"Hey, you—buzz cut—stop right there."
Because of that mess with Monster Corp, Li Pan left the park weighed down with thoughts. He hadn't even reached the subway station before someone stopped him. Hearing the voice from behind, his first instinct was to draw his gun—but when he looked up and saw the blue-black uniforms, he slammed the brakes on that thought and replaced it with a smile.
"Officer, what seems to be the problem?"
NCPA — Night City Police Agency.
Two uniformed officers stepped in front of him, one aiming a smart submachine gun, the other holding a police terminal. Behind them hovered an enforcement drone, red and blue laser lights flashing across Li Pan's face.
"Name, residence, and why you're not connected to the Net."
"Huh? Why I'm not connected…?"
Li Pan was baffled. Then he suddenly realized—never mind the security system failing to boot, he couldn't even see the virtual ad projections along the street! His hand shot to his neck, and a cold sweat broke over him.
Smooth skin. The neural jack was gone.
Not only had the Archive Cabinet restored his flesh and repaired his left arm, it had erased his neural implant entirely. He hadn't noticed at the office since there was no network there, but as soon as he stepped outside, he'd dropped off the security grid.
No way! They could do that? Just rip a neural chip out in an instant?
Only now, shaken from the shock of Monster Corp, did Li Pan fully grasp how impossible it was for the Archive Cabinet to swap out his arm so quickly. Another cold sweat ran down his spine.
Damn it—cyber-doctors in the slums butcher you like pigs, but the company had silently reset all his cyberware? Was this cutting-edge nanotech? Clone technology? Monster power… or corporate power?
"Are you high? Why aren't you answering? Run a mood assessment on him—look at the camera."
The officer's hand was already on his holster, and the police drone buzzed right up to his face. Helpless, Li Pan looked into the lens.
"Li Pan, citizen, employee of TheM Corporation. My chip's damaged."
Even though the chip was gone, damage and replacement were common enough. Since TheM paid his salary and social insurance, they wouldn't be so generous as to reset his citizenship—and along with it, the 250,000 yuan he owed.
The drone scanned his ID, sent the psych evaluation to the police terminal.
"Fuck, that's a lot of blue!"
The officer flinched at the mental health reading. But Li Pan was a tax-paying, reputable citizen, a company employee, with no criminal record or bounty. They decided not to make an issue of it.
"All right, legal citizen—get back online as soon as possible. You're free to go."
"Thank you, officer."
Li Pan rubbed his neck. Damn, his debt was already bad enough. The warehouse job had cost him an arm and a system chip. The prosthetic arm was one thing, but the system chip? You couldn't get better value than a second-tier chip from a military academy graduate these days.
Without a virtual network chip, life was miserable. Every cop and security guard would treat you like a suspect deliberately offline. You couldn't log into your contacts or accounts, and old junk devices without facial recognition wouldn't work. He couldn't even enter the elevator in his own apartment building. It was, literally, impossible to move.
So he searched nearby and found a cyberware clinic. Clinics in the central districts of Night City cost dozens of times more than the back-alley chop shops in the slums, but there was no choice. A virtual network chip had to be linked to the security system network. In the gang-ridden outskirts, you could scrape by with dead men's chips or knock-offs. But working for a corporation, commuting daily in the heart of the city where police swarmed? If you installed some black-market junk full of warrants or malware daemons, you might die without knowing how.
"Welcome to PROSTHESIS Cyberware Maintenance Center. How may I help you?"
The spotless lobby gleamed. An android hostess, all metallic sheen, approached to serve him.
PROSTHESIS was a major chain, like a supermarket or a dealership. They specialized in installing, upgrading, maintaining, and customizing cyberware—chips, processors, functional modules—you could order and have anything fitted.
"I need a virtual network chip."
The hostess scanned him, her voice sweet.
"You've never installed any cyberware before—are you a Purist believer? Don't worry, we're a security-system-certified service provider. Our surgery failure rate and cyberpsychosis incidence are fifteen percent lower than the official statistics. You can use our services with confidence.
"Here's our current inventory of virtual network chips. Do you see a brand or signal you like? Any specific functions you need? May I recommend a promotional package? Would you like to sign up for a membership card? First-time customers get five percent off."
Li Pan glanced at the floating menu she projected, zeros trailing across the prices until they blurred his vision.
Too expensive. And if that save-load phenomenon happened again, all that money would be wasted when his cyberware reset.
"Uh… got anything second-tier?"
The hostess straightened, hands behind her back, metallic face smiling unchanged.
"Sorry, sir—we're a business, not a charity."
If I had bullets in my gun, I'd blow your head off right now…
Li Pan thought for a moment.
"I'm an employee of TheM Corporation. Do you have any corporate-partner discounts? Also, check my credit limit for company-guaranteed loans."
These days, loans depended on steady employment. If you hit a rough patch, the company could cover your payments. The bigger the corporation and the higher your position, the higher the guarantee—and the more you could enjoy the high life. Companies encouraged employees to finance cyberware upgrades, since it boosted productivity.
Of course, if you got fired, lost your card, and defaulted… that was another story.
The hostess's eyes flickered with digital light; her tone turned eager.
"Yes, indeed. Your company offers an annual credit guarantee limit of 50,000, with zero-interest repayment over one year. Amounts beyond that can be paid in six installments at a base interest of 3%…
"All major cyberware brands offer discounts and premium memberships to your company's employees. The more you buy, the more you save…
"Wow! Your company is a major client! Would you like to consider our local 0791 brands? We have factory-direct supply, no import tariffs, easier upgrades and replacements."
So Monster Corp employees were such prized customers that even the biggest cyberware firms fought to offer them deals. No doubt that meant plenty of them got blasted into scrap and rebuilt regularly.
Broke and unwilling to pay tariffs on fancy off-world goods, Li Pan followed her advice and looked at local suppliers.
In 0791, that meant the old military-grade cyberware manufacturer under Takamagahara: Muramasa Industries.
As the zaibatsu's designated weapons producer, Muramasa's products were used on a massive scale from corporations to gangs. From Tier-3 to Tier-6, military and civilian gear alike, they had complete production lines, mass-production advantages, and large inventories—making them the most cost-effective choice.
Of course, because of Takamagahara's old-guard background, and the Red Tengu's heavy use of Muramasa arms, the Security Bureau and Yoru Corp were now cracking down on them, limiting production. But that was nothing someone with 2,500 yuan to spend had to worry about.
The other contender was JYHAD Equipment, a Yoru Corp-owned arms dealer.
As Night City's new rulers, they were expanding aggressively, crushing Takamagahara loyalists and hunting the hidden Red Dogs. They had all the subsidies and tax breaks they could want, allowing for unfair competition.
Their 0791 production was still limited and prioritized Yoru Corp's own security forces, but the growth potential was huge.
There were also global giants like Military Manufacturing, Global Link, and TrueVision, with factories across worlds. But many specialized in niche equipment, had overpriced high-end models due to tariffs, or imposed sales and repair restrictions—not worth considering.
Even with discounts, it was all still expensive.
The cheapest Tier-3 chip was over 5,000 yuan—only a 30% performance boost over Tier-2, still civilian-grade and missing key functions. Not worth it.
In this world, the gap between civilian and military tech was vast. Civilian Tier-1 to Tier-3 was fine for daily life, but Li Pan's future enemies were monsters and corporations—civilian gear wouldn't cut it.
Corporate officers used Tier-5 as standard, with system chips costing hundreds of thousands. Tier-4 was the sweet spot for mercs, gangs, and mid-level employees—a few tens of thousands could kit you out.
After much hesitation between Muramasa and JYHAD, Li Pan picked HT Chaos Tech.
HT Chaos Tech ranked among the top three tech firms in the multiverse, operator of cross-dimensional quantum virtual networks and the main Public Security System provider. In 0791, they had suppliers. While not famous for personal cyberware, they were leaders in smart assist chips and communications.
Li Pan chose a retired Tier-4 military chip, Xingtian-9, for 48,000 yuan, plus a Tier-3 civilian ballistic-coordination processor from an HT subsidiary. The processor linked to weapon subnets, aiding recoil control, aiming, and stabilization. The Tier-3 wasn't much worse than the Tier-4, but the difference between having one and not was huge. With the bundle discount, the processor was only 1,500. Together, the bill didn't max his card—perfect.
The Xingtian-9 was ancient stock, designed for frontline assault troops, focused on electronic warfare defense to keep soldiers' gear from being hacked on boarding. Not cheap, source code locked—not a hacker's favorite, and of little use to gangs. The cost-performance couldn't match Muramasa or JYHAD.
But HT's network-security reputation was reassuring. Low-level punks like the Whirlpool Gang would never hack into his brain.
His old ballistic processor had also been HT tech, so linking to the Public Network would update and inherit his shooting parameters without re-tuning.
After surgery at PROSTHESIS, reinstalling the neural jack and hand processor, Li Pan opened his eyes and returned to the comforting ocean of virtual data, drowning in the light-pollution of pop-up ads.
"Welcome to Chaos Tech Support. I am your AI assistant, Xingtian. You are now connected to the Public Security System.
"Citizen Li Pan, account balance: 1,147.95. Current repayment due: 3,379.38. Total debt: 30XXXX.XX.
"Your next payment is due on the 15th of this month. Please maintain sufficient balance.
"Your mental deviation is within normal range. Thank you for using the Public Security System. Have a smooth day."
All right, the Xingtian's in—now for the big show.
"Xingtian, activate ECCM mode."
"ECCM mode activated."
In a flash, every pop-up ad vanished. Blissful silence.
Yes! Worth every penny.
He'd heard from old soldiers that HT, as the network operator, could open backdoors in its own systems, filtering out redundant junk data and boosting chip processing speeds.
On battlefields and in space, this chip-level ECCM mode was marginally useful—but in Night City's downtown, plastered with digital billboards, it was a godsend.
Still, rubbing his neck, Li Pan felt the discomfort of the micro-incisions despite anesthetics and pain suppression.
How had the Archive Cabinet restored him in an instant…?
For now, he couldn't figure it out and didn't care to. Cyberware updated, he boarded the subway for Warehouse No. 7.
The Whirlpool Gang ruled the industrial district. Mostly laid-off workers, casualties of Takamagahara's defeat. 0791's industrial system was destroyed; the city reduced to a dumping ground for Yoru Corp.
These workers were among the biggest losers. Generations in the industrial zone, enduring pollution and grueling labor for an honest wage—gone. The industrial district, once bustling, fell silent. Anyone with skills left; the rest watched the machinery decay.
Some sold their citizenship to become corporate drones, numbing themselves with drugs and braindances.
Others tried to fight back—starting small workshops, hijacking old factory tools for illegal cyber-mods, churning out black-market components, upgrading themselves for gang turf wars. To fund it, they sold their own organs to private clinics for startup cash.
But without tech blueprints, quality control, or steady funding—and under pressure from rival gangs—the Whirlpool Gang fell into massive debt, lost their citizenship, and became one of the most violent, unprincipled, cyberpsychosis-ridden gangs in the city.
The NCPA abandoned patrols there, sealing the district with barbed wire and sniping anyone crossing out. Break through, and Cerberus squads would sweep you.
NCHK—Night City Broadcast Association—had a show following Cerberus spec-ops teams into the industrial district to "exterminate pests." No mission, just slaughter, zombie-movie style.
Even so, the Whirlpool Gang was native to Night City. They moved through the old Tokyo sewer system, striking warehouses and dumps in the suburbs.
They knew their reputation; they never lingered. Big Bear had told Li Pan that if they'd scouted a location, they'd hit it today.
Like the saying goes—if you see one cockroach at home, there's already a nest.
Why did Li Pan know so much about them? Simple—his ex-girlfriend was Whirlpool.
But the train had arrived. Her story could wait.
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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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