Of course, the main issue was that monsters weren't machines. Most couldn't be fooled with cloned lab rats. A good number of them didn't even recognize clones as "people" at all. Take Monster 001—the Pen, for example: it wouldn't even activate unless specifically instructed. In those cases, they still had to use temp workers.
That was why the Technical Department's floor was naturally fitted with a large number of security drones—just in case something went wrong in any sense of the word—and so the General Manager could, with the snap of his fingers, destroy evidence anywhere, anytime. Physical deletion.
What worried Li Pan right now was that, on his very first day at work, he'd already seen a deletion fail. Who knew what kind of disaster had unfolded in the Technical Department that had forced a full system wipe? The company wasn't even connected to the outside Net—no hacker could get in—so who could tell what had happened? And if Li Pan just wandered in without thinking, and those security drones failed to recognize his face… they'd turn him into Swiss cheese on the spot. The company wouldn't even shed a crocodile tear before plucking some random bystander off the street to replace the GM.
Li Pan even tried probing around—called the janitors to see if they'd take a job cleaning that floor. No one would. Clearly, some form of "containment breach" had happened in there.
After weighing the risks and rewards, he decided it wasn't worth the performance points. Screw it. Worst case, he'd stall for three days and let HQ send in a new Technical Department chief to clean up the mess.
Let someone else take the fall—he wasn't wearing that hat.
He spent the rest of the day making a circuit of the building from top to bottom, getting familiar with the layout, noting each department's quirks, and hammering out a one-page daily memo. By the second day, it was pretty much quitting time.
Honestly, he could see why the company's "three-year internship" rule for temp workers made some sense—if you ignored the "monster costs."
After all, the building was packed with monsters. Every monster had a laundry list of attributes, prohibitions, and hidden rule conflicts. The geniuses running the place insisted on identifying them only by numbers and color codes, with elevators and hallways arranged like some twisted puzzle game. Even the desk phones were brain-dead. The place was a death trap.
As a newcomer with limited clearance, all you got were memos so redacted they looked like modern art, forcing you to guess your way through. Survival alone was a feat, let alone getting anything done.
But if you didn't memorize every last detail about every monster—down to the tiniest quirk—how could the boss trust you with real work? One mistake could tank the entire company… hell, maybe even the entire Night City.
None of that mattered to Li Pan, though. Not when his monthly paycheck was only ¥2,500. That alone was enough to give him angina. No motivation to bust his ass. Clock out on time. Go home.
"Later, I'm out!"
"Safe travels."
Mr. 007 raised a placard without looking up from his typing.
That guy was way more motivated than Li Pan—no surprise, since he was desperate to go full-time. Being a monster also came with perks, like free company housing in a swanky single-unit high-rise downtown.
During today's patrols, Mr. 007 had also been tasked with updating records for the Cold Snow Zone and the Temperature-Control Zone. Having a dead man as a temp worker did have its benefits—no risk of him actually dying. And even though temps weren't allowed to use the Technical Department's bathrooms, they had unrestricted access to the monster warehouses in the Red and Yellow Zones. It was a sick joke.
Fortunately, the warehouses were fine. They were heavily guarded as a matter of routine—if they weren't, the company wouldn't have survived this long while clinging to its ancient procedures.
So, this whole "company wipe" was probably tied to some new arrival—or to an as-yet-unlogged containment job. The old GM's computer didn't have any relevant files, so if Li Pan wanted to figure out what had happened before the purge, he might just have to meet with the Board.
Lost in thought, he flowed with the crowd into the subway station. The place was still filthy as ever. Seriously, how did they manage to clean up the blood and guts but still leave the phlegm stains, grime, and graffiti?
He was skimming headlines about explosions, shootouts, and celebrity scandals while waiting for the Death Lottery numbers when—suddenly—he felt a bump against his chest. Something slipped into his coat.
He didn't usually connect to the Deep Net in public, just browsed on visual mode, so his reflexes were all his own.
Hm? Groper? No—pickpocket?
Yes, they still existed—probably humanity's oldest profession. These days they called themselves "cyber-hunters." Criminals evolved with the times, crafting custom cyberware for the job: multi-layered ID masking to fool cameras, micro-EM jammers to disable implants, neural accelerators for short bursts of speed, even micro-hack rigs to turn some idiot lost in VR into their personal meat puppet.
If you were on the public Net or had security insurance, the worst you'd face was a drained offline account, a virus ad, maybe some blackmail.
But if you were neck-deep in the Deep Net with no antivirus or security? Well… congrats. They'd be harvesting your kidneys next.
They loved crowded commuter cars, targeting wage slaves with a little spare cash but not enough for private transport or combat cyberware. Easy prey.
Li Pan guessed his business suit had gotten him mistaken for someone worth robbing. He immediately disconnected from the Net—no way was he letting some punk slash his suit.
At the same time, he reached into his coat and grabbed the intruder around the waist. Smooth. Firm. Soft. An odd mix. His fingers found something… enticing. He squeezed. Rubbed. Patted. Played with it.
Then he looked down.
It was the same Night Clan vampire woman from yesterday, glaring at him.
"Let go if you want to keep that hand."
Li Pan broke into a sweat.
"How did you find me?"
Her cold, ocean-blue eyes bored into him.
"You think it's hard to find a wage slave with the same two-point commute every day? Got anywhere else you'd even go?"
That one stung—but given she could probably literally stab him several times, he let it slide.
"My gun. Hand it over."
She frowned, then seemed to remember.
"Oh. That junk? I threw it away."
"You—! … Fine. Then what do you want?"
The vampire shot him a sidelong glance. A comms request popped up in front of him: K's Private Link.
Risky to accept random links, but packed like sardines in a subway car with her practically in his arms, he didn't have much choice.
Once connected, her voice filled his head.
"You're the Mophead?"
"Mistakes of youth. Now spit it out."
K glared, then sent over a contract.
A… private health assistant? Oh. A personal trainer.
Wait.
"You want me to be your blood slave?!"
She winced.
"Don't make it sound so filthy. Technically, a blood thrall. Private arrangement. One draw a month. I won't enthrall you or mess with your personal life."
The contract was Public Safety certified—legal.
Yes, vampires still had to drink blood.
Rumors said Night Clan vamps could heal and enhance themselves through feeding. Li Pan had seen that firsthand. The legends also claimed feeding created near-orgasmic highs for both parties—like slamming a high-dose stimulant. Plenty of humans became addicted, kept as pampered pets. Only the Night Group's top corporate elites ever got "the Embrace" as a reward for loyalty.
K wasn't here to romance him—she just wanted his blood.
Two units of red cells a month—400cc per draw. Price: ¥4,000 cash.
"Whoa. Cash?"
Li Pan quickly checked online. Hospital blood cost maybe ¥500 a unit—less with insurance. Night City wasn't exactly short on corpses or clones. The Night Group even had synthetic blood. These vampires weren't starving; they had celebrities lining up to serve them.
Hell no. Not falling for some honey trap.
Seeing his suspicion, K explained,
"It's fair. Any higher draws tax attention.
Your blood's unusually potent—almost like a combat stim—and tastes exactly right. No synth drugs. Pure human. Rare here.
I'm Night Group field ops. I need it as a combat booster. You're a company officer—probably not into being 'kept.' I only need two units a month, plus I can mark you as my thrall. That way no other Night Clan vamp can touch you."
That last part made him pause.
The Night Group had crushed the local gangs—hard. K was a high-level Night Stalker. If he was going to be dealing with them anyway, having an in wouldn't hurt.
"Five thousand. And you owe me a gun."
"Deal."
The ¥5,000 hit his account instantly.
They got off together. A dark-gold scepter logo gleamed on a sleek black C-class coupe waiting outside. The CAMARILLA emblem—Elder Council of the Night Clan.
"Get in. Hotel."
Autopilot. Armed synth bodyguards. Bulletproof. Secure link. Complimentary champagne. Blood-flavored candies. This was corporate life.
K crossed her legs, gazing out the window.
Li Pan broke the silence.
"So… Venture? Toreador?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Don't believe the Net. There are more than thirteen clans now.
I'm an Ancilla Knight—four hundred years in the Night Stalker Corps. A hundred more and I'll be Elder. My Sire is a 13th-generation Elder Prince—one of the three rulers of this plane."
"Got it. So if I'm in trouble, I just drop your name? Kthebodysuit?"
Her glare could strip paint.
"Kate."
He wisely changed the subject.
"So… my blood's really that good?"
Kate looked away.
"Yes. Watch yourself. Not every vampire is disciplined. Most can't control themselves when the bloodlust hits.
I'd rather not see you as a dried husk next time."
"…Would garlic help?"
"Stop reading garbage online."
She was all class—chauffeured to a five-star hotel, greeted by junior Ancilla Knights, handed a large case and a keycard. The suite was ready.
She unpacked a kit, drew his blood, processed it into injectable form—four small metal vials, like energy shots. She downed one immediately, licking her lips, eyes flicking to his neck.
"Hey, calm down. Blood, not body."
"Hmph."
She packed the other three, then dumped two suitcases of guns on the bed.
"Pick one."
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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