Chapter 112: Chapter 83: Cyber Psychosis_2
He grasped the root of the problem.
Eden, however, shifted his gaze, seemingly having expected this, and then brought John out, waving goodbye as he left by elevator.
Tinfoil handed over a tablet device.
"During your surgery, we re-evaluated you regarding cyberpsychosis... The indicators aren’t very pleasant. You’ll need to choose an appropriate inhibitor."
"What do you mean?"
John squinted and asked back.
"Sigh."
Tinfoil sighed, the prosthetic eye flickering, transmitting a special plugin program to John.
[Installation in progress, starting up...]
A human model appeared before John’s eyes.
He could see every part of his body, much like the full-body prosthetic scan results from a hospital.
Next to it was a percentage data.
The higher it went, the redder it became.
[Threshold: 97%]
"This... what does this data mean?"
John felt inexplicably nervous.
"Your frontal lobe is abnormally stimulated, a typical symptom of late-stage cyberpsychosis, got it?"
Tinfoil pursed her lips, a look of pity on her face.
"Your body has been modified to its limit. The surgery must replace your kidney implant, but that’s the last of it. Your body is like a cup filled to the brim; even a small metal piece more would cause your nerves to completely collapse..."
"And then?"
"Then, just as you know, consciousness gradually scatters, memory gradually fades, you might even forget the way home, or worse, stand in a public place and start shooting... and then..."
Tinfoil couldn’t continue.
John’s heart was pounding as he said, "Then the special ops team would descend from the skies and blast me into smithereens."
He took a deep breath.
"I don’t understand, didn’t we already do a test once? Why suddenly..."
"We don’t know either. Hope you understand, Harbor Company and Eden have no reason to harm you. This test report is factual. Don’t uninstall the program I sent you, it can remind you of your physical condition anytime, and stop smoking and drinking, do some light work."
"Light work... what do you mean?"
"You’re basically saying goodbye to the mercenary life, John. Regrettably, running the streets requires prosthetic upgrades. In your current state, a few more bullets, a couple more armor repairs, and it’s a death sentence!"
Tinfoil crossed her arms, frowning.
She wanted to get him an energy drink, but reached for filtered pure water instead.
John sat down in disbelief, murmuring and analyzing.
"Is it because Black Light disappeared?"
"Buddy, let me give you some advice, stop thinking about Black Light, it might just be a by-product of your condition."
"Impossible, you have no idea how I got here, back in the junkyard I was f*cked..."
"Shh~"
Tinfoil frowned, raising her hand to signal him to calm down.
Then she faintly asked in return.
"There’s no secret in this city, buddy. Internet Surveillance has turned your house inside out. Even the slightest issue, the state police wouldn’t let you go easily."
"That’s because I destroyed them beforehand!"
"Can you prove it? Get a grip, look in the mirror, you now sound like a cyberpsychotic stuck in logical coherence, desperately searching for self-comfort excuses."
Tinfoil spoke somewhat mercilessly.
She put her hands on her hips, thought for a moment, and transferred a substantial amount of cash to John with a wave of her fingers.
"Take it."
"What do you mean?"
"You’ve been terminated by Harbor Company. This is compensation according to outsourced staff pay."
"Haha, I’m f*cking unemployed again?"
"Don’t make that face, buddy. Have you legitimately worked at the company for even a day? No one owes you, they’ve even treated you well, it’s just a shame..."
Tinfoil showed a painful expression.
"No more training sessions. From the moment of diagnosis, you can no longer meet Eden’s standards. Leave, go home, rest well, and find a simple job."
Tinfoil wiped her face in frustration.
She left.
John stared at the glass on the table, trying to calm himself, feeling that the tangled web of clues was a mess.
Droplets of water slid off the cup’s edge, forming a full arc at the corner of the metal table.
The droplets silently broke, seeping into the crevice.
There was a flicker of inspiration in John’s eyes.
He suddenly stood up and went to the bathroom, to the individual stall next to the combat training room.
John locked the door behind him.
He stood before the mirror, reaching into the bulletproof vest.
In the seam between the aramid layers of the bulletproof vest, prying open a small block, a metal tip was revealed.
This was a Special Inhibitor.
John is usually very cautious, avoiding detection, and made some modifications on his bulletproof vest, carrying a spare item with him.
When the military doctor performed surgery on him, they lifted his clothes, only checking and storing the weapons, not thoroughly searching the clothes, and did not discover it until the treatment ended and personal belongings were returned.
John stood in front of the mirror, took a deep breath, and inserted the item into his neck.
He widened his eyes, and in the flickering amber light, Messiah’s Eye projected a message onto his retina.
[Invalid External Program (Read failure)]
"F*ck!"
John cursed and punched.
The glass projection panel flickered briefly, with red warning messages advising him not to damage public property further.
John gritted his teeth, staring at his own eyes.
There were hidden light strips around the mirror.
Two of them were extinguished.
In the uneven lighting environment, John appeared haggard, angry, and even somewhat frantic.
Shadows gathered around his eyes.
His face bore stubble and blood scabs, cheekbones protruded from clenching his jaw, and his aquiline nasal wings fluttered continuously.
A streak of crimson flashed by.
John shook his head, leaning closer to the mirror.
He saw a data stream flash in his pupils, gradually changing from amber to crimson, causing his eyeballs to appear bloodshot.
Fssss, fsss.
"Ow! F*ck..."
John felt a burning sensation in his neck, immediately raising a hand to pull out the chip, only to see the inhibitor’s end curled from burning.
Familiar text flashed before his eyes.
[Emergency processing detected, authorization update, carrier operating status abnormal...]
[Device reboot failure, calibration abnormality, access failure.]
John was certain that the familiar Black Light had appeared again.
The threshold had not lowered; it had even surged to 99%.
The special inhibitor successfully awakened Black Light but did not cure the symptoms of cyber psychosis, and the previous sense of relief did not arrive, as if some function had been shut down.
The cyber psychosis issue still plagued him.
John felt a brief dizziness wash over him, and his body also began to show mild overheating symptoms, as if beyond the cyber psychosis...
Another terminal illness had been added.
"F*ck, I’m going to get myself killed."
John frowned inwardly.
He turned on the faucet, using the icy liquid to regain composure, then leaned on the sink, contemplating—should he find Tinfoil and Eden?
But after a moment of decision-making, he gave up.
Life was his own.
He had no way to prove the existence of Black Light.
Now that the special inhibitor had failed, if physical hacking succeeded, his body would be unable to withstand the side effects and die completely.
Couldn’t gamble his life to prove it, right?
[Mission Objective Update]
[Finding the tie clip. (Not achieved)]
The feeling of being exhausted returned again.
Ding—
John carried a bag as he walked out of the Harbor Company building.
As he passed through the glass sliding doors, he saw:
On the adjacent information panel, the words "Temporary Visitor (Authorization Ended)" were displayed.
Tinfoil was very right.
Eden and Harbor didn’t owe him anything; instead, they had helped quite a lot, even saving his life under the pressure of internet surveillance.
John carried the bag into the street.
With an uneasy heart, he activated the Atlanta Virtual Network, finding a string of access records in the system information.
All were hackers from internet surveillance.
During the time John was offline, Black Light had acquiesced to all operations, which might be why state police found no clues.
Buzz buzz buzz—
The Eisenberg Silver Rider 577 auto-docked, the car door opened, inviting its owner to the driver’s seat.
"Phew~"
John tossed the bag onto the passenger seat—inside were cut-out organs.
He frowned, caressing the leather on the steering wheel.
It felt like something was growing inside his heart.
He pondered for a moment.
Tinfoil’s words echoed in his mind.
[You’re just like a cyber psychosis case trapped in logical self-consistency, desperately trying to find an excuse for self-comfort.]