Cyberpunk Edgerunners: David Martinez With A System! [17]

“…What exactly are you getting at, Marcus?” Tanaka’s voice remained cold and measured, though there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “Are you suggesting I investigate the origins of this cyberware?”

Even now, his expression didn’t change. If anything, he was debating whether Marcus himself should take a one-way trip to the bottom of the harbor.

Marcus, sensing the growing impatience in his superior’s voice, quickly brought up another image.

A side-by-side comparison of X-ray scans flickered onto the screen.

Tanaka’s sharp gaze immediately locked onto the rightmost image. Something was missing.

“…A spinal column?”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus nodded, then tapped a few keys. The screen zoomed in, highlighting the missing vertebrae. “This is a scan of David Martinez. Specifically, the cyberware installed in his body. Based on the structure and neural interface, it matches the Sandevistan implant previously owned by James Norris.”

Tanaka’s fingers tightened ever so slightly.

“That cyberpsycho?”

Marcus inclined his head in confirmation.

“Yes, sir. The very same.”

Now Tanaka remembered. The James Norris incident had been all over the internal security reports.

Not long ago, an ex-military operative suffering from cyberpsychosis had gone on a rampage, attacking an NCPD squad with military-grade enhancements. In response, the MaxTac unit had been deployed, swiftly neutralizing the threat.

When the dust settled, Norris was dead. But something was missing from his corpse—his Sandevistan, along with a linked Kerenzikov implant.

They had never turned up on the black market.

And yet, here they were—installed in the spine of some no-name street kid from Santo Domingo.

Tanaka leaned back, his mind calculating.

“So, he’s been using a military-grade implant… and yet he hasn’t suffered any side effects?”

The weight in Marcus’s voice grew heavier. “Yes, sir. That’s exactly why I brought this to your attention.”

Cyberpsychosis.

A mental and neurological disorder caused by a combination of extreme psychological stress and excessive cyberware integration.

Many cases stemmed from PTSD and other underlying mental traumas. But another major cause? The sheer neurological strain of running high-tier military-grade enhancements.

Especially in someone young.

A body that wasn’t fully matured wasn’t meant to handle the kind of strain a Sandevistan would put on the nervous system. At best, he should be suffering from severe synaptic degradation.

At worst? He should’ve already snapped.

And yet, David Martinez was still standing.

“Tanaka-san,” Marcus continued, his voice carrying a barely contained excitement. “Given his endurance… and his raw combat potential… I believe he could become another Adam Smasher. Or, perhaps… even surpass him.”

Tanaka’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair.

Another Adam Smasher.

If that was true—if this kid really had the potential to become something greater than the legendary enforcer—then Arasaka’s hold on Night City would be absolute. Even another Morgan Blackhand wouldn’t be a threat anymore.

Marcus hesitated for only a second before adding:

“Alternatively… he would make an excellent candidate for that experiment.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Tanaka’s otherwise impassive eyes.

Marcus sounded almost giddy.

Of course he was.

If this experiment succeeded, Tanaka wouldn’t be the only one rising in the ranks. Marcus, too, would be in a position of power. And perhaps most importantly…

Neither of them would have to tolerate Adam Smasher’s presence ever again.

Tanaka exhaled, coming to his decision.

“I understand.”

Marcus straightened. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Bring him back.” Tanaka’s voice was absolute. “If necessary, use money to persuade him. Buy his loyalty. Everyone has a price.”

Marcus nodded, but then hesitated for a brief moment before asking:

“And… what about your son, sir?”

A shadow passed over Tanaka’s features.

His fingers curled into a loose fist.

Satsuo had been his only child. Conceived late in life, he was a son Tanaka had raised with care and high expectations.

He had wanted him to be strong.

Yet now, not only had his son been humiliated, he had been crippled.

By all rights, David Martinez should already be dead—his limbs encased in cement, sinking to the bottom of Arasaka Pier.

But…

Tanaka closed his eyes.

“Company interests come first.” His voice was steady, resolute. “As my heir, Satsuo must learn to accept the reality.”

….

Nightfall.

As darkness blanketed Night City, its streets buzzed with energy. Neon lights flickered in a hypnotic dance, painting the skyline in electric hues of pink, blue, and violet. The air pulsed with a restless rhythm—the murmur of the crowd, the distant echoes of gunfire, the thrumming bass from underground clubs.

Yet, in the midst of this chaos, David Martinez sat slumped at a small Asian food stand beneath the towering H10 Megabuilding in Watson, frustration etched deep into his features.

Two large red lanterns swayed gently overhead, their warm glow swallowed by the sea of artificial light around them. This was the building—the same one V would one day call home. More importantly, it was the spot where Jackie swore the street food was worth every eddie.

David had come to see if that claim held up.

But food wasn’t what was weighing on his mind.

“Damn it… where the hell is everyone?”

For what felt like the hundredth time today, he let out a long, defeated sigh. If he had a dollar for every exasperated breath, he’d probably be able to afford a whole new set of chrome.

Since leaving school that afternoon, he had scoured nearly every inch of Night City, bouncing from one district to the next.

From City Center to Heywood, from Heywood to Westbrook, then looping through Watson—he’d covered more ground than a Trauma Team response unit. Hell, at this point, he was one step away from taking a casual stroll through Pacifica, just to say he’d been there.

Most of his day had been spent riding the NCART, or running to the nearest station to catch another train. Yet despite all that effort, he’d come up completely empty-handed.

No gang shootouts.

No cyberpsychos.

No Animal gangers looking to pick a fight.

Nothing.

The only things populating the streets were the ever-present NCPD patrols, watching everything like hawks. It was almost as if the city had collectively decided to play nice the moment he went looking for trouble.

“Damn it. I was counting on those idiots to make me some money.”