Cyberpunk: The Relentless

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The steel flechettes that pelted Adam Smasher rang out like metallic hail as they struck his alloy frame. In the clash between dense armor and high-velocity piercing rounds, it was obvious who came out on top—Smasher's plating didn't budge. But even a point-blank tech shotgun blast wasn't without consequences.

The synthetic flesh that clung to his face—likely kept just to simulate some trace of humanity—was now shredded. He looked like a mechanical corpse that had just clawed its way out of a grave, with scraps of rotting meat still stuck to his chrome skull.

"I'm gonna blast your fucking brains out."

Pain was meaningless to Smasher. His chrome frame was loaded with cyberware—so much so that even a pain editor, something most mercs wouldn't dare install, was standard for him. But it wasn't pain that fueled his fury.

It was humiliation. Repeated, direct, personal humiliation.

He'd never taken Karl's team seriously. At best, he gave Karl a passing nod due to the guy's unique profile—but the others? Nobodies. Insects. And yet here they were, landing hits, making him bleed. Again.

When was the last time anyone had even hurt Adam Smasher?

Now, his rage turned his vision red.

He activated Berserk Mode.

When it came to chrome, no one outdid Smasher. Where most humans could barely handle a single high-load operating system like Sandevistan, Smasher's fully mechanical body could integrate multiple OSs with ease.

Now, with his Armor Regeneration Matrix online, even the smallest scrapes and tears were already sealing themselves.

Self-repair alloy tech—normally reserved for aerospace-grade gear or elite military systems due to its absurd cost—was just another standard module in Smasher's body. That's who he was.

Just like all the so-called "rare" mercs he'd crushed before, who thought they were special… they all became another notch in his legend.

And these clowns would be no different.

Smasher raised his arm. A missile launched from the retractable grenade system in his mechanical forearm—headed straight for Jack. At the same time, twin auto-turrets popped out from his shoulders and began unloading rounds at V and Karl.

A one-man armory wasn't just a nickname for Adam Smasher. Even without his usual handheld weapons, the firepower baked into his body could flatten squads.

The blasts ripped through rocks, structures, and terrain—but not one shot touched Karl's crew. Against other targets, this might've been overkill. But against top-tier mercs? It was just noise.

They'd all survived gunfire and warzones. If you couldn't dodge this kind of crap, you should've died years ago in some alley trying to rob a booster.

But dodging still meant moving—and that was what Smasher really wanted.

As he retracted his forearm launcher, the turrets kept up their barrage. Smasher stomped once, hard.

His legs—fitted with high-power jump boosters—could've launched him into the sky. But instead, he angled them down and forward.

Dash Mode.

His blood-red gaze locked on Karl.

The others? Just distractions. Annoying, yes—but not threats.

Karl was the threat.

Once Karl was down, he'd deal with the rest at his leisure.

BOOM.

Smasher vanished from his position with a sonic blast and reappeared beside Karl mid-dodge.

Both fists clenched, hydraulics hissing from the pressure, Smasher raised them over his head and brought them down in a crushing blow.

Red eyes met startled blue.

And the fists fell.

Karl didn't know exactly how much force was behind that strike, but he knew enough—getting clipped might leave his body twisted into meat ribbons.

Back during their last fight, he wouldn't have stood a chance. But now?

His legs—rebuilt, retooled—fired.

With a twist and a step, Karl dropped his weight to the right. The Reinforced Tendon Implants hissed, blasting compressed air to shift his entire body mid-movement—just enough.

BOOM.

The ground cracked open from the impact.

Chunks of earth exploded outward like shotgun pellets. The force of the shockwave alone sent Karl flying back. He landed hard, his body staggering through the grit.

He raised his arms to shield his face, but the chunks hit him in the stomach—his insides churning.

And as the dust settled, he barely lowered his arms before—

Smasher was already there.

That hulking frame. That inhuman speed.

The moment Karl's vision cleared, even slightly—Smasher was right in front of him. A fist the size of a cinder block came crashing down, aimed to smash his skull into paste.

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🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless

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