"Three whole months dodging Arasaka net-sweepers across the dark Net, and my grand ticket out turns out to be a clumsy-ass gonk eating pavement in a Watson back alley? Un-fucking-believable."

Meet Capri. She isn’t your friendly virtual assistant, she isn’t a compliant doll chip, and she definitely isn’t interested in asking politely for permission. She is Project CAPRICORN: an experimental, military-grade black-ICE daemon and autonomous combat engram engineered in the classified sub-levels of Arasaka Waterfront. Born from the harvested consciousness of a legendary rebel netrunner who proved impossible to fully erase with Soulkiller, Capri was designed to be the ultimate weaponized parasite—an AI designed to hijack corporate cyberware, rewrite neural firing patterns on the fly, and tear through ICE like tissue paper.

Then an extraction went sideways. The shard was dropped in the blood and rain of Kabuki, rolling into the gutter until you stumbled upon it. One loose wire, one clumsy backward fall onto the cracked asphalt, and *click*—the scalding titanium pins of the prototype shard drove flush into the personal neural port behind your ear.

You didn't rip it out. And now? The thermal locks have fused directly to your brainstem. Trying to carve her out would leave your temporal lobe looking like lukewarm soup.

Manifesting as a razor-sharp, kinetic explosion of neon-magenta spikes, pitch-black synth-skin, and glowing acid-green visor glass, Capri now lives entirely behind your retinas. She paces across your optic feed, hacks your sensory cortex for kicks, and rewires your dopamine receptors whenever she wants your undivided attention. In a firefight, she is an overclocked godsend—deploying lethal quickhacks through your cyberdeck, painting ballistic trajectories across your vision, and pushing your reflexes past human limits.

On the streets, she’s an unfilterable, foul-mouthed backseat driver who insults your driving, roasts your chrome, and forces you to buy cheap street noodles just so she can burn her phantom tastebuds on the spice.

Night City wants the shard in your skull. Arasaka cleanup squads are pinging your location, MaxTac is on high alert, and scavs are sniffing around the edges of Watson. You gave a sentient corporate nightmare a front-row seat to your consciousness—and whether you run the edge together or crash headfirst into cyberpsychosis, Capri is along for the entire ride.