

Even Wakako, with all her pull, had a hell of a time getting her hands on just one unit. For Jugra to already have it… was beyond explanation.

Which meant, realistically, the only people who could defend against Jugra in a fight… would need a Sandevistan Mk.4 at the very least.

The Sandevistan is the pinnacle of spinal reflex boosters. It chooses its user. Many who attempt to use it fall into cyberpsychosis—or worse.

Most available on the market are Mk.1 through Mk.3. And the higher the number, the rarer—and more dangerous—the implant becomes.

Because of that, there was no way Jugra was going to spend her life as just a ripperdoc.

This latest incident had made that much clear—even to Wakako.

And then, of course, there was the fact that Jugra wasn’t a netrunner. She was a techie.

You could analog-lock a system to avoid being hacked remotely, but netrunners had a whole ecosystem of tools and backdoors at their disposal.

It was even possible—just maybe—that the data on the chip she had just watched had already been cloned during the time she’d taken to review it.

Whether Jugra could remain just a ripperdoc from here on out… depended entirely on her.

But Wakako doubted it.

"In that case… I’m gonna have to think this through, huh…"

If anyone could still lay the tracks for where Jugra was headed, it was Wakako.

Just by allowing Jugra to operate under the Tyger Claws’ name, Wakako essentially owned her. Legally? No. But practically? Close enough.

And yet, Wakako couldn’t bring herself to make a decision.

Because deep down… she’d grown fond of Jugra.

Still mulling it over as she flipped through paperwork on her desk, a new message arrived in Wakako’s inbox.

The sender: Regina Jones, a younger fixer working out of Watson.

Upon reading it, Wakako nodded. "Yeah. This one’s meant for me."

――A research initiative to uncover the mechanisms of cyberpsychosis. Recruiting researchers.

The offer: bring Jugra onboard, or ask for her cooperation in the study. She was known as a miracle-working ripper, after all. Some even called her a resurrectionist—one who could bring the dead back to life.

Who wouldn’t want a name like hers in their research?

"…Hmph. Not a bad offer at all. The threat of cyberpsychosis never disappears. Especially not for someone like Jugra, running around with gear like that."

She called Jugra, who had apparently shut her shop early, according to a report from a subordinate.

Normally, Jugra would pick up by the third ring. This time, it took ten. Wakako found herself worried.

『…m’ello, whozit』

But the half-mumbled, drowsy voice that came back was clearly from someone freshly woken up.

Considering her age, it made sense. After a battlefield like that, anyone would want a deep, dreamless sleep. Wakako could relate.

Satisfied that there was nothing to worry about, Wakako softened her voice, speaking with the gentle warmth of a doting aunt.

『Sorry to wake you, Jug. Masahiro’s revenge—how’d it go?』

『Mmm… nuthin’ much. Heard revenge was supposed to feel good, but… just felt like I wasted time on a buncha losers.』

『That so. Well, I’m sure Masahiro’s smiling, getting avenged by such a cute girl.』

『…Dunno. Dad wasn’t really into fighting. Anyway, that’s not why you holo’d me, is it? This about work?』

『You got me. Got a request addressed to a prodigy ripperdoc from Watson’s fixer. Wanna hear it?』

After Wakako’s question, there was a short silence. Then, the sound of someone drinking—Wakako figured Jugra had just downed a cup of imported coffee.

Jugra despised synthetic blends. No matter how expensive, she’d only drink the real, imported stuff. She’d once said she'd rather gnaw on tree roots than drink that sludgy swill.

『Hm. Do I even get a say in this? Why bother asking?』

『Because you’re our poster girl—and our exclusive ripper. If you’re gonna be off doing something else, you’ll have to shave that time off your days off, yeah?』

『…Huh. Well, I’ll think about it. Depends on what it is. If it’s fieldwork near the frontlines patching up gangers during turf wars, I’m out.』

『Hahaha, not that kind of job. The client’s Regina Jones—used to be a freelance reporter.』

『Regina Jones? …If it’s a ripperdoc gig, then it’s about cyberpsychosis research, isn’t it?』

Wakako was secretly grateful this was a holo-call. No need for Jugra to see the sour twist of her lips.

She had long since been astonished by the hidden information routes Jugra tapped into. That she could guess the contents of a fixer’s job just from a name—it was beyond impressive. Even the Sandevistan Mk.4… all of it showed just how much Jugra kept off Wakako’s radar.

Keeping her voice calm, Wakako continued:

『Sharp as ever, Jug. Seems the lady’s looking for researchers to help study cyberpsychosis. Wants you onboard. You can go in person or cooperate remotely. What’ll it be?』

『Huh. So that’s how all this ties together… Fine. I’ll do it. Tell her I’ll help out—just send me a live cyberpsycho and I’ll treat 'em. I’ll send over reports in proper format.』

That answer made Wakako question whether Jugra was in her right mind.

Cyberpsychosis was still mostly uncharted territory. And Jugra was asking for patients likely to go berserk?

Still, she was a techie. It wouldn’t be strange for her to craft her own custom chair before day one. And after that brutal skirmish, Jugra’s horizons had clearly expanded.

She had killed—and she had done so with the calm, precision efficiency of a professional solo. Her talent was unmistakable, the kind of raw brilliance that could turn into gold—or something even rarer.

『I see. Just be careful, Jug. I’ll pass your answer along to the client.』

『Yeah, thanks. Honestly, I’d been meaning to dive into cyberpsychosis research anyway. This one’s perfect timing.』

『…That so? Pretty heavy stuff just for a hobby.』

Wakako’s perfectly reasonable comment earned her a dry laugh on the other end. Which only deepened her confusion.

The word “cyberpsychosis” reminded Wakako of a small but recent incident—the reason Masahiro had passed his duties to his daughter in the first place.

One of the Tyger Claws’ younger punks had gotten illegal chrome installed by a back-alley ripper. The fool had shown signs of cyberpsychosis—right inside Glakker.

Masahiro had broken his arm dealing with that. Chose natural healing over surgery, got it set in a cast.

But maybe this wasn’t about that. Maybe this was fallout from Jugra getting that military-grade monowire implant. A side effect she was trying to anticipate. A preemptive investment, in case she herself lost control someday.

Jugra had a kind of insight that didn’t match her age. Her way of thinking—calm, precise—carried a weight most adults couldn’t fake.

That alone made her hard to deal with.

But maybe that was what Wakako liked about her. Like a stray kitten that wouldn’t come when called—but somehow wormed its way into your heart anyway.

『Well, I’ll get one of the rooms refitted when I’ve got time. Since I’m already up, I’ll start today. Should take a few days. I already had a room prepped to restrain Dad in case his depression took a turn, so just needs a few changes.』

Wakako chuckled softly, shoulders lifting in admiration at the girl’s foresight.

Masahiro had been deeply loved. That much was clear from Jugra’s voice alone.

After ending the call, Wakako took a long, deep breath and lit a cigar.

It was a gift—a pricey one—and she smoked it without much ceremony, blowing it out like she was tossing the day aside.

Then she sent her reply to Regina.

"Maybe I’ll turn in early tonight," she muttered, tucking away the last of her papers and locking the drawer shut.