My Girlfriend’s a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

"This is your local news update."

"Recently, multiple Militech convoys were attacked along Highways 121 and 146. A Militech spokesperson stated that these incidents are likely acts of sabotage by rival factions. The company has vowed to deploy all necessary resources to ensure convoy security and to crush these criminal plots with overwhelming force…"

Lucky and Mower sat side by side at the bar in the Afterlife, bored, watching the news anchor read from the teleprompter with mechanical enthusiasm.

In front of Lucky was a glass of orange juice that had Claire visibly annoyed—not because of the two straws sticking out of it, but because the two of them had nearly drained the stock of juice she used for Screwdrivers.

"No more refills," Claire warned while mixing drinks for other patrons.

"This weather? Ice-cold OJ is heaven," Lucky said, slurping the last of it before Mower could, leaving just a few orange-tinted ice cubes glistening in the glass.

Mower poked him silently in the ribs.

"I'm done. Come over," came the long-awaited voice in his earpiece.

It was Rogue—tone unreadable, as always.

An old man emerged from Rogue's booth and briefly locked eyes with Lucky.

He looked like any other elderly guy—nothing out of the ordinary. Which, in Night City, made him rare. Most people didn't live long enough to get old.

There was nothing unusual in his weathered eyes, but Lucky's instincts were screaming that something was off.

He wore a faded dark suit, worn thin from age, yet it fit him perfectly—neither too loose nor too tight. The pale fabric pattern evoked a bygone era—something out of the 1960s or 70s.

If V or Jackie were here, they'd probably think "retro 2000s." That was their nostalgia.

His hair was mostly white, with scattered black strands like lost children. He was hunched, his posture slightly bent—but his gait was brisk and steady, far more solid than his appearance let on.

As the old man disappeared out the Afterlife's door, Lucky met Mower's gaze. They shared that silent look that said, You noticed it too, right? That guy's weird.

"Hey, choom," Lucky greeted the towering bouncer known as Pangolin. The man nodded and stepped aside to clear the path to Rogue's booth.

Back during the Jackson Plains op, where they'd teamed up with the Aldecaldos, they'd earned a bit of mutual trust.

"Who was that old guy?" Lucky asked, settling into the booth. Rogue sipped her drink in silence.

"Business contact. You'll meet him eventually."

Rogue didn't elaborate—clearly, she wasn't in the mood.

"Alright, let's talk shop then," Lucky said with a smirk.

"Got some good news about Rockman Tech," Rogue said, pulling a red-glowing shard from the port on the back of her neck and handing it to him.

"You're not doing that 'good news, bad news' crap, are you?" Lucky joked, slotting the shard into his PDA. "That shtick is ancient."

The screen flickered on. Only a handful of files appeared.

"I'm not being mysterious. You taught me this—leave a little mystery."

Rogue was in rare form—light banter and all.

"The good news is: Rockman Tech is real. My intel crew found a reference to it buried in Militech's encrypted archives."

The reference was shockingly bare—just a single mention in the header of a fragmented comm log. Not even a proper report.

"That's it? No context? Just that?" Lucky frowned.

This wasn't like Rogue. Her info was usually sharp and thorough.

"They're people, not miracle workers," Rogue said evenly. "This is top-tier Militech black-level encryption. We got lucky to find anything."

"Fair," Lucky sighed. "At least we know it's tied to Militech."

He kept scrolling. "And the rest of this?"

"Take a look."

She gestured casually.

It was a heavily condensed Militech cargo manifest—trimmed and annotated to highlight key items.

Two months ago, Militech convoys started hauling new classified packages—entries labeled as "unknown." Nothing too suspicious at first glance—could've been a contract update.

But cross-referencing the convoy manifests, they found a match: one such shipment had arrived in Night City the same day Lucky hijacked that transport.

The implication was obvious.

"Okay… so I've got the goods. But what the hell are they? Who made them?"

"We'd need to start at Militech's logistics centers. My people found no trail. Either it was routed through channels we can't access, or it was never logged properly in the first place."

Even Rogue had hit a dead end. A frustrating cliffhanger in a mystery just getting good.

The cargo had been shipped from a Militech logistics hub somewhere in former Mexican territory—now a corporate backyard.

Lucky remembered the place. News reports had mentioned Militech building new factories there for material extraction using cutting-edge tech.

Those armored fiber plates in the crates? Likely from that very factory. Military-grade base materials, shipped to Night City for refinement.

But that alone wouldn't make it classified.

Rockman Tech—that was the real reason.

"The deeper we dig, the murkier it gets," Lucky muttered, rubbing his face.

He'd never even left Night City. The thought of chasing ghosts across borders made his head ache.

"So… you gonna tell me how this connects to the relic?"

Rogue didn't answer right away. She probably didn't know either. Still, nothing seemed to faze her.

Lucky frowned, lost in thought. Then gave up.

"I think there's something implanted in my head."

He leaned in, voice low. "It's weird. I don't know what it is."

"It doesn't respond to commands. It just… activates. The first time was before I got to Night City. I was wounded, with V. I remember hearing stuff—rollback, access levels…"

"The second time was after Konpeki Plaza. The relic container had been damaged by Arasaka goons. Should've been toast—zero percent integrity. But when I slotted it into my PDA, the system booted up. Said it could repair the chip."

"And that's how Johnny happened."

[Hold up—what?! That's how I got out?!] Johnny blurted, shuddering even in his digital form.

"I didn't know what the hell was happening," Lucky said, ignoring the outburst. "I honestly thought I was going cyberpsycho. Or hallucinating."

"So that glitchy thing in your skull told you to come to me?" Rogue folded her arms.

"More or less," Lucky nodded. "After Evelyn got nabbed by the Scavs, I dealt with that, then Moko's relapse hit. Took her to a ripper, then figured I needed real answers—so I came to you."

They hadn't struck it rich from stealing the relic. Instead, they'd gotten caught in the chaos left by Saburo Arasaka's sudden death.

Luckily, Yorinobu had his hands full consolidating power—too busy to chase down nobodies like them.

"Then came the third and final time," Lucky said. "After we hit the Militech convoy and took the crates."

Rogue arched an eyebrow.

"We didn't know what was inside. But when we opened one up, that system triggered again—'Unknown device detected.'"

It turned out to be Rockman Tech leg augments.

"I checked my legs… looked normal."

The tech had auto-installed—seamlessly integrating into his body. It disappeared beneath the skin before they could even react.

With this, Rogue became the third person to know the full truth.

Johnny was the fourth.

Even with their experience, Rogue and Johnny were stunned.

[Chrome's come that far? May as well skip the implants and just be born a robot.]

Johnny's sarcasm wasn't without merit.

Cyberware had evolved. First limbs, then skin, veins, organs…

It had become more than survival—it was now a lifestyle.

In this society, chrome was culture.

Like Viktor always said: mercs dressed themselves up in the newest flash like cyber peacocks. Look sharp, get work.

Because looking the part was half the game.

But as the old saying goes: Style without substance is just noise.

The reverse was true, too.

Upgrading the body was one thing. Push it too far, and you're a cyberpsycho.

But RELIC 2.0? That was different.

It didn't just replace flesh. It replaced minds. Souls.

In a world where everything could be quantified, monetized, modified, and sold… these "cyber new humans"—

Could we still call them human?

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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

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