Opponent Color (2)
VRROOOOM---!!
A motorcycle with displacement that could qualify it as a monster bike boasted an intense presence. Even on the elevated highways of the city packed with vehicles of every make and model, its roar was unparalleled. One might expect curious gazes to turn its way... but that was impossible.
Even with sunlight pouring down like nature's blessing over the entire city, only the upper levels fully basked in it. The mid-levels, crammed with most citizens' homes and decent shops, were shrouded in the shadows of the tiers above, forcing them to keep their multicolored lights and streetlamps on from morning. ...And Helena, unsatisfied even with speeds that made those lights blur into threads, kept flooring the accelerator.
"Helenaaaa---!! Safe driving...! Please, safe driving---!! Obey the traffic laws!"
"...Where'd you learn such outdated crap, and how the hell did a scaredy-cat like you end up a mercenary? I'm going slower than usual, so quit worrying. More importantly, nowhere else to stop besides the implant shop and droid store? And you've still got a full day before hotel checkout?"
THUD!! BAM!
"------!!"
A shriek that barely qualified as language slipped through my lips. I could swear both wheels had lifted off the road just now, floating for seconds before finally settling back down. And... who the hell does stunt driving like weaving through other cars on a downhill anyway...!
It was ten times scarier than fleeing pursuers or staring down a loaded pistol barrel. I'd thought the half-forced helmet was overkill, but now with wind biting at my fingertips, I changed my tune.
...I can't take this anymore. No more holding back.
They say the first time's the hardest for anything tough—after that, you pick up tricks. "Helena sis...! I don't know what I did, but it's all my fault!! So please slow down---!"
"...? Fault? I'm impressed—thanks to my little sis, we're crashing at the hotel tonight. ...Still, the occasional drive together isn't so bad."
"!! Front! Eyes on the front, drive---!!"
SCREECH---!!
I whipped around desperately, locking eyes with her. ...My heart nearly stopped.
No implants glowing or whirring to life like some cyborg cliché, yet Helena unleashed superhuman senses to dodge the relatively slow-moving traffic. More like slicing past on a sharp curve, really. As expected of our main heroine and top melee partner... but what the hell did she make of my pure, heartfelt screams?
Anyway, speed barely dropped—at least subjectively.
"......"
...Fine, this is just a ride. And the trick to a terrifying rollercoaster without flinching? Close your eyes.
Following Helena's "advice"—and trusting her word that she'd gotten implants here safely—I shut out the light, holing up in darkness until we reached the implant clinic.
A scuffed loafer dangled crookedly off the desk, twitching nonstop. Despite business hours, a middle-aged man lounging with a sleep mask on muttered to himself.
"Whew... the air's got a real ominous vibe."
> ...? Store ventilation systems operating at peak normalcy, Doc.
> Simple brainwave scan to pinpoint anxiety source?
"...Spare me, Jenny. Machines can't grasp a human's gut instinct."
Sleek red hair combed back, charming freckles—a woman whose origins might've been a mystery without the manufacturing serial etched on her face and neck. She replied fluidly.
> Human instinct—or "sixth sense"—closely approximates judgments aggregated from subconsciously processed environmental data.
> No external threats detected by my sensors, so conclusion: serious health issue for Doc...
"...Sigh."
Crunch crunch. With a dramatic sigh, the Doc popped in earplugs like a show of force.
For such a modest shop, the medical-assist humanoid android—Jenny—was an absurdly premium asset. She fell silent at her owner's antics.
> Permission for baseline health check?
"Gack?!"
...Instead, she fulfilled her duty via comms. The soft voice ringing unannounced in his head made the Doc cough like he'd choked, bolting upright.
Regret flickered—he'd blown his severance three ways, skimping even on house and shop credits for this android. But her exterior, customized to his tastes to perfection, relaxed him again.
Luckily no customers, so no risk to his rep as a "tight-lipped pro with skills."
But... foot traffic dead since last night felt like calm before the storm.
If he had to pinpoint why: who'd climb onto a surgery table amid an EMP bomb terror? No matter his skill, a sudden blackout...
His epitaph would read: died of shock inspecting own guts.
"Hrmm..."
Scritch scritch! Abandoning his tousled bird's-nest hair, he dropped his hand as Jenny quietly fetched cleaner.
...How'd an assistant or housewife-model personality morph into mom? The thought bubbled, but long-overdue customers shattered it.
"Anastasia... sorry. Didn't know you were that scared."
"...I didn't pass out...!"
"...Oh ho?"
The Doc straightened at the entrance of two beauties in pitch black and stark white—a contrast too striking to hoard for himself.
The tall white one: Helena Valentin, top potential client he'd ever hosted. The petite black one... trembled like a newborn fawn, clinging to Ms. Valentin, piquing his curiosity.
> Grateful for visiting our implant shop.
> Doc currently suffering unexplained anxiety—I'll handle new intake and guidance...
"Hey... hey!"
He yanked back his assistant before she tanked the business forever. The white one—understanding Jenny's fuss—nodded politely, but the black newcomer glared like she might bolt any second.
"...Ahem, Ms. Valentin? Long time no see. Checkup? Or... add-ons?"
"Afraid I'm good as-is. Today... my little sister's here on business."
"...Hello. Anastasia... Valentin."
Pushed forward like baggage, the girl introduced herself. Her face screamed distrust, but he brushed it off. Newbies always eyed the cramped waiting/office/ops room skeptically—android bluntness aside.
But he hadn't survived cutthroat competition by luck alone.
"No need to tense up, miss. Call me Doc. ...Jenny? Brochure and rundown for our first-timer?"
> Will assist with utmost sincerity.
Thus, he redeployed the android for service, flung open the procedure room, and stepped in.
Unlike the shabby exterior—hardly "luxury"—the pristine white stage brimmed with cutting-edge gear. Noting the girl's faint nod of approval, he tapped Jenny's live visual feed to gauge the small one's interests.
"Hrm... idolizes her big sis, huh?"
Muscle enhancement, skeletal reinforcement, dermal hardening, reflex boost, physique assist...
...Why the sudden gender-swap procedure? Even eyeing experimental low-note mods.
Helena vetoed some, but anyway.
Her sister's god-given body promised talent—he prepped silently.
> Doc? Anastasia client has decided...
"...Bring her in first. Gotta run diagnostics."
Fear half, thrill half, tension a pinch. Anastasia Valentin shuffled in with creaky poise, perching lightly on the table. She muttered:
"...No need for implant compatibility scan. No side effects anyway."
"Hm...?"
A declaration brimming with odd confidence—not empty bluster, but like she'd seen the results already.
But this gig straddled medicine; swallow patient claims whole, and you're screwed.
"Then... potential and amplification tests too?"
"...Pardon?"
The faintly smug girl blinked blankly.
Good probe, he thought, checking the nanobot syringe density.
"...Rejection's the big issue with bio-implants, sure. But same implant, same cyberware—efficiency varies wildly person-to-person. Think your sis is average just 'cause basic strength mods make her cyborg-tier? Big letdown coming."
"Wha...? But... implants boost stats by part grade, right...?"
Tsk, another sucker swallowing corp ad copy whole.
"...Implants don't bridge gaps or 'help' between people. They expose innate limits raw."
Snick! Syringe plunged into her slender arm.
Felt cruel breaking it to her, but business is business. All nanobots injected, he checked the monitor...
Nothing.
"...?"
Glanced at empty syringe, needle mark on her arm. No dream. He'd injected properly. Just... the swarm vanished.
'Monitor busted?' Most logical guess. Eyes glued to screen, he pushed on.
"...Ms. Anastasia? Sorry, one more shot. ...Jenny, scan on injection."
> Precision scan ready. Injecting, Doc.
Fresh syringe bots dotted the screen like stars. Not monitor fault—first batch defective? Billions of independents failing at once? Nah.
Then... EMP exposure aftermath?
Answer unfolded before him.
> Detecting intense theta waves from subject's thalamus (brain's sensory/motor I/O hub)...!
> Doc...? You reading this...?
"......"
Nanobots entering the black girl's veins winked out one by one. Forgetting programming, drifting to sleep like priests beholding their god, offering self-immolation.
Data sheet from android: only shoulder visual-aid implant and arm barcode. No other tech.
"Urk...?!"
Doc's legs buckled. The pretty girl's form warped in his sight.
Brain screamed despite experience and knowledge marshaled—unfathomable.
...Not mere human. Humans can't dominate millennia of science barehanded. Why else carve out healthy flesh for implants? To escape brain-flesh limits.
One transcending that... needs implants?
If that demonic power balanced miraculously, one tweak could shatter or corrupt it.
"Um... you okay...?"
Darkness beckoned. Lured the beast adrift, values crumbling.
How merciful, how seductive.
"...Sorry. Feeling off. Exam results... Ms. Anastasia, never add implants. To protect your 'special talent.' That's... my take."
"?! R... really...? For real...?"
"...For real. Same anywhere. So... please leave now?"
Anastasia's world-crashing face, Helena consoling—Doc herded them out.
No—quietly called Helena aside, out of earshot from stumbling Anastasia.
"...Ms. Valentin? She... really your sister...?"
Sinister words froze Helena. But Heinrich's tales... teary mercy-kill for dying mercs... dispelled the allure.
"...Yeah, fate-bound bond."
"...Good then."
Final words done.
Doc shut the door.
"...See? Told you it felt ominous..."
> ......Yes.