CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

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"I'm covered in blood again."

Karl wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed. "When will humanity evolve to not splatter blood when shot in the head?"

"This…"

The middle-aged police officer, who had just stepped out from behind a bunker, froze in disbelief. He had rushed out to stop Karl—a young man—from running to his death. Yet, now he stood seven or eight meters away, stunned by what had just unfolded.

A cyberpsycho their NCPD unit couldn't handle had been neutralized.

And it had taken only one encounter?

Still trying to process this, the officer blurted out, "Are you… okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine."

Retracting the monomolecular wire, Karl clipped it back to his waist. Without hesitation, he squatted down and began rummaging through the cyberpsycho's pockets.

"What are you doing?" the officer asked, approaching cautiously.

"Searching for money. What else?"

Karl gave the officer a sideways glance, as though baffled by the question. Had this guy never searched a body before?

After a quick and practiced search, Karl frowned. The cyberpsycho was surprisingly poor—not even a single euro to his name.

But then Karl's fingers brushed against something. Pulling it out, he found a chip.

Interesting.

Without missing a beat, Karl slipped the chip into his sleeve, ensuring the motion went unnoticed. Rising to his feet, he turned to the officer and pointed at the body.

"How much is the bounty on him? Didn't NCPD issue one yesterday? I took care of him, so let's settle this."

"Uh…"

The officer, still a bit dazed, signaled to his colleagues that Karl wasn't a threat. Then, checking the bounty records, he replied, "Patrick Bell. The bounty is 10,000 euros, dead or alive."

"Only 10,000 euros?" Karl sounded unimpressed.

The officer finally pieced it together—this young man had to be a mercenary. Only mercenaries cared more about the payout than the risk.

Perhaps it was the fact that Karl had saved his life, or maybe it was the mercenary's unusual politeness, but the officer explained, "The bounty is low because it was only issued recently. If you'd waited a few more days, it might've gone up."

"How much could it have increased?"

"Based on past cases…" The officer paused, estimating. If a cyberpsycho equipped with a Dinaras Sianwistan Type 1, Mantis Blades, and subdermal armor had escaped and continued killing, evading capture until the NCPD's mobile strike team got involved…

"It could've exceeded 100,000 euros."

Karl raised an eyebrow, glancing at the corpse. "That's quite a jump. Much better returns than the euro itself."

"The Sianwistan alone would cost 75,000 euros brand new," the officer noted. "And that doesn't include the recyclable prosthetics like the Mantis Blades or subdermal armor."

Karl's gaze lingered on the body. "So, can I—"

"The body has to go back to the NCPD," the officer interrupted. "Patrick Bell was a security officer for Arasaka Corporation. According to his pre-death contract, all his prosthetics and personal savings belong to Arasaka after his death."

"Typical corporate nonsense."

Karl wasn't surprised to learn the man had signed away his rights. Sianwistan prosthetics weren't exactly affordable for ordinary people. Most users had contracts tying their cyberware to corporations in life—and in death.

"Well, nothing left for me here."

Karl glanced around as more NCPD officers arrived to secure the scene, setting up a light cordon. Turning back to the officer, he asked, "What's your name? I'll need your contact for the bounty transfer."

"Don't worry," the officer replied. "It'll be transferred by this afternoon at the latest."

The officer quickly sent his contact details to Karl, and Karl learned his name: Johnson.

"Thanks, Mr. Johnson. If anything else comes up, let me know. I'm always happy to help the NCPD—as long as the pay's good."

Karl had noticed Johnson earlier, during the fight. He'd seen the officer try to help, rushing forward to assist despite the danger. Whether out of duty or courage, Karl respected the gesture, hence his unusually polite tone.

"I haven't been called 'Mr.' in years," Johnson muttered with a wry smile.

As Karl waved goodbye and walked off, Johnson watched him go, a faint smile on his face. "Maybe this city still has something to look forward to."

"Officer Johnson, you need to sign the incident report."

"Right, I'm on my way."

---

Ten minutes later, back at Arasaka Corporation headquarters, a man in their special strike team received word of Patrick's death.

"Patrick's been dealt with," a subordinate reported.

The man glanced at the notification briefly before dismissing it.

"I thought, as a fellow member of the Tiger Claw Gang, he'd make a decent subordinate. But it seems he was just another disappointment."

Setting aside the report, the man opened another document on his screen.

"Volunteer candidates for the Sianwistan self-development program?"

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