As general manager, Li Pan had the right to select one hacker from the prison's pool of candidates who entered at the same time as Number 18. Of course, it could only be one—and they weren't bought as "people," but rather as "electronic equipment."
Given that Number 18 was an illegal synthetic human and an unregistered inmate hidden in the system, under the Public Safety System's regulations, her fate lay somewhere between being "humanely disposed of" under the Pest Control Act, or being thrown out onto the street as a stateless drifter saddled with massive debt, left to fend for herself.
Li Pan could, in theory, vouch for her as general manager, have the company pay her back social insurance, provide her with legal and compliant identity documents, hire her as a temporary employee, and—if she worked three years—grant her full status as a "person" with minimal social benefits.
But after some back-and-forth with headquarters, he gave up on that path and instead registered her under the category of "company asset."
There were many reasons—but the main one was money.
At least Li Pan could inherit a war-orphan pension; for someone like Number 18, an unregistered inmate, the starting point was utter despair.
If she were a temporary hire, she'd have to survive on a salary of 2,500 a month in Night City while paying taxes, social insurance, rent, food, and everything else until she earned full status.
Even Li Pan could barely handle that; for her—given her condition—she urgently needed all kinds of antidepressants, genetic repair agents, specialized hacker hardware and ghost software packages… all self-funded.
After much wrangling, headquarters agreed at most to cover her prison medical bills, give her a one-year interest-free loan of 100,000, and an extra 2,500 a month in hacker skill subsidies.
But that was practically useless. Participating in QVN electronic warfare cost millions each year in proprietary software tools alone, not to mention all the supporting hardware and network infrastructure. Real hackers—the top tier—were beyond the reach of small teams; no matter how exceptional one's skill, without abundant technical and financial backing, you were just a cripple.
For most hackers, this path led to only two endings: become a corporate dog, or die. The so-called "free netrunner" was nothing more than a beautiful fairy tale.
Worse still, if the company failed to contain a breach and went down, temporary employees could be "deleted." Even if she lasted three years and made full status, by the time she reached twenty-five, her skills might be obsolete and—without enough capital to upgrade her firmware—she'd likely be eliminated.
Corporations didn't keep dead weight—especially not hackers who never went on field assignments. They always had to be the best.
But "company assets" were different—assets could be written off for tax purposes, so headquarters was willing to spend.
From then on, as a corporate asset, not only would all her medications and surgeries be reimbursed, but she'd also get the most expensive, top-of-the-line hacker gear. The company would handle all her software and firmware upgrades, even repair the No. 7 warehouse wrecked by the Whirlpool Gang but still under lease, giving her a base for her hacking equipment.
The price: she would forever lose her "life" and become property—a tool.
Put nicely, she'd be kept by the company; put bluntly, as private property, the company could legally modify and upgrade her however they wished, according to business needs. Changing her mind later would be useless—even death wouldn't be an escape.
No major corporation trusted a hacker they couldn't completely control. If Number 18 had any real choice, they wouldn't have even sent her a recruitment notice.
And if she refused? The company didn't care—the prison had plenty more candidates.
So whether or not Li Pan hired her as a temp, the company was going to acquire "an asset" either way.
No need to look at the others—they'd all be replaced eventually.
And so, unsurprisingly, after "securing her consent," the girl signed her name, becoming corporate property.
What Li Pan found most amusing was—she seemed genuinely happy about it.
"Really? Really?! Full reimbursement?! All the software and equipment I want?!"
She looked every inch the stereotypical Japanese-born child of an institution—grown up in cooling tanks, lacking exercise, malnourished, skin deathly pale, body frail. Her head was shaved, and the insulated one-piece suit she wore for heat dissipation only made her spindly, deformed limbs stand out even more. Li Pan couldn't help but think of a goblin.
But this wasn't a beauty contest—it was about hacking talent. And right now, with her eyes sparkling in excitement, she was strangely hard to look away from.
"Yes. For certain reasons, the company wants to raise its info-security level to at least top-tier 0791 standards. If needed, we'll even build a private server. The paperwork's already filed with the Security Bureau. Apart from level-7-and-up equipment, you can pick whatever you want."
Before Li Pan could even finish, she was clutching a tablet, swiping furiously, then shoving an image in his face.
"This one? The Yamatano-Orochi Superlinked Neural Terminal?"
The 3D model showed a massive system, styled like a dungeon dragon—its main console a huge chamber-like structure, with thick metallic conduits running into network ports like some monstrous tumor grafted into a vascular system.
And… wait. Was that price correct? That's a lot of zeroes.
Her sickly pallor flushed pink; she trembled with excitement.
"This is Takamagahara's Great Serpent! The most advanced site terminal in 0791! Back when we played the red team in a mock attack, we hit it once! Wahaha! Couldn't break in! An entire squad's brains fried! Only I survived! Ahhh! I want it! I want it! I want it! Gimme this! Please! Please!"
Yamatano-Orochi—the Eight-Headed Serpent from Eastern myth—was the codename for Takamagahara's top-tier electronic ghost units. There were eight such elite hacker teams, each using the full "Great Serpent" system.
They were built for corporate war. After Takamagahara went bankrupt, these systems were broken up and auctioned off. Now, twenty years old and stripped of key permissions and software golems, the bare hardware posed no threat to Night Corp's rule—so they were fair game for sale.
Business was business. With a monster company's credit rating, you could buy anything.
Li Pan shrugged—it wasn't his money. He'd thought this little goblin was the silent type; turns out she was a manic chatterbox.
"Hey, HQ, you hear that? She wants the Great Serpent. What? Buy it? Okay—generous! Eighteen! Company says: buy!"
"Yesss!!" she cheered, bouncing on her feet. "I'm gonna find every last one who flamed me before! Kill them all! Hahahaha!!"
Ah Qi, ever the kind one, spotted a detail.
"Miss Eighteen, this unit requires neural separation. Are you sure you're okay with that?"
"…Oh crap, it's a jar-head rig."
Li Pan knew the name—legendary jar rigs. Of course riding the Serpent required a sacrifice.
Tech had advanced enough to miniaturize chips for implantation, but for top-level military and corporate hackers, a full virtual pod was still the way to maximize processing power.
But humans had limits—long, intense sessions could wreck the body. Low-level hackers used drugs, biopods, even ice baths to cope, but those had ceilings.
A jar rig—a brain-machine system—was a form of upload intelligence that skirted the AI ethics committee's red lines.
In short: take out the brain, put it in a jar, discard the rest. All to break human limits and become a true digital ghost—
a Shellless Wraith drifting in the QVN seas.
"No problem! We were made in artificial wombs—we were meant for jars! I'm ready! Thank god you came, or I'd have rotted in this shell! And now it's even better! The Serpent used to take a whole squad! Now it's all mine, all mine, all mine—just me!! Ahahahaha! What's better than this?! Ahahahaha please don't let this be a dream!!"
Her manic grin twisted into a full performance as she laughed herself breathless, foaming at the mouth and collapsing in convulsions.
Li Pan nodded—yes, she was one of his kind.
No wonder the company wanted her—easily the most complete among the electronic ghosts, though her condition was severe. She might not last three years before epilepsy took her out.
Ah Qi scrambled to keep her from choking on her vomit, pulling out a sedative respirator.
"Ah Qi, go with her to handle the purchases."
Li Pan linked his chip to a drone and granted it payment authorization.
"Stop at Akiyama Dojo on the way back. I'll go in alone."
Ah Qi nodded and went back to resuscitating her.
Li Pan wandered through the Old Capital District—this was the old downtown of Neo-Tokyo XIII, across the bay from the new Night Island CBD. Here lived the top Takamagahara execs and Oda clan vassals of the previous generation. Killing a random passerby here could put millions in cash bounty on your head.
After the war, thanks to Red Dog's activism, reactionary militants often fled here under the protection of old colleagues and superiors. The area teemed with zaibatsu security, Eastern syndicates, and rogue Onitei ninja. The NCPA dared not enter beyond train stations and police boxes. Night Corp, to avoid more bloodshed, tolerated the old lords' private domains.
Akiyama Dojo was easy to find. Branding itself as "Itsutō-ryū" and "Itsu-Kendō," claiming ancient martial tradition, it retained a classic Eastern courtyard style. Next door was Sakura Park—making it a popular tourist stop. In addition to kendo, they offered kyudo, aikido, judo, tea ceremony, ikebana, chess, and calligraphy.
In other words: a cultural enrichment center—a glorified after-school club.
Real zaibatsu wouldn't send their children to such places. Akiyama Dojo's clientele were mostly mid- and low-level Takamagahara employees and their kids.
After all, the upper ranks had grown up in such traditions—tea gatherings, waka poetry, refined etiquette. For corporate ladder-climbers hoping to become CEOs and marry heiresses, cultural polish was essential. Without it, even star performers could be passed over for promotion simply for lacking the grace to pour tea or make a toast.
Now Takamagahara was gone, but similar patterns reemerged under Night Corp—its "vampires" had their own tastes: gothic balls, Viennese court cosplay, endless masquerades. The CBD was full of classical Western "cultural academies" to match.
Li Pan bought a ticket, browsed the public VR classes, and watched a kendo demo. Comparing it to footage of warehouse-raiding ninja, he noted the same combos—moves that would take over a decade to master—confirming they were likely Akiyama disciples.
Online searches showed the current head, Akiyama Kageoka, was an old Oda clan fencing instructor. The dojo was now run by his daughter Masako and her husband Daigo. They had a daughter, Ayako—likely classmate to Kotarō.
Footage of mother and daughter showed both practiced Itsutō-ryū kendo. Well-kept and similar in height and build, they looked more like sisters. Always in kimono or kendo gear, it was hard to match them to the ninja silhouettes.
Of course, in this cyberpunk age, maybe Daigo or Kageoka was remote-piloting a female cyberbody—anything was possible.
The dojo was quiet—most clients were off at dance or table manners classes. Business was slow, tourists rare, and only a judo class was running.
Sizing them up, Li Pan judged the instructors and students to be level-2 or level-3 biotypes—and didn't bother with courtesy.
"Hey! Shoes off in the dojo!"
Seeing him step onto the floor in dress shoes, a substitute instructor charged over—only to be kicked in the chest and sent flying.
"Take off your mother's—"
Li Pan shrugged off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and glanced at the "Akiyama Dojo" sign.
Damn. He'd wanted to rip it down and stomp it for effect, but it was a hologram.
So he settled for a side kick, smashing the control panel.
Lights and projections flickered, then died.
"Challenge accepted."
.
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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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