"No way. QVN's cut off, and those nutrient pods didn't even have network ports. How could the bodies activate? Hidden remote-control modules?"
"I—I think it might be the Divine Palanquin. Rumor says the Oda clan scanned each clan head's brain, uploaded their consciousness into the Palanquin, and created UI-based pseudo-intelligences. If the Oda bloodline ever died out, the Palanquin would activate on its own…"
"Corpse UIs? That's just a fig leaf for AI! Illegal as hell! If the Ethics Committee found out, they'd seize the whole clan!"
"I only heard whispers. The Palanquin's algorithms had tons of unresolved issues. It was a plan, sure, but success was far away. So why…"
"Enough chatter. Move it! Load the ship! Rama, grab that crate!"
Li Pan cut off Shiba-18 and Kotarō's nervous speculation, barking orders. The squad packed the butchered Oda remains—wrapped in plastic film, stuffed into teacups, flowerpots, porcelain jars—then hauled them aboard the freighter.
"You head back to the company. Ah Qi, reset me. Eighteen—I'm giving you a contact. Gang clinic. Careful of viruses. Fence the meat before it rots."
Shiba-18: "Why the hell do you have organ-trafficker contacts!?"
Li Pan jabbed another dose of painkillers into his neck. His right arm was a charred ruin—third-degree burns from wrist to chest, skin and dermis gone, muscles fused. Every nerve screamed like a thousand blades stabbing and scraping. Sweat poured down his face in heavy beads.
Ah Qi: "Manager, you're not coming with us?"
"I'll stay. Loose ends to tie up. You go."
The team lifted off in the holo-camouflaged cargo hauler. Li Pan changed into a suit, vaulted the wall, and landed in the cherry blossom park plaza.
Tonight's op had gone strangely smooth. Aside from his ruined arm, there were no losses.
But the site was a mess. Without professional cleanup, the Oda carnage in the lab would be impossible to erase quickly. Spent rounds and craters littered the underground facility. If investigators matched the ammo signatures to Monster Corp's supply chains, Akainu would hunt them forever.
So—he'd call in orbital bombardment. Drop a thermobaric warhead down the shaft, vaporize the evidence.
Guided precisely through the elevator shaft, the warhead detonated in the lab. The nuclear-hardened bunker absorbed the shockwave. A thunderous blast reduced everything to molten slag. Coupled with the facility's self-destruct, all was buried beneath kilometers of rubble. On the surface, it looked like nothing more than a natural gas explosion under the Akiyama Dojo.
Theoretically flawless. With Shiba-18 providing coordinates and trajectory corrections, margin of error was low. Still, Li Pan circled the park, brandishing his katana to chase off couples rutting in the grass.
Shrieks of "Cyberpsycho!!" cleared the area. Satisfied, he authorized the strike.
Seconds later: a whistling descent, a crash through the dojo roof, then a muffled BOOM. The ground beneath Li Pan jolted like a trampoline.
Curiously, no one in the park crowd noticed. The blast was drowned out by a nearby rock concert, the audience screaming, "Waaaaahhh!" louder than any bomb. They probably thought the "explosions" were part of the sound system.
So—mission complete.
"Mission success. Good work. Rest up."
"Roger." Comms cut.
Job done, though Li Pan regretted finishing so efficiently—only enough chaos to skim a day's war budget.
He exhaled, relieved—his right hand's scabs knitting rapidly. The Ballistics Coordinator wasn't reset. As long as wounds weren't catastrophic, his body wouldn't reboot the whole cybernetic suite.
Still, the Beads' fire lingered, burning marrow and blood, heat surging through every pore. Not phantom pain—real, residual power. Maybe Nine Yin Body Refinement could temper it… tomorrow. Too tired now.
He slipped into the park crowd, ignoring the music, just thirsty. He bought industrial lager from some hustler selling it from a tanker truck—five creds for endless refills.
Ah—ice-cold beer, the jewel of human civilization.
He drained two cups. A hand snatched his third.
Wangshan tilted it back, chugging.
"Damn, you pulled in a haul tonight. Where's my cut?"
Li Pan rolled his eyes, tossing him a sword.
Not Tonbokiri—the Oda bodies had dulled that blade. This was a replica of Mikazuki Munechika.
Yes—the same blade once wielded by Akiyama's ass. A true steel-cutter, sharper than lock-breaking saws, charging in Li Pan's weapon slot. Compared to Tonbokiri, its edge carried triple monomolecular layers—stacking arcs, plasma, or heat damage. But its power draw was massive, requiring custom cybernetics. Without them, it was little better than an overengineered chainsaw.
Still, a Level 5 weapon. Worth at least a couple hundred thousand creds.
Wangshan scanned it with his cyber-eyes, one rotating independently like a lizard.
"Not bad. I'll use it. Call me next time."
"Next time? You didn't even fire a shot!"
"Bullshit! I fired plenty!" He flipped him off, vanishing into the crowd with the blade.
"Motherf—bring back my cup!"
No choice—Li Pan bought another beer. But hey—two hundred thousand creds, easy money. He grinned.
Until another hand stole his cup.
Enraged, he grabbed the thief—only to find a goth punk girl. Black bob cut, thick eyeliner, heavy makeup, pastel-pink lips, piercings, leather jacket, fishnets, boots.
Not K—but in the dark, the resemblance struck him.
Thinking of K, his anger softened. He cupped her chin—she dove into his arms, kissing, biting, strawberry sweetness on her lips laced with sharpness. Like playful fruit turning feral—teeth drawing blood, then soothing with sugar.
The fire inside him roared alive. He carried her into the bushes, igniting her with his own blaze.
Next morning, Li Pan yawned into the office.
Shiba-18 gagged. "Ugh! What's that stench—cat piss?"
"Sharp nose. Stray kitten. Claws like razors…"
He sniffed himself, grimacing. But the night's "training" had tempered the Beads' fire. His right arm felt better. The Nine Yin Scripture truly outclassed ordinary monster artifacts.
"Ah Qi, can I send my suit to dry cleaning?"
Ah Qi handed him coffee. "Manager, the suit is self-cleaning. You just haven't showered in days."
"…Busy. Plus, ran out of 3-in-1 wash."
"3-in-1? Ugh…"
After bantering with his "cute employees," Li Pan reviewed their status.
Yesterday's Demon King salvage still sat in the CSI parking garage, unprocessed. On the books, it counted as "one million creds" worth of goods—enough to settle accounts with Wangshan.
Kotaro was registered as a temporary worker, ID 0791034, lumped in with logistics contractors. After being reset to baseline human form, he reportedly cried, then took leave to visit family. Li Pan sympathized—losing tens of millions in Level 5 cyberware would make anyone weep.
As reward, Li Pan, Ah Qi, and Rama each received a Silver Key.
And Li Pan was scheduled for a debrief with Manager 081.
Shiba-18 frowned. "But QVN's still offline. No news, the deep web's going nuts, whole Earths unreachable. How the hell are you still holding online meetings?"
That was a mystery for the ages.
Apparently, Monster Corp's antique fax machines were immune to network bans.
In the meeting room, 081 sat across, scanning Li Pan's rushed report.
"You miss the army so much? Always charging in yourself?"
Li Pan shrugged. "Better to lead from the front than hide behind a desk."
081 sneered. "Suit yourself. As long as results come in. But your job's not over."
He signed off, flipping a slide projector. An old black-and-white photo lit up—a group portrait, a hundred faces, clearly one family.
Oda clan.
"So. Yesterday's handiwork? Plan A?"
"Correct. Did you think corporate aid was free? My part's done. Now it's your turn."
The slide switched: five elderly figures—grotesque, animal-like. A monkey, turtle, toy dog, jackal, raccoon—draped in kimonos, posing.
"The Oda clan's blood heirs are dead—wiped from the gene level. No one can claim Takamagahara by right. The spoils will fall to the Oda's hereditary retainers—the top five board executives.
Takamagahara's collapse is a whale fall. Outer corps feast. You want money? Meet them. Even if you promise nothing, they'll pay. Choose whether to ally or make them vassals.
Of course, the Yoru clan won't like it. They thought Takamagahara was theirs to chew slowly. Now rivals snatch food from their mouths. Expect blood."
Data streamed through the fax machine.
Li Pan grinned. "Nice! 081, didn't think you had a soft spot for rookies. Drinks on me when I'm promoted!"
081: "Hmph. Psycho."
Lights off. Meeting over.
Li Pan eyed the dossiers—five grotesque Oda elders. True corporate titans, not the puppets paraded in media. Their hands stirred Takamagahara's fall.
No rush. He'd wait for Kotarō's intel before deciding. First priority: offload the salvage.
Six Demon King biobodies remained. Aside from the shattered Akiyama ninja, five Oda chassis yielded plenty of implants:
Akechi Optical Co. cyber-eyes – 6 intact, though outdated. Once Level 6, now only Level 4–5 grade.
Frontal lobe augment suites – RAM upgrades, memory expanders, ICE units, visual processors. Outdated, but salvageable. Could net ~200k creds in the black market once reset.
Spines – Six alloy spines with neural boosters (including the Akiyama unit). Ultra-rare, high-demand. Black market value: hundreds of thousands to over a million each.
These spines were Li Pan's jackpot—his ticket to serious money.
.
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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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