Chapter 89: The Rites of Augmentation
The augmentation rituals proceeded in phases, as Joric had ordained. The first to be summoned were Maine, Dorio, and Moiré.
Maine lay on the cold, metallic slab, the chill of the sanctified alloy seeping through his thin surgical gown.
He watched the descending, articulated mechadendrites and their gleaming, cold tools—precision calipers, sanctified drills, and micro-lances, all glinting in the dim light. Even for a man as hard as Maine, his throat felt dry.
Joric's tall, crimson-robed form loomed over him, his crimson optical lenses devoid of all emotion, as if he were merely assessing a component for refit.
"Your designation is Cohort-Leader and Fire-Support Nexus," Joric stated, as a mechadendrite began the ritual of uncoupling Maine's existing, heavy-grade augmetic. The old chrome was unbolted and dropped to the floor with a heavy clang. "Your prior armament is insufficient for the projected threat-environment."
A new augmetic was brought forth. Its design was utterly alien to anything on the Night City market. It was brutal, powerful, and impossibly intricate, less a limb and more a piece of holy, functional art.
Joric focused on the rite of integration, interfacing the new systems with Maine's neural and circulatory pathways. "This will replace your left arm. Its core is a Master-Crafted Plasma Cannon."
"This is not the crude, field-expedient device I provided to your subordinate. This is a true, sanctified weapon system, capable of vaporizing any heavy armor-plasteel you have ever encountered."
(In truth, this was a Joric-hand-forged, Mars-pattern plasma cannon. While Joric was no Magos of Ryza, he was more than capable of fabricating the Omnissiah's standard-issue wrath.)
He carefully linked the power conduits to a new, high-output energy core he had implanted in Maine's chest, calibrating the targeting-augurs. The faint whine of sanctified energy was sharp in the silent manufactorum. Maine could feel a strange, new power pulsing within his core.
"You will control your firing-litany," Joric added. "Overload requires a full cooling cycle." He then gestured to the arm itself. "I have integrated it within a bionic chassis—an inspiration from this locale. My previous doctrine would have simply mounted the weapon-system directly to your shoulder-pylon."
Next, Joric began the ritual for Maine's right arm.
Another bionic arm, this one appearing perfectly, deceptively human, was brought forth and installed. It was covered in synth-skin so real it included pores and veins; only the faint, metallic glint of the fingertips betrayed its true nature.
"Your right arm will house a Refractor Field Generator," he continued. "Based on my own sanctified schematics, compact energy shields can be made highly efficient. When activated, this field will provide protection equivalent to a heavy vehicle's armor, capable of deflecting what you would term 'artillery-fire'."
(In the 41st Millennium, shield technology was mature and advanced. Aside from Void Shields, which were limited to starships, Titans, and high-level Magi, miniaturized refractor fields were common. A military-grade shield generator could be housed in an amulet or medal. Joric was giving Maine a large, potent, military-grade generator capable of shrugging off tank-shells.)
Joric completed the final neural-link calibration, ensuring Maine could, by thought alone, control these two new limbs—one a flawless mimic of life, the other a vessel of pure destruction.
The ritual was not without agony. Even with potent analgesics, the sensation of his nerves being spliced into these new, powerful systems—the feeling of tearing, of overload, of countless micro-currents crawling his spine—made Maine grit his teeth, sweat soaking his brow.
But he made no sound. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the power reforging him from within.
When the ritual was complete, Maine sat up from the slab. He felt an unprecedented sense of... fullness. His left arm was heavy, brimming with power. He could feel the plasma cannon's presence, an extension of his will.
He flexed his thoughts. The armor plates on the augmetic arm slid open, revealing the pulsing, azure glow of the muzzle. A wave of faint heat washed over his face, and the air filled with the sharp, metallic tang of ozone.
He immediately willed it closed. Just that brief, silent test left him stunned by the destructive potential he now held.
Meanwhile, in Dorio's augmentation-bay, her ritual was one of optimization and enhancement.
Joric further reinforced her muscle-density and bone structure, and refined her neural-transmission speed, taking her already terrifying strength and reflexes to an entirely new level.
At the same time, he installed internal, impact-based Concussive-Force Generators in her forearms. Her punches would now carry not just raw, physical force, but a devastating, area-of-effect shockwave.
"Your directive is to breach all obstacles and create firing-lines for Maine's heavy ordnance," Joric informed her.
Dorio, feeling the power that was now overflowing within her newly re-woven muscles, simply nodded. She clenched her fist, and the crack of her knuckles was sharper, the very air around her fist visibly distorting.
Moiré's re-consecration was finer, more precise.
Joric optimized her Sandevistan's energy-utilization, lowering the neural-load, allowing for longer, more sustained, and more erratic bursts of impossible speed.
Her Transonic Razors were re-tuned, their destructive harmonic-frequency perfected.
Finally, her sensory-suite was integrated with advanced environmental-augurs and threat-marking capabilities, making her an even more lethal assassin and scout.
"You are the cohort's eyes and shadow," Joric told her. "You will purge high-value targets and perform forward reconnaissance."
Moiré simply bowed, her expression cold and focused, a perfectly honed blade. The augmentations allowed her to sense the faintest changes in air-current and heat-signatures in the room.
When the three of them—reforged—gathered in the lot outside the sanctum, they could feel the power radiating from each other.
Maine's overwhelming firepower, Dorio's absolute strength, and Moiré's impossible speed. They formed a new, iron triangle.
Maine flexed his new left arm. "How do you feel?"
Dorio clenched her fists, her knuckles cracking like gunfire. "Good. The strength is... more."
Moiré just nodded, her form flickering, leaving a faint, near-imperceptible afterimage, as if she were in two places at once.
Maine looked at his newly-forged cohort, then down at his own arms. He felt a new surge of confidence for the mission ahead... but the heavy, unknown weight of that mission had not lessened.
(End of Chapter)