Chapter 20: Chrome Spread
POV: Tom
The routine weekly examination at Viktor's mobile clinic had become a ritual of diminishing hope—scientific documentation of Tom's accelerating transformation from human to something unprecedented. Viktor's diagnostic equipment painted cascades of data across multiple screens while Tom tried not to think about what the numbers meant for his remaining humanity.
Seventy-two percent chrome integration. Five percent increase since last week. At this rate of progression...
Viktor's optical implants focused on the readouts with expression that carried twenty years of ripperdoc experience and growing alarm at measurements that challenged every classification system in his medical database.
"Kid," Viktor said quietly, his voice carrying the particular gravity reserved for terminal diagnoses. "You've crossed the line. Most people at this integration level are already gone."
Tom stared at the medical displays showing his body mapped in overlays of organic and synthetic systems. Chrome covered seventy-two percent of his mass now, creating geometric patterns that extended from his arms and torso onto his neck and face. The progression was beautiful in its complexity and terrifying in its implications.
"Gone how?"
Viktor activated holographic displays showing cyberpsychosis statistics, psychological profiles, and behavioral analysis charts that documented the relationship between chrome integration and human consciousness.
"Seventy percent is where standard protocols classify individuals as critical risk for cyberpsychosis. Emotional flattening, empathy reduction, inability to maintain human connections." Viktor gestured at comparative studies. "Average time from seventy percent to complete psychological breakdown: six weeks."
Six weeks. Six weeks before I stop caring about Judy, about friends, about anything except chrome efficiency and technological superiority.
Tom felt his augmented nervous system process Viktor's information with disturbing clarity. His enhanced consciousness could track the psychological changes Viktor described—emotions that felt slightly muted, human concerns that seemed less immediately important than optimizing his chrome performance.
"I can feel it happening," Tom admitted. "Thoughts becoming more analytical, emotions feeling... distant. Like I'm watching human behavior from outside rather than participating in it."
POV: Viktor
Viktor studied Tom's psychological evaluation results while trying to suppress the growing dread that accompanied working with medical cases that exceeded known parameters. The kid's chrome integration was unprecedented, but his psychological stability remained surprisingly intact despite measurements that should have indicated complete breakdown.
His chrome is different from standard augmentation. Adaptive, evolutionary, designed for integration rather than replacement. Maybe that explains why he's maintained consciousness coherence at integration levels that destroy other people.
"Tom, look at me," Viktor said, setting aside the diagnostic equipment. "Really look. Not at the chrome, not at the percentages—at me. Tell me what you see."
Tom's augmented eyes focused on Viktor with enhanced clarity that probably revealed more biological detail than Viktor preferred to contemplate. But behind the technological enhancement, Viktor recognized expressions he'd observed throughout their association—concern, gratitude, genuine affection.
"I see someone who's risked his career and safety to help me understand what's happening to my body. Someone I think of as family despite knowing him for only a few months." Tom paused. "Someone whose approval matters more than tactical efficiency would suggest it should."
He's still there. Still human underneath the chrome. Still capable of emotional connection and moral reasoning.
"Standard cyberpsychosis patients don't worry about losing their humanity," Viktor said with something approaching relief. "They embrace chrome integration as evolution beyond human weakness. The fact that you're fighting to maintain connections means you're probably winning the battle for psychological stability."
Viktor moved to the clinic's mirror array—polished metal surfaces that provided complete visual reflection without electronic enhancement. "But I need you to see what's happening to your physical appearance. Need you to understand how others perceive your transformation."
Tom approached the mirrors reluctantly, his chrome augmentations humming with defensive energy as if they sensed impending psychological trauma. Viktor watched as Tom's expression shifted from reluctant compliance to shocked recognition.
Chrome patterns covered sixty percent of Tom's visible skin, creating geometric designs that pulsed with blue light. His face showed metallic tracery along the jawline and temples, while his eyes held a subtle metallic sheen that reflected ambient light in geometric fragments.
"I look like a machine," Tom said quietly, his voice carrying harmonic overtones from chrome modifications to his vocal systems.
"You look like someone fighting to stay human," Viktor replied gently. "That's what matters. But you need to understand—people see the chrome before they see you. Their initial reaction will be fear, suspicion, classification as potential threat."
Tom stared at his reflection while processing the social implications of his visible transformation. Night City residents were accustomed to chrome augmentation, but his integration levels exceeded normal parameters by significant margins.
He's becoming something unprecedented. Beautiful in its complexity, terrifying in its implications. Question is whether he can maintain human consciousness while his body evolves beyond baseline parameters.
The examination room door opened as Judy entered without knocking—standard procedure since the safe house protocols had eliminated privacy in favor of immediate response to threats. She took one look at Tom's expression and Viktor's diagnostic equipment before demanding immediate status report.
"How bad?" she asked with the directness that marked someone whose emotional investment overrode social politeness.
Viktor gestured at the medical displays. "Chrome integration at seventy-two percent. Officially critical risk for cyberpsychosis. But psychological evaluation shows unusual stability for someone at his integration level."
Judy moved to Tom's position at the mirror array, studying his reflection with expression that combined objective analysis with protective affection. Tom watched her process his transformation through real-time observation—the chrome patterns, the metallic sheen, the visible evidence that he was becoming something unprecedented.
"You're still beautiful," she said finally, her voice carrying conviction that surprised Tom with its intensity. "Different, but beautiful. Like art that's alive."
Tom felt his chrome systems responding to her acceptance with something approaching relief—biological and technological systems recognizing approval from someone whose opinion mattered more than tactical efficiency would suggest it should.
"I'm not the person you met," Tom said quietly. "I'm not even sure I'm a person anymore."
Judy cupped his chrome-covered face with hands that were warm against his technological enhancements. "You're Tom. Chrome doesn't change that. You're still the idiot who talks to his car and cries over coffee. You're still the person who risks himself to protect people he cares about."
She paused, meeting his augmented gaze directly. "That's who I love."
The word hung between them like revelation. First time either had used it explicitly, though their relationship had been trending toward this acknowledgment for weeks. Tom felt his chrome systems pulse with emotional resonance that had nothing to do with technological programming.
Love. She loves me despite chrome integration that makes me barely recognizable as human. Loves the person I'm fighting to remain rather than the machine I'm afraid I'm becoming.
Tom broke down completely—not physical collapse, but emotional release that had been building since his transformation began. Judy held him while he mourned the humanity he was losing one percentage point at a time, while Viktor continued monitoring to ensure psychological catharsis didn't trigger chrome system failures.
"I love you too," Tom whispered against her shoulder, feeling chrome patterns shift beneath synthetic skin in rhythm with emotions that remained stubbornly, recognizably human.
When they left Viktor's clinic twenty minutes later, Tom and Judy walked hand-in-hand through Watson's neon-painted streets while passersby stared at the chrome freak whose augmentation levels exceeded normal social parameters. Tom used to care about their reactions, used to worry about attracting attention that could lead to corporate interest.
Now he just held Judy tighter and kept walking.
First sign I'm losing myself—or first sign I'm accepting what I'm becoming? Don't know anymore. But Judy's hand in mine feels real, feels human, feels like anchor to everything that matters.
Behind them, Viktor watched from his clinic window as they disappeared into Night City's electronic maze. The kid was evolving beyond human limitations while maintaining the emotional connections that defined humanity.
Maybe that was evolution rather than extinction. Maybe Tom was becoming something better rather than something lost.
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