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The steel flechettes that pelted Adam Smasher rang out like tallic hail as they struck his alloy fra. In the clash between dense armor and high-velocity piercing rounds, it was obvious who ca out on top—Smasher's plating didn't budge. But even a point-blank tech shotgun blast wasn't without consequences.
The synthetic flesh that clung to his face—likely kept just to simulate so trace of humanity—was now shredded. He looked like a chanical corpse that had just clawed its way out of a grave, with scraps of rotting at still stuck to his chro skull.
"I'm gonna blast your fucking brains out."
Pain was aningless to Smasher. His chro fra was loaded with cyberware—so much so that even a pain editor, sothing most rcs wouldn't dare install, was standard for him. But it wasn't pain that fueled his fury.
It was humiliation. Repeated, direct, personal humiliation.
He'd never taken Karl's team seriously. At best, he gave Karl a passing nod due to the guy's unique profile—but the others? Nobodies. Insects. And yet here they were, landing hits, making him bleed. Again.
When was the last ti anyone had even hurt Adam Smasher?
Now, his rage turned his vision red.
He activated Berserk Mode.
When it ca to chro, no one outdid Smasher. Where most humans could barely handle a single high-load operating system like Sandevistan, Smasher's fully chanical body could integrate multiple OSs with ease.
Now, with his Armor Regeneration Matrix online, even the smallest scrapes and tears were already sealing themselves.
Self-repair alloy tech—normally reserved for aerospace-grade gear or elite military systems due to its absurd cost—was just another standard module in Smasher's body. That's who he was.
Just like all the so-called "rare" rcs he'd crushed before, who thought they were special… they all beca another notch in his legend.
And these clowns would be no different.
Smasher raised his arm. A missile launched from the retractable grenade system in his chanical forearm—headed straight for Jack. At the sa ti, twin auto-turrets popped out from his shoulders and began unloading rounds at V and Karl.
A one-man armory wasn't just a nickna for Adam Smasher. Even without his usual handheld weapons, the firepower baked into his body could flatten squads.
The blasts ripped through rocks, structures, and terrain—but not one shot touched Karl's crew. Against other targets, this might've been overkill. But against top-tier rcs? It was just noise.
They'd all survived gunfire and warzones. If you couldn't dodge this kind of crap, you should've died years ago in so alley trying to rob a booster.
But dodging still ant moving—and that was what Smasher really wanted.
As he retracted his forearm launcher, the turrets kept up their barrage. Smasher stomped once, hard.
His legs—fitted with high-power jump boosters—could've launched him into the sky. But instead, he angled them down and forward.
Dash Mode.
His blood-red gaze locked on Karl.
The others? Just distractions. Annoying, yes—but not threats.
Karl was the threat.
Once Karl was down, he'd deal with the rest at his leisure.
BOOM.
Smasher vanished from his position with a sonic blast and reappeared beside Karl mid-dodge.
Both fists clenched, hydraulics hissing from the pressure, Smasher raised them over his head and brought them down in a crushing blow.
Red eyes t startled blue.
And the fists fell.
Karl didn't know exactly how much force was behind that strike, but he knew enough—getting clipped might leave his body twisted into at ribbons.
Back during their last fight, he wouldn't have stood a chance. But now?
His legs—rebuilt, retooled—fired.
With a twist and a step, Karl dropped his weight to the right. The Reinforced Tendon Implants hissed, blasting compressed air to shift his entire body mid-movent—just enough.
BOOM.
The ground cracked open from the impact.
Chunks of earth exploded outward like shotgun pellets. The force of the shockwave alone sent Karl flying back. He landed hard, his body staggering through the grit.
He raised his arms to shield his face, but the chunks hit him in the stomach—his insides churning.
And as the dust settled, he barely lowered his arms before—
Smasher was already there.
That hulking fra. That inhuman speed.
The mont Karl's vision cleared, even slightly—Smasher was right in front of him. A fist the size of a cinder block ca crashing down, aid to smash his skull into paste.
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🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless
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