Every augmented human required , an expensive anti-rejection drug, to stop their bodies from fiercely fighting the cybernetic implants. Without it, the body would build up painful glial tissue, leading to a slow, agonizing death.
In the streets below, the "clanks"—the derogatory term for augmented citizens—were rioting.
Adam Jensen stood on the balcony of his apartment, the gold-tinted sky of the city reflecting off his artificial sunglasses. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the faint, rhythmic click of mechanical servos. He was more machine than man now, a walking testament to Sarif Industries' cutting-edge technology. They called it progress. Adam just called it Tuesday.