"You'd better hope I never find out who you really are. If I catch you, I'll beat your face in."
Carl was extremely dissatisfied with the braindance editor's assessment that had placed her in the Cyberpsychosis category.
What an insult. She actually thought I was a cyberpsycho. Could a cyberpsycho be as rational as me?
Whenever she dealt with an opponent, she always said "goodbye," either aloud or in her heart. Few people in all of Night City were as polite as she was. Old Vic had certified that.
This was outright slander.
After watching the first braindance with slight frustration, the second one at least did not let Carl's gloom linger.
Because in the second recording, the one judged to be a cyberpsycho was the recorder, not her.
Now this is more like it.
As she experienced the sensations of the cyberpsycho being recorded—a cyberpsycho wielding Mantis Blades—Carl silently committed the blade techniques the man instinctively used amid his madness to memory. This was what made it worth the money.
Together, they had cost 510 eddies. It would have been a huge loss if she had learned nothing.
There had actually been things to learn from the previous braindance as well, such as how to operate a rocket launcher. But Carl would not be touching that braindance a second time anytime soon.
If her resentment built up too much, then if she ever met that braindance editor, Carl might not be able to stop herself from hanging her up and beating her.
After finishing the cyberpsycho braindance, Carl watched the entire second season of Trauma Team several more times. By the time she had finished those too and committed the techniques within them to memory, night had fallen.
She checked her messages. Neither Oliver nor Jack had sent her