"All units, report: a serious homicide has occurred on South Ellen Street. Possible dangerous targets at the scene. Coordinates incoming..."
"Be advised: suspects are equipped with combat-grade cyberware. All units remain on high alert."
"Max-Tac has entered the scene. All regular officers evacuate immediately. Repeat: Max-Tac has taken over—evacuate the scene."
"Suspects have fled. A city-wide manhunt is now in effect across Night City. Cleanup crews en route to secure the area."
The NCPD police comms channel was flooded—commands and alerts pouring in like a relentless storm, clogging up every available second.
One moment, a corporation's data had been breached and stolen, triggering urgent intervention by NetWatch. The next, some gang was engaged in a violent turf war that spilled over into civilian neighborhoods.
Distorted static crackled in every officer's headset, as voices overlapped chaotically.
Understaffed. Under-equipped. Underfunded. Meanwhile, crime and corruption bloomed like cancerous growths with no sign of stopping. No wonder so many officers had long since given up hope.
The air in police precincts was thick with apathy and rot. Worn down by the endless grind, many officers resorted to force and excessive violence just to get through their day.
Some even prayed the perp at the scene would turn out to be a cyberpsycho—because then, they could just hand the job over to Max-Tac and let the psycho squads take care of it. Of course, that meant getting the hell out quickly. "Friendly fire" wasn't unheard of.
But this time was different.
The target today? Too much to handle.
Shooting up a mall? Been done. Suicide bombers at churches? Sure. Minefields rigged across suburban lawns? That too. Every kind of cyberpsycho has had their "final moment of glory" in Night City.
And Max-Tac always got the job done. Find the psycho. Kill the psycho. Mission accomplished.
But today... Max-Tac lost.
Word was spreading fast. That legendary female psycho-slayer? She got beat.
Yes, they were running two-man teams lately due to manpower issues, but still—the other guy wasn't just a rookie.
It was Joseph Dredd. Protégé of Chief Inspector Master Yi. A name respected even by veterans, and not just because of his teacher.
MAX-TAC. Maximum Force Tactical Division. Or, as the streets call them, Psycho Squads. But "Psycho Squads" sounds a bit too unprofessional for the official press releases, even if that's exactly what they do—psycho hunting.
They're the madmen sent to kill madmen.
And this team? Melissa Rory, legendary lieutenant. Joseph Dredd, rising star.
They lost.
Even worse? The enemies fought them like it was some old-school martial arts spar—defeated them clean, and walked away.
No casualties. No collateral damage. Just left.
In Max-Tac terms, that's unheard of.
Rain began to fall that evening.
Gentle, persistent. But no rain could ever wash the filth from the soul of this city.
No one was in a good mood—except maybe the corrupt beat cops who were still clocking in just to kill time.
At the Max-Tac HQ near the City Center—conspicuously not located inside the main NCPD building.
Why?
Because Max-Tac didn't like sharing space. And neither did anyone else want them nearby.
Not Arasaka. Not Militech. Not Biotechnica. Not Petrochem. Sure, all those megacorps had their own military-grade forces, but they weren't Max-Tac. These lunatics could take down an entire platoon solo. Only elite spec ops could match them.
So if you walk the roads leading to Max-Tac HQ, you'll see some absurd things.
Fortified walls. Autoturrets. Armored patrols.
Even NCPD doesn't want to be too close. Max-Tac aren't just cops—they're a different breed.
The rain kept pouring.
Slick, heavy droplets ran down the hull of a hovering Scorpiontail 4H—Zetatech's latest heavy VTOL assault vehicle.
It had just landed at Dock 2.
Two figures stepped out.
One walked tall. The other trailed behind, drenched and dejected.
A guard at the entrance stiffened, saluted, and dared not blink.
The corridor lights cast bright white halos every three meters, forcing the darkness away.
Bootsteps echoed cold and precise—each one a mechanical metronome.
She passed a tall man standing with arms folded. Her visor revealed no expression, and she didn't even glance at him as she swept by, leaving nothing but fading footsteps behind.
Joseph Dredd, trailing behind, looked at the man with regret and guilt.
"Are you hurt?"
The tall man turned and walked deeper into the corridor.
"Cyberware might have taken a bit of strain. Nothing serious."
Joseph lowered his head and followed like a scolded kid.
The prep room door was ajar.
No clanging of weapons. No slicing of test dummies.
Too quiet.
Inside, Melissa Rory stood before her locker, peeling off fractured combat gear and tossing it in with a thud.
Her short, coffee-colored curls bobbed with each motion.
Joseph looked between her and his captain, unsure what to do.
A nod from Master Yi sent him scrambling to pack up his own stuff.
Melissa sat down, dead calm. But when the captain spoke, her cold eyes flared.
"You got something to say? Like how I got my ass beat? Or how they slipped away like smoke?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Corporate dumbasses making noise again? Or is NCPD trying to cut funding with excuses? Tell them if they want us fired, they can grab guns and fight scum themselves!"
A cruel smile twisted her face.
"Relax, Rory," Yi said with a laugh. "You're in a surprisingly good mood."
"Cut the crap, Master Yi," she shot back. "You're just here to make sure I don't rip the head off the next PR puppet that dares lecture me."
She slammed the locker shut and stormed off.
Joseph winced.
"Go wash up," Master Yi said with a sigh.
Five minutes later, a refreshed Joseph collapsed on the office couch—only to be silenced by a single look from Melissa.
Yeah... she was still terrifying.
His whole body ached. One of his joints was clicking weirdly. Might be time for a tune-up.
"Yo, what kind of monster managed to hand our lieutenant her ass?" joked a teammate.
Alex Murphy, Unit 2 leader, walked in clad head to toe in gleaming black metal. His body wasn't armored. It was armor.
Unlike most Max-Tac operatives who only wore gear on missions, Murphy didn't have a choice. He was his gear.
"Shut the hell up," Melissa growled.
Murphy just kept smiling like always. Weird. Creepy. But harmless.
"Do we have an ID?" Master Yi entered the room. Silence fell.
This "office" wasn't what you'd expect. Just desks wired into neural uplinks for direct mind-control over systems.
Only top operatives got this kind of space.
Melissa Rory, Vice Captain of Squad One.
Joseph Dredd, Deputy-in-training.
Alex Murphy, Squad Two Captain.
And Master Yi, Captain of Squad One and Deputy Director of Max-Tac.
Everyone else was still out hunting psychos.
"My opponent was ex-Militech Spec Ops. No question," Joseph recalled. "Those moves? I could feel it in my bones. And the cyberware? Military-grade. Efficient. Precise. Brutal—but she held back. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be sitting here."
"Held back?" Yi frowned. "Tiger Claws' club got wrecked today. Why would Militech be after them?"
"They're not Militech," Melissa interrupted coldly. "They're mercs."
"That place was a Tiger Claws base—Black Braindance production, murder, the works. No civilian casualties at the scene. If it were Militech, they'd have just bombed the building," Joseph added.
"So... not cyberpsychos. Drop the warrant," Master Yi said after skimming the NCPD report.
Why waste resources? If anything, these mercs did them a favor.
Joseph, however, bit his tongue. He'd noticed something he didn't dare say—
Melissa seemed to know them.
"How are the corps and NCPD reacting?" Joseph asked, changing the subject.
"Tell them to eat shit," Melissa snapped.
No one batted an eye. Business as usual.
The "Red Age" (2021–2023) might be over, but crime was worse than ever. Even NCPD was corrupt now.
Only Max-Tac stayed clean.
Born from SWAT, refined through fire, Max-Tac became the city's elite—the last wall between order and chaos.
When SWAT failed, Max-Tac deployed.
Their job? Terminate threats. No mercy.
Even if they were becoming just as dangerous as the cyberpsychos they hunted, they were the last line of defense.
This was Max-Tac.
.
.
.
🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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