Fuyama Nana dashed frantically through the rain, tearing across filthy, crowded streets and weaving through stairwells until she burst onto a rooftop. The sewers were clogged with garbage, and rainwater pooled ankle-deep across the roof. In the stormy night, the neon glow shimmered dimly in the puddles, reminding her of that cold, merciless lake.
"There she is!"
Her thoughts snapped as a hoarse shout came from behind. She sprinted for the rooftop's edge, intending to leap to the pedestrian bridge across the street. But she skidded to a stop—the far side was already blocked by two bikers waiting for her.
Damn. She'd been tracked by a hacker.
Thunk-thunk-thunk.
Boots clattered on the stairs. Four leather-clad gangsters armed with blades and clubs rushed onto the roof. Their once gaudy, rooster-tail dyed hair now hung plastered and filthy across their foreheads from the rain. They wheezed and cursed, panting at the stairwell.
"Heheheh! Caught you—cough! Damn, nearly killed me!"
"Shit, this bitch—hah—can really run! Huff… haah… cough!"
"Stupid whore! Running my ass! I'll fuck you up good!"
"Hey, bitch! Get over here!"
"Vrrrm! Vrrrm!"
The bikers across the way revved their engines, hooting like apes circling prey.
Through the curtain of wet bangs, Nana scanned the rooftop, searching for exits, for anything usable as a weapon. She forced a trembling scream from her throat, playing on fear:
"I told you! I don't know who killed Arata! I don't know anything about his club! I didn't see who did it! I won't report it! If you want revenge, find someone else—let me go!"
"Arata, Schmarata, fuck that guy!"
The leader, hiding under the eaves, spat and dragged his bat along as he approached.
"You bitch! From the sticks, huh? A club whore? Then you're our property. That Arata asshole didn't teach you? Runners get sold to the underground farms. Thought you could escape? You'll pay for that. Come here!"
Nana swayed as if about to faint, staggering back.
The thug lunged, grabbing for her hair. But her body dipped and twisted. Both hands seized his extended arm, dragging it back while her feet kicked sharply into his shin and ankle. Crack! The bone snapped, and the gangster toppled into the puddle.
"What the hell—?"
"Out here in the rain? Can't we take it inside first?"
The others, blocked by rain and poor sightlines, thought he'd only knocked her down to grope her. But when they got close, they saw their leader trapped beneath her, neck bent at a grotesque angle in a ground chokehold, nearly snapped.
"Holy shit!"
"Boss!"
"This bitch!"
Nana sighed inwardly. If her right cybernetic arm was still intact, she could have finished him instantly. But her current prosthetics were only assistive, not combat-grade. Her strength wasn't enough to choke out a full-grown, enhanced male in seconds. She released him instead, kicked the bat across the puddle into a rushing thug's ankle—crunch!—sending him screaming and collapsing face-first into the water.
She rolled away, scrambling on all fours like a cat through the rain-slick puddles.
"Kurlaaah!"
"Yarou ga!"
"Cough!"
"Block the stairs! Don't let her get away!"
One thug revved a chainsaw at the stairwell. Another charged with a short blade. The bikers on the far roof aimed headlights, pinning her in the beam.
But Nana suddenly stopped, spun, and counterattacked.
The knife-wielder cursed and swung wildly, not expecting her to dart inside his guard. Afraid to stab her too deeply—merchandise damaged was merchandise unsellable—he hesitated.
Nana didn't. Her fists hammered his face, joints, ribs—lightning-quick blows, not enough to fell him, but enough to stagger and sting.
"Argh, you bitch!"
He roared, chopping downward, but she slipped aside, circling behind him.
He turned, blade raised—and headlights blinded him full in the face. He cursed, head snapping aside.
In that instant, a whistling wind cracked through the rain. Nana's high whip kick slammed into his temple. His body spun twice before collapsing unconscious into the puddle.
"Majika…"
"Uso…"
"Cough…"
The gangsters froze. Earlier, her chokehold had been hidden in the dark. But now, lit by the bike's high beams, her flowing strikes—springing fists and whip kicks—were clear.
"Citizen Self-Defense Module! This bitch was military!"
"Traitor! Choosing kung fu over karate!"
Nana snatched the fallen short blade, pressing it to the downed thug's throat.
"I don't want to kill anyone! Stay back!"
The boss, half-strangled, lay choking in the puddle. The swordsman was out cold. That left two thugs—who ignored her words and came from both sides, chainsaw and bat raised.
"Don't you care if your buddy dies?!" she shouted.
"Kill him, don't care. He owes me two grand anyway."
"Shut up, bitch. Your face is already logged in the Shura-gumi system. If we don't bring you back, we'll be sent to the farms instead. Better you than us."
Bang!Clang!
A gunshot cracked—the bikers had fired, missing.
"Idiot! You'll kill us all!"
The bikers flashed headlights in apology.
The thugs sneered. "Give up! Or we'll cut you into stumps and still have our fun."
"Farm doesn't let you die easy. Surrender, we'll double the sedatives. Won't hurt when you break."
BOOM!
A fireball lit the rain. One bike exploded, hurling flaming wreckage and human remains across the rooftop. Black smoke curled like a bonfire.
"What the—?"
Pop!
One thug's head burst.
"What the hell—?"
Pop!
The other's head burst too.
Two more shots, and the rest were reduced to twitching, headless corpses, brains spraying white and pink into the rain.
Kinetic burst rounds.
Nana swallowed hard, lifting her gaze. Above, only sheets of rain fell, neon blurred. Nothing visible.
But she knew someone was watching.
A corporate stealth drone.
The company… was it him?
"Thanks," she whispered.
"You're welcome," Li Pan replied, fingers moving as he piloted the drone. He swept the district, neatly executing every Shura-gumi thug nearby.
"Eighteen, who were these trash?"
Eighteen sent back data instantly.
"Shura-gumi. A rising local gang in Night City, mostly Japanese descent. Unlike the traditional syndicates, they never joined the East City Union. Their boss, known as Shura Demon, was exiled from the Yamabishi for being too extreme. Members are younger, mostly street punks, less tied to old money. They're more ruthless—running nightclubs, organ farms, sex, drugs, weapons. They refuse to honor old boundaries, often sparking bloody turf wars."
"Tch. Acting tough for a bunch of nobodies?"
"Shura Demon is heavily modified with Level 5 implants. Records say he wields a nodachi, masters karate, and owns at least three Muramasa-manufactured Oni exosuits. Once infamous in Yamabishi as a blood-soaked brawler, exiled after killing his own boss. He's rumored to have slaughtered thousands in conflicts since."
"Fine. Send me the coordinates for their office and farm."
"Boss! Taking side jobs? Let us tag along!" Rama.Eighteen bounded up.
"Not yet. I'll scout first."
Among Night City's five great gangs—Bearded Hornets, Yamabishi, East City Union—all had ties to Takamagahara. They were essentially corporate vassals, each controlling vast underground empires masked as logistics, construction, and transport firms, with hundreds of thousands of members and millions under indirect sway.
This region, New Tokyo Sector 13, fell under East City Union's rule. Hornets and Yamabishi had branches here but obeyed Union authority.
But newer groups—the Heavenly Dragon Gang, Shura-gumi—played by no rules.
The Heavenly Dragons, immigrant-based, were backed by the Night Clan, much like the Lovers' Gang—raised to counter East City Union. Tonight, they and allied immigrant crews stormed Union turf.
Shura-gumi, on the other hand, represented desperate locals—bankrupt, jobless youths flocking to extreme groups for survival. With Takamagahara collapsing and East City weakened, they thrived.
But without backing from any Elder or Akainu, they had escaped the Night Clan's purge—for now.
Still, money was money. And if you kill to make it, then death should surprise no one.
Li Pan snapped two more necks casually and strolled through Shura-gumi's nightclub front.
Outside, rain poured. Inside, the dance floor still pulsed, oblivious.
Guided by Orochi.18, every camera and cyber-eye flickered, erasing his face into a shifting blur of colors.
With a hacker covering, it was effortless.
The Shura Demon and his fighters were gone—hiding in bunkers belowground. So Li Pan cut down only a handful of guards before slipping into their server room.
Eighteen linked in, wiping Nana and other "human property" files, copying evidence of trafficking, laundering, deals, and transfers, and anonymously uploading it to the NCPA and NCHC.
Just like that, the gang's visible fronts were half-crippled.
Yes—it was like swatting a fly with a cannon. But sometimes power worked that way.
If tomorrow the NCPA dared to act, fine—the Shura-gumi would be flattened. If not, then they clearly had someone powerful behind them.
"Incoming comms from K. Connect?"
"Yeah. Eighteen, keep digging. I don't buy that Shura-gumi's lasted this long without a sponsor."
"Roger."
Li Pan stepped into the rain, opening the comms.
K: "Where."
Sweep-head: "Coordinates sent."
K: "On my way."
And the line went dead.
K really was that blunt.
Minutes later, a tracked APC roared up. Scanners swept him.
"Identity confirmed. Boarding authorized."
Li Pan climbed in. Inside sat four coffin-like pods. He sighed—K's rides got weirder every time.
Inside, he found they were actually armored med-pods—bulletproof, gene-locked, packed with blood packs and stimulants. Emergency triage coffins.
So… the Nightwalkers needed medics now? Even after seeing their power firsthand, it meant Tokyo Underground was bleeding hard.
The APC sped for forty minutes before drifting to a halt. Li Pan managed not to vomit.
When he stepped out, the stench of brine filled his nose. Gunfire cracked, waves thundered.
"Clear a path! Blood packs here!"
"Straight into the pods!"
Mercenaries rushed the APC, dragging burned, skeletal bodies onto stretchers, dumping them into the pods.
Li Pan edged aside, scanning the battlefield.
Ahead loomed a colossal seawall, its floodgates spewing torrents from multiple conduits, splitting the battlefield. Rain lashed down, and over the wall, true ocean waves pounded, crashing into Night City.
This was the Tsunami Wall—the first outer barrier of New Tokyo's underground. Built by the Oda Clan to hold back tsunamis taller than eighty meters.
Now, Night Clan forces fired across the raging torrent at enemies hidden in the flood conduits. Drones were useless in the storm, and direct assaults across the open flow had been shredded by crossfire from entrenched heavy weapons.
The fight was deadlocked.
"Here. I'm here."
Through the roar of storm and surf, a soft whisper brushed his ear.
Li Pan spun, startled—only to see, at a makeshift command camp ringed with spider drones and APCs, the silhouette of K.
She was waiting.
He headed toward her.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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