A monster—TheM—had many names back when human technology was underdeveloped and our understanding of the natural world was still very limited.
If a meteorite fell from the sky, it would be called "a divine weapon from the heavens."
If a turtle floated up from the river, it would be called "bearing the River Diagram."
For the sake of simplicity, the term "strange object" was used to refer to those of unknown origin, believed to come from other worlds, parallel planes, hyperspace, or realms like heaven, hell, and the cycle of reincarnation—existences or items whose principles could not be explained, reproduced, or replicated by current science.
According to the Company, when these "strange objects" appeared on Earth for unknown reasons and purposes, the physical laws of our dimension prevented them from fully manifesting. As a result, most monsters could only retain part of their core, appearing in the form of some man-made object on Earth that roughly matched their own inherent rules.
Put more poetically—they were the inverted shadows of otherworldly beings upon this land.
That is what a monster is.
Yes, a projection. Just as the shadow of a person can be large or small, long or short, the same monster might manifest differently in different versions of Earth.
Some monsters possess immense energy.
Some pose no threat at all.
Some can serve as a bridge between our world and the other side.
Some, if left unchecked, could bring about the destruction of the world simply by existing.
They cannot be neatly classified. Once human science analyzes, replicates, and categorizes them—turning the unknown into the known—they lose the need for special management and can no longer be called "monsters."
Thus, the transformation from monster to ordinary object is part of humanity's gradual process of understanding, studying, and reshaping nature.
But obviously, for the Company, if something was worthless, posed no risk, and had no value in active management, it wasn't worth storing at all.
The majority of the monsters currently registered in the Company's warehouses remain because they operate on rules that science cannot yet explain, or because they contain vast amounts of unconvertible, untapped energy.
If left to run wild, they could cause permanent, irreparable damage to the environment and ecosystem—or even destabilize the very structure of civilization.
For this reason, throughout human history, various secret societies and organizations have existed in the shadows of civilization, dedicated—each for its own reasons—to the collection and management of monsters.
TheM Company.
The Monster Company is one such organization. Its origins can be traced back to the late 21st century, making it the first corporation to take monsters as its primary line of business and research.
"Wait, the late 21st century? Wasn't that… the Earth-0 era?"
Yes—long before the first Stargate, the first system, and the prototype chip for the first super AI; before the Singularity and the great technological explosion; in the original, ultimate, and only Earth-0.
The Company's founder and first general manager, through a family tradition of handling monsters, combined cutting-edge technology of the time with a brilliant business mind to create a commercial group specializing in the collection, research, storage, production, and leasing of monsters—an enterprise that has continued to this day.
TheM Company — Member of the Earth-0 Security Council, monster supplier to all worlds across the multiverse, licensed distributor for parallel Earths.
Li Pan glanced around the "retro" office. So, this really might be what they called "the place where it all began."
But seriously—monopolizing something as bizarre as monsters? These companies were outrageous…
There were still traditional landline phones and paper-based office practices. Even though the office area now looked like a warzone, Li Pan could still dig up piles of files from the scattered desks and cabinets—archives, reports, memos, manuals, and product catalog addenda. Sipping coffee, he began studying them, slowly piecing together a basic understanding of the Monster Company.
Humans are arrogant.
Humans are cowardly.
Humans are terrifying.
For what they cannot understand, they use the word "monster." What they cannot fully grasp or control, they instinctively try to destroy.
But being incomprehensible now doesn't mean it will be incomprehensible forever.
Once, ancient humans feared fire and worshipped the sun. Now they can master fusion, build Dyson spheres, and dominate the infinite stars.
Similarly, in ancient Earth-0, people treated these monsters as gods, holy relics, or magical treasures to be fought over, guarded, and studied.
Even if they really were gods from another world, the explosion of science and progress quickly stripped away their mystique. Their status fell so far that even the "something beyond humanity" honorifics were erased, leaving them as mere commodities on a shelf.
So what if something can wipe out humanity? These days, which major corporation doesn't have a couple of star-killing antimatter bombs tucked away in a warehouse? Who cares about "destroying the world"?
Conversely, as human science advances and exploration pushes deeper into the vast cosmos, the number of monsters we cannot understand or control will only increase. We can't just destroy them all indiscriminately, nor can we hide them all away forever. Someone has to manage them and deal with the consequences.
And whether or not they are truly "monsters," humanity will eventually figure them out. Until then, they're scarce—and scarcity means value. In other words… an investment opportunity.
In a mature market, as long as there's a buyer, anything can be priced and sold.
Put bluntly, TheM Monster Company is a marketplace dedicated to the buying and selling of monsters. They purchase un-analyzable monsters from science ethics committees, interdimensional corporations, and scavengers.
Then, leveraging their own expertise, they appraise, process, and re-price them before selling them to the research labs of major corporate giants. This is the Company's main source of income.
Ordinary people's money isn't worth chasing anymore—the real profits come from selling to corporations.
The monster business is a market of limitless potential. At the level of the super-conglomerates that sit on the Security Council, money itself is secondary; the true competition is for technology. Whoever gains an edge in research controls the game.
And the most advanced technology is, naturally, the study of monsters—the cutting edge of the unknown.
Of course, such high-level monster dealings are decided at Earth-0's corporate headquarters. A branch like Earth-0791 is basically just a regional storage and logistics hub.
The branch manager's job is to recover and store monsters from the local dimension, and to fulfill headquarters' trade agreements with other conglomerates. Given the rarity, value, and risk involved, it's the kind of business where you might do nothing for three years, then make enough in one sale to last another three.
Most of the time, it's just warehouse inspections…
Li Pan: "So after all that, I'm just a warehouse keeper?!"
He hung up the phone and stood, only then noticing his cheap rented suit and checkered shirt were torn to shreds. His body had been restored by the archive cabinet, but the clothes had not.
He glanced at the formal suit the coffee monster had been wearing, now lying in the ashes.
The material was strange—soft yet tough, almost like human skin but now cold to the touch. Oddly enough, it felt "dead," as if it would tear apart with little effort, and had lost any bulletproof qualities it once had.
He picked up the office phone and dialed 0791001.
"What is this thing? Another monster?"
His own voice echoed back from the other end.
**"Formal Suit/Guardian,
Identifiable, controllable.
Internal product, monster sub-project.
Possibly the projection of an infant otherworldly creature onto Earth.
Can form a symbiotic relationship with the employee, providing protection, but it can also feel pain and die.
If mistreated, it may grow angry and leave.
If treated well, it will fight by your side until the end.
Only the first set is reimbursed for official employees.
Though still in your probationary period, as acting manager you qualify for this benefit."**
"Oh, reimbursement? Then give me one."
Li Pan pulled the dead suit over himself. It was a bit large, but passable.
**"The general manager may find suit-customization details in the phonebook. Orders are placed via fax.
However, equipping a Formal Suit/Guardian requires passing its trial and consuming a silver key."**
Li Pan narrowed his eyes. "Hold on. What's the silver key for?"
"Keys open doors."
"…No kidding. Be specific."
The voice emphasized:
**"A 'key' opens a 'door'—in the definitional sense. Monster properties cannot be explained scientifically; if the rules allow, they can be applied.
A key can open any entrance, any seal, or directly open the warehouse to borrow monsters from Company stock.
As general manager, you have the right to borrow stock for monster-procurement missions. But with only one key, you may want to check the inventory first."**
A monster key… that sounded mystical.
From the sound of it, the key was single-use—probably some kind of internal Company reward or currency.
That made sense. The custom suit might take ages to arrive, and passing its trial was uncertain. But the warehouse… that definitely had stock. And if the general manager could borrow it—wait! Which warehouse? The one being targeted by the Vortex Gang?
"I suspect Warehouse 7 has a security risk. Given the unexplained attack that wiped out the previous staff, I should inspect the stock, investigate the cause, and report to headquarters."
Of course. If the entire staff had been eliminated so cleanly, it meant someone powerful was after them. And it probably wasn't the Vortex Gang—they were just small-time thugs. The real enemy might be a super-corporation on the level of Yoruishi or Takamagahara.
And whether he liked it or not, Li Pan was already on the pirate ship. The archive was bound to him—eventually, they'd delete him too if he didn't act.
He grabbed the phone, asking questions while rummaging through the file cabinets for Warehouse 7's inventory.
Before joining, Big Bear had shown him around the place—it was massive: six floors above and below ground, climate-controlled, sealed containers, isolated from the network, with security card access, automated defense turrets, smart land mines, and retired combat robots.
While there was no dedicated CSI-level private guard team, the Company's generous "contributions" to the local NCPA precinct meant nearby street cameras were linked to police monitors and patrol cars passed regularly. Any alarm would trigger a police response in under three minutes.
But the surprising thing? According to the Company's list, the entire warehouse held only one monster. The rest were empty crates meant to fool the tax office.
"To prevent runaway incidents, each monster must be stored alone in a specific environment. I should check the warehouse immediately."
"What kind of cursed thing is in Warehouse 7 that I have to handle it personally? And what's wrong with your computers? Not a single one works?"
The Company had deleted all employee records, so mission reports were gone too. Most monster-related details in the physical archives were redacted with black bars until the pages were almost unreadable.
And in this so-called cyberpunk era, the Company still had only fax machines, shredders, desk phones, and coffee makers. Unbelievable.
**"The Company's servers are offline. Systems will be restored after a cleaning/time-reset service tonight. They will be operational tomorrow morning.
Please note: cleaning crews only service Blue and Yellow Zones."**
Li Pan blinked. "Blue Zone? Yellow Zone?"
"Blue Zone — safe, no monsters or no significant risk.
Yellow Zone — controllable, monsters contained per regulations.
Red Zone — dangerous, monsters at risk of or already out of control."
"…Wait," Li Pan narrowed his eyes, "that ridiculous mood-deviation assessment… was that your doing?"
The phone's echo replied: "I don't know."
"You don't know? Aren't you the Company's dedicated AI assistant?"
**"I am the Office Landline / Mind Echo, sometimes called 'Soul Communication,' 'Subconscious Dialogue,' 'Whispers of the Mind,' or 'Spiritual Medium.'
When an employee cannot answer, I may reply in their place, but only with information they could have reasonably gathered from the scene."**
So basically, less useful than a basic search engine.
"The Company needs a full reboot. I must work overtime tonight to check all 42 warehouses in the city. I recommend starting with Warehouse 7, then inspecting each Red Zone to ensure monsters remain contained."
Li Pan sneered.
"For 2,500 credits a month, you want me to risk my life?!"
"I am the 14th manager of Branch 0791."
"Two thousand five hundred!"
"This city was once called Neo-Tokyo 13."
"Two thousand—wait, you're saying the Old City's destruction was monster-related? I thought that was the Company's fault—"
Then it hit him. Monster loss of control was the Company's fault. And corporate wars, regime changes—it was all the same. Here in 0791, it was just Takamagahara being replaced by Yoruishi.
And honestly, Yoruishi hadn't been that bad to the locals—they even issued relief loans. In the end, corporations were here to make money.
But then—
"What's that got to do with me? This whole mess is the last guy's problem! Go resurrect the deleted employees and have them clean it up!
You're threatening me? For 2,500 a month you want me to save the world? Go ask Lady Camilla of Yoruishi or Oda Kamisuke of Takamagahara—they've invested hundreds of billions in Night City, maybe they care!"
The phone replied slowly:
**"I know the pay isn't the point—it's the contract. Only by honoring the contract can the rules be invoked. My managerial authority exists solely because the archive cabinet recognized your temp-worker contract.
And I know they don't care. In a great flood, it's always those at the top who survive. Even if they lost hundreds of billions in Night City, to them it's a drop in the ocean—they could lose it thirteen times over and still be fine.
But this 2,500 a month is all I have."**
"Damn it!"
Li Pan slammed the phone down, glaring at the memo in his hand.
"Deleted/deleted, classified blue—a medium for subconscious communication. Recipient unknown. Some believe it's a mind echo, some believe an AI is on the other end, some call it hallucination from split personalities. I think… maybe it's your conscience."
Conscience, my ass.
He crumpled the memo and tossed it in the trash.
After a moment's thought, he called a cleaning crew to scrub the floor, then left the Company.
Either way, he needed to check on Big Bear.
Maybe he hadn't been deleted by the Company—maybe the Vortex Gang had just killed him.
If that were the case, his family might at least be able to apply for an interest-free loan as workplace death compensation.
Though that was probably wishful thinking.
.
.
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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