Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: A Church Without Missionaries (3)
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Through a series of events, the church had effectively taken over security management in the surrounding districts.
As a result, they began receiving reports of various incidents from the locals and resolving them.
Among those cases were the occasional violent rampages by cybernetic addicts.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Cybernetic Rage.
A condition where excessive implants corrode the nervous system, leaving the victim unable to suppress surges of rage.
It was a rampage state that primarily afflicted elite combat mercenaries.
For ordinary back-alley residents, it was an uproar far beyond what they could handle, making it one of the quickest incidents to get reported to the church.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Sparks flew from his knee as he walked down the street, and the man staggered for a moment.
Thud-!
The thud of his body hitting the ground sounded less like flesh and more like a hefty machine clunk.
One glance revealed a frame that had endured far too many modifications.
"Ugh.... Krrgh...."
The owner of that cyberbody, Aiden, groaned on one knee.
'Not again...!'
His body had lurched on its own, as if it no longer belonged to him. He was inwardly spewing curses when it happened.
"Um.... Are you alright?"
Someone approached cautiously and spoke. It was nothing more than simple kindness.
But to Aiden, wracked by a splitting headache, that voice grated harshly against his raw nerves.
Without thinking, he lashed out with his hand.
"Get lost!"
The cyberblade embedded in his wrist snapped out, gleaming coldly as it whistled right past the stranger's nose.
Swoosh-
"Eek!"
A short scream followed, and the passerby bolted in blind panic. But it didn't end there.
A thug had whipped out a vicious blade in public, turning the area into instant pandemonium.
Shrieks from the crowd, frantic footsteps fleeing. Voices shouted from the backs of those hurrying away from him.
"C-Cybernetic Rage!"
"Kyaaah!!!"
"......."
In the eye of that storm, Aiden stared down at his trembling hands.
The cheap cyberbody, patched through countless shoddy mods, whirred and screeched in malfunction. The blade that had deployed refused to retract. Another busted part? But what shocked him most was his own action moments ago.
'Damn.... I nearly killed him.'
He couldn't believe it. And it wasn't even a mistake.
Just because someone had spoken to him—a utterly trivial trigger—murderous intent had boiled up in his mind.
Only now did he grasp how far gone his condition truly was. Dizziness hit him like vertigo.
He'd instinctively sensed his fate but could only deny it.
'No way, not yet... This isn't it.'
Honestly, he hadn't expected it to hit this hard. His morning dose of suppressants had run dry, sure... but he figured he'd hold out for half a day, at least until he reached his booked repair shop.
Wrong. He'd already crossed the point of no return.
"........."
Aiden glanced at his reflection in a nearby shop window.
Hollow eyes, dilated pupils without focus, and... lips twisted in a grotesque grin that mocked his inner turmoil.
That was the spitting image of the cyberaddicts blaring from the newsfeeds.
Identical to the final expressions of those rioters who'd sprayed bullets or slashed wildly before getting gunned down.
A chill of dread slithered up his spine.
'What if someone reports me.... right here?'
Everyone in the city knew.
When a Cybernetic Rage case got reported, they always showed up.
Omega Detroit Police Department's Special Mobile Unit 6.
Violent Entity Neutralization and Target Operations Regiment.
But in this city, they were better known by another name.
VENATOR. Hunter-killers who spared no means or mercy.
Their remit: neutralize and eliminate high-threat targets.
True specialists, created specifically to put down raving cyberaddict mercs like Aiden.
They even handled reports from the outskirts the regular cops ignored—a special breed.
To stop psycho killers breaching into the city core. Word was, they preferred terming them in the suburbs, where collateral damage barely raised eyebrows.
So the reapers who descended anywhere, anytime on a Cybernetic Rage ping were the nightmare of every modded merc.
"No... no, no, no way....!"
A report meant death. Caught by them, even the toughest merc was just prey.
That truth flooded his mind with uncontainable terror.
He felt like a child fleeing ghosts.
Desperate whimpers leaked from his cracked lips.
"....Someone.... please, help me...."
But the now-deserted shopping street held no one to heed the monster's hollow plea.
"......."
Aiden scanned around in desperation before slumping his head in defeat.
His life unspooled like a highlight reel.
Aiden's frame hadn't started as this mechanical horror.
Once, he'd chased everyday dreams of success.
Factory shifts by day, tech studies by night, prepping for a solid downtown corp gig. Efforts to claw out of the back alleys still burned fresh.
But reality's wall loomed high and frigid. Stellar scores, desperate hustle—companies still shunned back-alley trash. That "Class 3 Citizen" stamp on his dossier barred every door.
A gutter rat born in filth died one.
So Aiden turned to high-risk gigs late in the game. It looked like his lone shot. For a shot at humanity, he hocked his now and plunged into shadow.
Bad call. Wrong from jump.
Each mod for more power, every combat software load just wrecked him faster. Immunosuppressant needs skyrocketed; upkeep spiraled beyond reach.
Earn big? It vanished into bigger doses.
Like the Red Queen, sprinting flat-out to stay put. Pause, and you're lapped. Stronger, richer, or bust—just scraping by on a razor's edge.
'Truth is.... I just wanted normal.'
Too late to turn back. Ruin loomed ahead, inescapable.
Halting spelled true endgame.
So he'd sprinted till now, abyss yawning before him.
Regret streamed from vacant eyes.
That instant.
Step-, step-
Aiden picked up faint footfalls—two or three sets.
Sensing their approach, his heart plummeted.
'No way.....'
Already dispatched on a report? This quick...?
VENATOR's rep crashed back: kill-first rules, rioters pulped to scraps. Terror gripped him.
Taut, he scanned and realized: encircled.
Footsteps closed from every alley.
"Damn.....!"
Cold sweat slicked his back; blurring vision fogged worse.
Cornered predator-style, he thrashed his head and bellowed.
"Stay back!! All of you, scram!!!"
He flailed his cyberblade wildly at the encroaching shadows.
"I said stop!!!"
But the ghostly silhouettes glided in unheeding, one now thrusting a gun barrel a step behind. Unseen flank. Over in a blink.
His last view: a fist rocketing toward him.
"Sto-"
Blackout.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ From fathomless dark, a faint, sweet voice tickled his ear.
Soft and warm, like a pleasant dream haze.
"You're awake?"
Aiden heaved up heavy lids.
Blur sharpened to focus: crystalline blue eyes first.
Cloudless sky-pure.
Near-alabaster skin, cascading silver hair framing a breathtaking woman's face.
She gazed down at him with gentle worry.
Befuddled, he blinked vacantly.
'Ah....!'
Memory shards flashed.
'VENATOR....!'
Terror resurfaced. Heart hammered.
"Hah....!"
Cold sweat soaked him; breath labored.
Sudden bloom: soft, warm glow before his eyes.
Fwoom-
He stared, transfixed. Shockingly, chest-churning dread and panic seeped into the light, ebbing slow. Heart steadied.
Again, that soft voice.
"Feeling better?"
Aiden nodded dazedly, face eased. She smiled faintly—captivating as a bloom in gloom.
Elegant grace, limpid depths in her gaze, tender curve of lips. Unreal beauty.
She soothed with utmost warmth.
"Good.... Confusion's natural. I'll stay till you're steady."
Her voice brimmed with heart-melting kindness.
Dream-fairy beauty consoling him, gifting otherworldly calm—Aiden couldn't parse reality from pre-death vision.
If real: how? She saved him? How? Why?
Questions piled sky-high. But speaking might shatter the dreamlike peace.
Worse, she might dissolve like a mirage or sunburst bubble...
Lips sealed, he just drank her in with raw emotion.
Silence stretched as eyes locked.
".........."
"......."
Aiden's pulse surged anew. No fear this time—primal heat welling deep from within.
'This feeling... could it be.....'
Knock from beyond the door. Light.
Tap tap.
".....!"
Aiden flinched, shoulders jumping.
Her hand patted his reassuringly.
"It's fine."
Clear call to the door.
"Come in!"
"Pardon the intrusion, Saintess."
In stepped a middle-aged man in black clerical robes.
Fifties-ish face streaked white, but broad shoulders and solid build bespoke under the garb, eyes steady with grit.
He bowed deeply, utmost respect to her.
She nodded acceptance smooth.
Glanced at bedbound Aiden.
"Then... you're here, so the rest is yours."
"Leave it to me."
Low-voiced reply; she smiled soft, slipped quietly from the room.
Aiden reached unwittingly for her retreating form.
"......Ah!"
But the robed man loomed abrupt, blocking line of sight.
Aiden recoiled, head pulling back.
"Wh-who the hell are you....?"
The priest eyed him piercingly, wordless.
"..... Hm."
Low grunt; he stepped back, dragged a corner chair. Sat reverse, arms draped over backrest, fixed stare resumed.
Silence hung; then he broke it.
"Alright, listen."
Priest splayed fingers bold before Aiden's face.
"Right now, you've got two choices.... make that three."