Under Melisa's relentless training, Roqi finally managed—barely—to break his habit of flicking his wrist while shooting.
His rate of fire dropped significantly—it felt incredibly awkward—but his accuracy improved drastically.
Fortunately, he didn't have the same issue with rifles or shotguns.
Due to space constraints, the rest of the shooting tests were conducted entirely within the range.
The final evaluation report summed it up neatly:
Physical Ability: Outstanding. Strength & Speed: Unrated. Shooting: Passable.
In short: massively unbalanced.
But that wasn't an issue for MaxTac.
After all, this wasn't a military training facility where they aimed to build versatile special forces. MaxTac's philosophy was simpler:
Doesn't matter if it's a black cat or a white cat—as long as it can take down cyberpsychos, it's a good cat.
"You're still going to need a lot more training," Melisa said, looking over Roqi's results without much satisfaction.
In her view, Roqi had absurd, almost freakish potential—but lacked focused, professional training. Too many of his moves were improvised, street-learned. They worked, sure—but they also severely limited his real combat power.
"You really not going to get any cyberware?"
In this era, cyberware was more common than getting dental work.
It was essentially surgery—or, more precisely, a whole category of surgeries.
Basic cyberware mods were like minor procedures—replacing burned skin with Biotechnica's synthetic grafts, or restoring hearing with a cybernetic ear implant.
Stuff like that was considered lightweight augmentation. Street shops could handle it. You could schedule an appointment during a shopping trip, pop in, and walk out with a brand-new upgrade.
More complex implants—organ replacements, limb prosthetics, deep neural rewiring—required proper clinics or hospitals.
Licensed ripperdocs had to assess the user's condition, avoid complications during surgery, and ensure safe recovery.
Of course, black clinics thrived too. Thanks to their unbeatable prices, they were irreplaceable in low-income areas. But people only went to those places if they had no other options—or were willing to risk it all.
Top-tier cyberware—the kind that touched your brain, rewired your nerves, and pushed human limits—demanded elite professionals.
Take Fingers, for example. Pervy, unhygienic, with terrible bedside manner—but he knew the basic procedures and could perform them.
Organ swaps, limb replacements, full-body overhauls—he could only handle the bare minimum, and poorly. His methods were crude, his implants junk-tier, and the risk level dangerously high.
But in Jig-Jig Street? You weren't going to find anyone better. The man charged less than dirt.
Now Viktor—he was the gold standard.
Always claimed he was old, unaugmented, and shaky-handed—but the man was rock-solid.
Built like a prizefighter. Could knock a punk into next week with a single palm strike.
And his surgeries? Flawless. He made complex procedures feel like routine maintenance.
His dimly-lit basement clinic was actually pristine and highly professional. Tools sterile. Layout efficient. The man was a legend.
He used to say: "If you don't need it, don't install it."
Sure, cyberware gave you capabilities the body couldn't match—but the damage it caused was permanent and irreversible.
Still, by 2077, getting basic mods was as common as carrying a smartphone.
The standard starter kit? Neural processor, biochip slot, and data port.
The processor handled core functions. The biochip slot allowed local, secure data exchange—some things couldn't be sent over the Net. And the data port served as the body's motherboard and IO system.
Most people added cyber-optics for HUD overlays. Others opted for holo-glasses or retinal screens—especially those squeamish about swapping out their eyes.
MaxTac helmets had integrated optics, combining processor, data port, and visual overlay—though they lacked a biochip slot.
Installing one wouldn't be a major operation, but avoiding infection and complications afterward was the real challenge.
Wrist-embedded data wires? Now that was a big job—and Roqi wasn't even considering it.
"No thanks," Roqi said. "I think with enough training, I can handle whatever comes."
He turned down the offer.
Not because he was afraid of surgery. He had a bigger reason:
He still didn't know what that strange system in his head really was.
Not to mention the Yockman Tech components that had installed themselves—automatically, without surgery.
These mysterious systems looked superficially similar to modern cyberware—but fundamentally, they didn't belong.
Until he had answers, he wasn't about to risk screwing anything up.
"Your call," Melisa said, not pushing.
As a MaxTac operative, he had the right to choose. Cyberware wasn't mandatory.
"Speaking of training... there's a new sim program, but you don't have a chip slot."
She pulled up a document—an official training notice.
"What kind of training?" Roqi asked, intrigued.
Melisa explained.
It was a new software platform hosted on a biochip, built on the latest AI architecture. Compared to older versions, it offered vastly better realism and feedback—so much so that it could almost replicate live experience.
The data collected from Roqi's physical tests could be edited and imported, allowing the simulation to reflect his real-world stats.
Sure, sim training wasn't as good as live combat—but it didn't get you killed.
MaxTac operators weren't idiots. They didn't just throw themselves into lethal situations for fun.
They dealt with threats far beyond the NCPD's capacity—cyberpsychos, black-market tech, hostile AIs.
In those moments, experience was everything. The more scenarios you'd simulated, the better your odds of survival.
But top-tier threats weren't easy to come by—or to study after the fact.
That's where these sims came in.
Combat simulation software had existed since the mid-2000s. By 2077, it was a cornerstone of training across industries.
Only recently had full-immersion tech caught up with the dream.
Europe was ahead of the U.S. in this field, oddly enough.
Among all platforms, the biochip slot was the gold standard. It created fully immersive environments, syncing directly with the user's brain and nervous system.
High-end slots even simulated tactile, auditory, and olfactory feedback.
None of that was possible through traditional networks.
The new biochips had to be in physical contact with the user.
So for now, Roqi was out of luck.
Mower had her own thoughts. Militech had been a pioneer in this tech.
From special forces like her to rank-and-file troops, all received tailored training modules.
Even V once received a custom netrunning chip from T-Bug that included hacking drills and combat practice.
That chip had been Militech-issued too.
"With this, we can simulate ultra-high-risk ops and test performance under extreme conditions," said the officer conducting Roqi's tests.
He smiled, clearly proud.
"Still a prototype, but it might be the best training chip out there."
"Only problem is... biochip materials and lab gear have skyrocketed in price lately."
He sounded bitter.
For MaxTac, funding wasn't the issue—availability was. All the money in the world meant nothing if the gear didn't exist.
"Tell me about it. I've been trying to get a Seimei Kogei 3D printer. Only they can properly bond neural chips and embedded processors."
Seimei Kogei?
Roqi's ears perked up.
Even as a layman, he'd spent enough time around Rogue to pick up some industry knowledge.
Seimei Kogei didn't mass-produce. They were a bespoke, high-end brand. No storefronts in Night City.
Their gear was rare—most of it overseas, imported in small numbers.
Because Arasaka blacklisted them, their equipment was hard to get. Most shipments had to be smuggled in or rerouted.
But international shipping? A nightmare. You had killer AIs, automated drones, and mines in every major route.
No one wanted to risk alternative paths. The costs outweighed the profits.
Honestly, Roqi wouldn't be surprised if Rogue had hijacked one of their shipments herself.
And until that gear reached its destination, any damages would fall on the logistics company.
Serves them right.
"So we wait. What else can we do?" one of the techs muttered. "Air freight?"
"Too expensive. Ten more days won't kill us. Fucking logistics cartels, man…"
Then one of the testers perked up.
"There's a workaround. Not perfect, but doable."
"What kind?" Roqi asked instinctively.
"Simple," said the officer. "Convert the training software into a braindance format. Use external hardware to simulate the chip."
Braindance—super-enhanced VR tech.
Using audiovisual feeds and external gear, it could drag both the conscious and subconscious into simulated environments.
Like VR, but deeper. Fully interactive.
For most people on the edge of poverty, cheap BDs and janky headsets were the only escape they could afford.
But high-end BD rigs? Those were elite tools—perfect for immersive training.
MaxTac didn't bother with BD versions—every operator had a neural slot.
But the concept was sound.
"Braindance, huh?"
Roqi's brain lit up.
"Yeah. If we recompile the sim as a BD program and hook it up to the right controllers, it could definitely work," the tech confirmed.
"You have an idea?"
Roqi nodded.
"Yeah. Not me exactly... but I happen to know two friends."
And not in the "totally me" sense. Actual people.
Two of Night City's absolute best:
T-Bug, elite netrunner.
Judy Alvarez, legendary BD editor.
Both were like Viktor—quietly defying every corpo headhunter in town.
T-Bug's chips were practical, brutally efficient. Judy's braindances? Lizzie's Bar used them as signature features.
Roqi turned to Melisa.
"If I can get two top-tier talents—a netrunner and a BD editor—would you greenlight the funding?"
MaxTac's training sims never hit the black market.
This new chip already outperformed the last-gen versions in every metric.
If they could pull this off, it'd be a game-changer.
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MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW?
🤖💘 MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW? 💘🤖
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📢 LOVE MEETS CYBERPSYCHOSIS! 📢
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? has 100+ chapters ahead available on Patreon! 💘💥
Romance is already complicated.
Now add:
🌃 Night City🦾 Cyberware🔫 Gunfights💀 Cyberpsychosis💥 Property damage❤️ And a girlfriend who might snap at any moment
Love hurts.
In this case, it might also come with bullets, broken walls, and emergency trauma care.
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