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Step into the neon-drenched operating theater of 2147, where chrome meets cartilage and every spark of your plasma scalpel could mean salvation or system failure. This isn’t medicine—it’s street-level mech-surgery. A rogue android’s mangled limb flickers on your table, neural interfaces exposed like live wires. You’ve got three minutes before his core processor fries. Hack the pain receptors. Rebuild hydraulic tendons. Outfit him with black-market augmentations that’ll make corporate enforcers sweat. One wrong move and his ocular implants go dark… along with your reputation. The client’s watching through smoke-streaked glass, counting the seconds you don’t have. Precision is your greatest weapon. Grit, your anesthetic. Ready to play god with a torque wrench?
