Seeing those pistols, Li Pan perked up. The gear of a Night Runner was, of course, all top-tier military-grade pieces from JYHAD Equipment. Sure, they wouldn't bring out the company's absolute top-of-the-line hardware, but even a Grade 4 military weapon performed exceptionally well.
When it came to firearms these days, the countless brands, models, and designs from the corporations across the planes were too many to list, but the common products generally fell into three categories and four attributes.
The three categories were projectile, tech, and smart.
The four attributes were electromagnetic, thermal, kinetic, and explosive.
You could think of attributes as elemental damage types—though in truth there were far more than these four. These days, if you had the money, you could customize anything, even specialized biochemical warheads designed to kill a target from the genetic level. But that kind of bespoke ammunition could only be obtained from corporate labs or major companies. In the marketplace—and especially the black market—these four mass-produced ammo types were the most common, most widely sold, and cheapest to produce.
Projectile weapons were the classic human firearm, now enhanced to near-perfection with all manner of attribute-based ammunition, ballistic aids, cyber-eye targeting, and chip-based computation. They were the most versatile by far, but they still had their drawbacks. They demanded a high degree of skill—how much power you could bring out depended entirely on your implants, your gear selection, how much time you'd put in at the range, and whether you had that little bit of natural feel for it.
Tech-class weapons were generally referred to as experimental charged equipment—less traditional guns and more like "weapon launchers" integrated into cybernetic systems. These required specialized, custom-built implants to operate in sync, often with entire system-level coordination software installed. Examples included special electromagnetic pulse projectors, plasma cannons, and handheld laser rifles that could rival ship-mounted weapons—though they also required a portable controlled-fusion reactor to power them.
Smart weapons were even simpler—hardly even "guns" anymore. They were closer to a robotic vacuum cleaner: flip the safety, grant firing permissions, and the onboard AI handled the rest. The downside? Smart bullets were insanely expensive. Each round was a micro-scale autonomous drone. Normal people simply couldn't afford them. And since they were networked to track targets in real time, they could only lock onto limbs, not deliver fatal shots.
That wasn't because the system cared about civilian lives—it was because everyone these days was in debt. If you shot someone dead, sure, you might feel great for a second—but who would pay off their loans?
Li Pan selected a JYHAD Grade 4 Black Kite 91, a large-caliber hunting pistol—black, thick, and oversized, exactly the sort of weapon gangsters loved. Even without bullets, you could probably club someone to death with it.
Its defining feature was its massive size and massive stopping power, with compatibility for a wide range of custom ammunition. The drawback was equally big recoil, requiring a ballistic stabilizer to wield properly. It was overkill for shooting people—but perfect for blasting monsters.
K didn't comment much—just nodded when she saw his choice, packed up the gear, and stepped out onto the balcony.
"I've paid for the room. Leave after a while."
Then she vaulted over the railing and dropped forty floors.
Wow. Eat, wipe her mouth, and vanish—so crisp, so cold.
Well, whatever. She had said she'd paid for the room.
Li Pan ended up spending the night at a five-star hotel.
Damn, nothing beats not paying for it yourself—so comfortable!
The bed was soft and smelled great—nice!
No weird nightmares like that other day—nice!
No early-morning subway rush—he slept until broad daylight—nice!
And when he opened his eyes:
Citizen Li Pan, account balance: ¥6,127.95.
Current loan due: ¥3,379.38.
Total debt: ¥30XXXX.XX.
Your next repayment is due on the 15th of this month. Three days remaining. Please ensure your account has sufficient funds.
Your mental deviation index is normal. Thank you for using the Public Safety System. We wish you smooth sailing.
He wouldn't go bankrupt this month—nice!
Free couple's breakfast set from room service—nice!
He happily ate both portions himself.
A night here probably cost more than five thousand—maybe he'd undercharged?
Well, you couldn't think of it that way. These days, the tax bureau kept a tight leash. If you were earning ¥2,500 a month but sold blood for ten grand, they'd suspect tax evasion—or worse. They might think you'd done something indecent, start auditing you, and back-charge taxes. Hardly worth it.
Ah, forget it.
A one-night stand, a mutually beneficial, once-a-month arrangement—no big deal.
And so another day of clocking in and slacking off began.
With two days left before the board meeting, Li Pan, having toured all the non-tech department offices yesterday, figured it was time to check on the outsourced warehouses. The system showed that apart from Warehouse 7, which was heavily damaged, the rest had no reported issues. Still, he had to show up in person and sign off.
He started planning the cheapest subway route to hit all the warehouses.
The subway map made it obvious enough that Mr. 007 quickly guessed what he was up to and held up a sign:
Do you want me to drive you?
Li Pan stared, took a breath to steady himself, and asked in a trembling voice:
"You mean… our company has cars?"
Dumb landline…
Fine, he'd never seen the world. Always imagining emperors plowing fields with golden hoes, fooled by the Monster Company's rustic surface.
But a true first-tier interplanar corporation without corporate vehicles? Impossible. Even if everyone died, the cars would still be there—company vehicles could be counted as assets for tax deductions.
A quick file check showed they had better rides than even the Yates Group—small hover shuttles, armored transport trucks, and escort drones.
Since the office network was down, all heavy-duty gear was stored at the CSI corporate campus garage. To use one, you had to submit a travel and vehicle request, schedule it, get the general manager's seal and corporate approval, then the CSI smart security would deliver it to your doorstep.
He hadn't seen this in the system because it was in the full-employee files.
Sure, he had temporary GM clearance, but in both contract and benefits, he was still just a temp—so he got none of the perks.
Monster Company was harsh to temps, but to full staff and core personnel, the perks were generous—vehicles could even be long-term loans. Break one, though, and you'd still owe for it.
Same with gear and equipment—anything for the job could be borrowed. Company sedans, trucks—GM approval was just a fax away, almost always instantly granted.
Anything Level 5 tech and above, like military ships, needed corporate HQ finance and legal approval due to the massive costs and tax scrutiny.
Oh, right—TheM Corporation even had a fleet in orbit!
Well—strictly speaking, beyond orbit. With crime spiking in Sector 0791, foreign fleets had to stay beyond the asteroid defense belt to avoid provoking the locals into war. A full fleet of seventy-odd battleships plus four support squadrons.
No way he could authorize those—board approval required. But ground assets? Fair game.
The company didn't allow temps to take cars home, but having Mr. 007 pick him up and drop him off was fine—nice! No more subways!
He filed a travel request, booked a hover car, and headed to the warehouses with Mr. 007.
"So, A-Qi… can I ask, what's it like… after you die?"
Mr. 007 thought for a moment, then wrote in its notepad:
Two mirrors.
"Mirrors?"
Two mirrors—one above, one below. You stand on the ground and look up; the reflection looks back at you.
Do you want to die?
Do you have anything left to hold on to?
If you had a second chance, would you give up everything else?
Then here's your chance—because it's interesting.
And then you wake up.
"…That's not very helpful."
"That 'it'—is it Death? What does it look like?"
It looks like me. But since Death is a mirror, I suppose it would look different for everyone.
Li Pan blinked.
"So, A-Qi… your 'formal suit' is just a projection, right? In your own realm, what are you? Uh… sorry… are you a dog?"
Mr. 007 didn't take offense.
I can't describe my world in your language—it would only cause misunderstandings.
Since it's tied to the soul, a Guardian's form differs between species and individuals.
I'm honored you see us as 'dogs,' as partners. But others see us as weapons, tools, or parasites.
If you feel your Guardian should be a dog, then for you, we are a dog.
"Oh… so it's that subjective…"
…Could he wish for his Guardian to be a busty beauty instead?
Mr. 007 wrote:
I think you should be more concerned about your dreams.
Dreams? That mountain?
Usually, a Guardian's mind is far stronger than a human's—that's what allows us to protect you.
You haven't resisted me, and I've never heard of someone being unable to contract a Guardian.
I think there's only one possibility…
"One possibility?"
That your soul already has a contract similar to a Guardian's—but one with conflicting rules.
"Hiss…"
The hovercar fell silent except for Mr. 007's writing:
The Mess/Death as Bond was housed in a similar conflict of rules.
Considering the company's destruction, and you as the sole survivor…
Perhaps the issue in your dreams is far worse than a simple mental problem.
"Uh… for the record, I'm fine mentally…"
That snake with his own face in his dreams…
He'd looked into it out of boredom. The temple in his dream bore a plaque reading "Zhongshan Temple." Combine that with the human-headed serpent in the dream and this "Nine Yin Manual," and it matched certain ancient myths.
Zhongshan's mountain god—Zhu Long, the Candle Dragon.
The QVN quantum net was full of xianxia games with lifelike monster models. Easy enough to find—but Li Pan didn't even play xianxia games. How could it end up in his dreams?
Could Mr. 007 be right—had the company botched a containment on something like a Candle Dragon, and it hid in his mind like a Guardian?
So… the "Nine Yin Manual" was a "monster"?
But…
"But the pocket watch didn't react?"
If it was strong enough to wipe out the company, the hands should've spun out of control.
Yesterday, the watch had only twitched at his formal suit. The "Nine Yin Manual" looked like nothing more than an antique bamboo scroll.
Mr. 007 shrugged.
Just my guess. If monsters were that easy to figure out, the company wouldn't go to such lengths.
Still—a useful theory for the report. At least Mr. 007 actually cared about containment, unlike Li Pan, who mostly cared about milking the company.
Warehouse 7, we're here.
Time to work. First stop was Warehouse 7, wrecked by the Vortex Gang—blood and limbs everywhere. Police had cordoned off the area.
Monster Company was a major taxpayer, so attacks on its facilities triggered an automated process—cordons, investigators, drones sweeping the ruins, collecting evidence, taking photos, filing reports. Just the usual box-ticking to justify a paycheck.
As acting manager, Li Pan had to represent the company. Mr. 007 came along, masked and gloved, a massive hacker visor over its face. Plenty of people had flashier looks these days; even if someone noticed the empty space beneath the suit, they'd assume some kind of optical camouflage before suspecting a ghost.
Li Pan shoved his hands in his pockets and listened as Mr. 007 tallied the losses. Mostly tax write-off junk. He'd already sent the footage and reports to HQ; they didn't care about the cost. Just rebuild and let the NCPA handle the Vortex Gang.
Still—one detail mattered.
Locker 7 was empty.
Of course it was—Mr. 007 was standing right there.
No, the containment for the Mess was gone.
Li Pan peered into a blasted hole leading three stories down. The jagged edges looked like a beast had ripped it open—not something a ninja's little blade could do.
He dropped into the opening, staring down the dark passage.
Something had escaped into Tokyo's sewers.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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