Chapter 11: Viktor's Warning
POV: Tom
The morning after the Scavenger ambush, Viktor's clinic felt like a sanctuary wrapped in antiseptic and the particular ozone smell of active medical equipment. Tom sat on the examination table while Viktor prepared diagnostic scanners with the methodical precision of someone whose hands had saved more lives than they'd taken—a rare achievement in Night City. Judy waited in the outer area despite Tom's protests, her presence a reminder that last night had fundamentally altered the mathematics of his survival.
Everything's different now. No more pretending to be baseline human. No more hiding behind plausible explanations. Judy saw me take bullets and keep fighting, saw me move faster than possible, saw me control Betty with thought alone.
Viktor's optical implants focused on the chrome patterns covering Tom's arms, neck, and portions of his torso. The augmentations had spread dramatically since their last meeting, creating geometric designs that pulsed with soft blue light in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Strip down," Viktor said, powering up scanners that hummed with contained energy. "Full examination. I need to see what last night did to your chrome progression."
Tom complied reluctantly, revealing the extent of his transformation. Chrome covered forty percent of his body now, concentrated around his torso and arms where the Scavenger bullets had struck him. The patterns were beautiful in their complexity, creating artwork that seemed almost intentionally designed rather than randomly generated by adaptive systems.
"Jesus Christ," Viktor whispered, his professional mask slipping as he processed the visual evidence. "Kid, you've evolved more in one night than most people do in years of gradual augmentation."
The diagnostic scanners painted Tom's body in cascades of information that Viktor interpreted with growing alarm. Chrome distribution, neural integration patterns, organic-synthetic interface ratios—every metric indicated acceleration that should have been impossible with known technology.
"Talk to me, Viktor. How bad is it?"
Viktor gestured at the readouts with the expression of someone delivering a terminal diagnosis. "Your chrome has spread to forty percent of body mass. That's not just surface modification—it's deep integration. Muscle fibers, bone reinforcement, neural pathway enhancement. Your entire physiology is being rewritten at the molecular level."
Tom stared at the scans, watching his reflection in Viktor's monitor show a being whose humanity was disappearing one percentage point at a time. "What does that mean for... me? My mind?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Viktor leaned against his workbench, suddenly looking every one of his augmented years. "Standard cyberpsychosis protocols suggest that fifty to seventy percent chrome integration is where people start losing their humanity. Emotions flatten, empathy disappears, human connections become impossible to maintain."
"Fifty to seventy percent. I'm at forty and climbing. How long do I have before I stop caring about Judy? Before I stop caring about anything?"
POV: Viktor
Viktor studied the diagnostic readouts while trying to suppress the growing alarm that twenty years of ripperdoc experience was screaming at him. Tom's chrome wasn't just spreading—it was evolving, adapting, becoming more sophisticated with each stress response. The technology visible in his scans exceeded anything Viktor had encountered in legitimate medical practice.
This isn't standard cyberware. This is experimental technology that shouldn't exist outside corporate black sites. How did a street kid acquire adaptive chrome that's decades ahead of commercial availability?
The patterns suggested conscious design rather than random augmentation. Someone had engineered Tom's chrome for specific purposes that Viktor couldn't identify but definitely didn't trust. The question was whether Tom was a willing participant or an unwitting subject in someone's technological experiment.
"Viktor," Tom said quietly, his voice carrying the particular strain of someone asking questions they dreaded having answered. "How much chrome before I'm not me anymore?"
Viktor set down his diagnostic tools and looked directly at Tom—not at his chrome, not at his scans, but at the young man whose eyes still held recognizable humanity despite everything happening to his body.
"That's the wrong question," Viktor replied. "The right question is: who are you fighting to stay? Because cyberpsychosis isn't just about chrome percentage—it's about losing the connections that define you as human."
"I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to become a monster."
"Then don't. Your chrome is different from standard augmentation, which means the normal rules might not apply. Most people at your integration level are already showing psychological breakdown. You're still worried about maintaining your humanity—that's a good sign."
Viktor paused, considering his next words carefully. "But we're in uncharted territory. Your chrome could stabilize at fifty percent, or it could continue spreading until you're more machine than human. We don't know because this technology doesn't have precedent."
POV: Tom
Tom absorbed Viktor's assessment with the growing realization that his evolution was accelerating beyond anyone's ability to predict or control. The chrome beneath his skin hummed with quiet satisfaction, as if responding positively to discussion of its own growth.
Forty percent and climbing. Unknown upper limits. No precedent for what I'm becoming.
"What do you recommend?"
"Weekly monitoring," Viktor replied immediately. "Track chrome progression, psychological markers, neural integration patterns. If we can catch warning signs early, maybe we can develop countermeasures."
"And if we can't?"
Viktor's expression grew grave. "Then we discuss options that nobody wants to discuss. But we're not there yet. Right now, you're still Tom—just Tom with impossible chrome that's rewriting the rules of human augmentation."
Tom looked down at his hands, where chrome created intricate patterns that shifted slightly as his augmented nervous system processed stress. "The Scavengers knew about me. They were prepared for adaptive chrome, had weapons designed to penetrate standard cyberware protection. Someone's tracking me, studying me, maybe using me as a test subject."
"Corporate interest is inevitable," Viktor confirmed. "Technology like yours is worth billions. Every major corpo will want to study you, replicate you, or eliminate you as a competitive threat." He gestured at the examination room. "This clinic is secure, but that won't matter if Arasaka or Militech decide they want you badly enough."
The door opened as Judy entered without knocking, her expression carrying the particular determination of someone who'd grown tired of waiting for information that affected her directly.
"I heard enough through the walls," she said, settling into a chair near Tom's examination table. "Chrome progression, cyberpsychosis risk, corporate interest. Time to stop talking around me and start talking to me."
Viktor looked at Tom, who nodded consent. If Judy was going to be part of his life, she deserved to understand the medical realities of what that meant.
"Tom's chrome integration has reached forty percent," Viktor explained. "That's approaching dangerous territory for psychological stability. In most cases, people at this level start showing personality changes—reduced empathy, emotional flattening, difficulty maintaining human connections."
"But not in all cases?"
"Tom's chrome is different from standard augmentation. It's adaptive, evolutionary, designed to integrate more smoothly with human consciousness. That might provide protection against traditional cyberpsychosis, or it might present entirely new psychological risks we don't understand."
Judy reached over and took Tom's chrome-covered hand without hesitation. "What do you need from me?"
Tom stared at their joined hands—her warm human skin against his cold chrome enhancement—and felt something profound settle in his chest. "Stay. Help me remember who I'm fighting to remain."
"I can do that."
Viktor watched the interaction with professional interest and personal relief. Human connections were the strongest defense against cyberpsychosis. If Tom could maintain genuine relationships despite his chrome evolution, he might retain his humanity regardless of technological integration percentages.
"I'll set up weekly appointments," Viktor said. "Monitor progression, track psychological markers, develop intervention strategies if necessary. Also..." He paused, considering security implications. "Someone's definitely watching you now. The Scavenger ambush was too targeted, too prepared. Corporate intelligence has your signature."
"What does that mean practically?"
"It means you're valuable enough to hunt and dangerous enough to fear. Corporate black ops teams, bounty hunters, maybe even MaxTac if they classify you as a cyberpsycho threat." Viktor's expression grew serious. "You need to be very careful about who you trust and where you operate."
Tom nodded, though part of him wondered if being careful was still an option. His abilities were becoming too obvious to hide, and his chrome evolution was creating a signature that sophisticated scanning could detect from considerable distance.
"Thank you, Viktor. For everything."
"Thank me by staying human, kid. Whatever it takes, remember who you are underneath all that chrome."
Tom stood to dress, watching his reflection in Viktor's mirror show a being whose humanity was measured in diminishing percentages rather than absolute terms. But Judy's hand remained in his, warm and accepting, and Viktor's support felt genuine despite the medical uncertainties.
Maybe forty percent chrome doesn't have to mean losing myself. Maybe it just means becoming someone different—someone who can protect the people I care about while keeping enough humanity to remember why that matters.
As they prepared to leave Viktor's clinic, Tom caught his reflection one more time. Chrome covered nearly half his visible skin now, creating patterns that pulsed with blue light that matched his heartbeat. He looked like a work of art, a fusion of human consciousness and technological enhancement that challenged every assumption about the relationship between flesh and machine.
But when Judy took his hand and Viktor clapped his shoulder in farewell, Tom felt human enough to matter.
"We'll figure out how to keep you... you," Judy said as they walked toward Betty. "Whatever it takes."
Tom squeezed her hand gently, chrome fingers interfacing briefly with her human warmth. "Whatever it takes," he agreed.
Behind them, Viktor watched from his clinic window as they drove away, chrome and flesh united in defiance of every medical protocol he'd ever learned. The kid was evolving beyond human limitations, but he was doing it while maintaining the connections that defined humanity.
Maybe that was evolution rather than extinction. Maybe Tom was becoming something better rather than something lost.
Viktor returned to his equipment, already planning the monitoring protocols that would help them navigate uncharted territory between human and machine, between Tom Adler and whatever he was becoming.
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