Night City in the dark looked like a giant dragon, belching fire and roaring to the sky.
With the Security Bureau seemingly vanished, the violence only grew. At least a million people poured into the streets to loot and burn. On the darknet, some channels even launched paid "hyper-dream" riot streams.
It was like adult pay-per-dream—but bloodier, more vicious. Through illegal private servers, clients first watched the riots live; the top tipper could remote-link into a heavily modified rioter's prosthetic body and feel the real rush of arson, plunder, and butchery.
Early on it was pure carnival—robbery, fire, destruction. Later, as half the city slipped into anarchy, random passersby were executed as spectacle.
On the other end of QVN, many paying viewers were corporate dogs and Skyfolk from other worlds—but tonight, they joined the rioters' side, piloting cyberpsycho rigs to vent depression and unleash violence in a grand parade.
Corporate dogs, ordinary bystanders—if you lived in town in a single-family villa with a driveway, you were dragged out, abused, and dismembered.
The hottest stream showed a "sledgehammer contest": cracking open the heads of corporate dogs, mercs, or bystanders. The current record holder had smashed over one hundred and forty, like pounding New Year rice cakes.
Elsewhere they used grenade launchers, sniper rifles, Molotovs, chainsaws—whatever the madhouse imagination supplied.
The party was on.
By this point, "order" meant nothing.
The safest places in the city were, first, the slum pigeon-coops—the tube-block tenements. Everyone knew only the dirt-poor lived there; rioters came to recruit and resupply. Second, the truly wealthy corporate towers, campuses, and R&D plants. Those assets were guarded by company security regiments. Cross the line—rioter or citizen—and a sheet of metallic storm erased you, leaving scrap the janitor-bots couldn't even reassemble.
The fiercest fighting raged in upscale villa zones packed with lower-to-mid corporate staff.
Residents tried to save themselves—mutual-aid groups, neighborhood guards, men arming up while calling for help.
But the real big shots—the Skyfolk execs—had already fled under private-security escort. Merc rescue teams switched to auction pricing; a single extraction now cost millions.
Some teams simply held chokepoints into the inner city, watching residents across the way get slaughtered. The screams rolled across the asphalt; they didn't fire a shot.
"You want rescue? Pay up. Funds not cleared? Free aid distorts the market. Also—bullets aren't free."
Left behind, the lower-tier company dogs were on their own.
Those with zero military experience panicked first—baited by Uzumaki skirmish teams, they mag-dumped in a blind spray and ran dry. RPGs cracked the gates; technicals crashed through living rooms and mashed bodies into patties. Wives and kids were dragged out for the livestream—a summer festival demanding sacrifices.
But company dogs weren't entirely helpless.
This was a world where money measured combat power. And 0791 had only been at peace for twenty years. Back when Takamagahara still screamed "Hold Earth—shatter ten billion!" corporate dogs had "free" military schooling; most were militia-trained. Plenty of martial spirit left.
Caught off-guard by the scale, yes—but they recovered fast. Company dogs armed up around gun shops, prosthetic clinics, and pharmacies, formed self-defense teams, and began pushing out to retake blocks.
Without overwhelming numbers, rioters with Level-3 and Level-4 weapons were no match for organized squads and soon broke. Corporate civil-guard units also realized Uzumaki was the real command core—others were looters riding the tide. They linked via inter-company channels, spun up ad-hoc task forces, and launched joint hunts on Uzumaki warbands near their communities.
Uzumaki warbands and company militias soon clashed in earnest—peers meeting equals. Urban tactics unfolded in volleys: drone recon, fire support, flanking encirclements, ambushes, raids—the whole playbook.
Ah, mutual harm—humanity's favorite show.
Li Pan was watching the feeds, rapt, when a call cut in.
"Hey—oh, Agui, what's up?"
Ashiya Shigui opened video. "Boss, 081007 wants to know why you aren't answering."
"Heh!" Li Pan chuckled. "I'm on paid leave. Work stuff can wait. But how'd they find you? Or are you switching banners, climbing up on your own?"
Ashiya grimaced.
"Please don't joke, Boss. 081007 went to Chiyoda Prison. I'm this generation's Six Paths, so of course I sent a shikigami to check. It got caught. He asked me to pass a message: he wants to meet you tonight—inside the prison."
Li Pan blinked.
"Meaning? Prison? Six Paths? Meet?"
Ashiya explained:
"Chiyoda Prison sits on Neo-Tokyo's primary earth-vein nexus. It used to be our Onmitsu court's Shrine of the East Sea Dragon King—the Zhenhai Great Deity. After we lost the war, the Spacemen razed it and built a prison for war criminals.
"The shrine is gone, but the earth-vein remains. Break the seal and you can draw on the leyline's demonic energy to cast—but it will affect all Kanto: earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic disasters—things one mustn't ignore."
Li Pan: "…You're reading me novel lore now? East Sea Dragon King???"
Ashiya, dead serious:
"It isn't lore. There really is a Dragon King. Ask Kotaro."
Exorcist Kotaro leaned into frame.
"It's real, Boss."
Li Pan rolled his eyes.
Damn—you two are tight…
"So what exactly are you getting at?"
Kotaro said,
"Hui Wine / Dragon's Blood. Boss, your body reeks of dragon-breath. You used something from Warehouse 42, right? You still doubt there are dragons?"
Uh… dragons? I am one…
Okay, be serious. Do dragons exist? Good question.
If you mean gene-crafted show animals, whatever. But a true fantasy species—native to 0791? That's odd.
Would it be a creature… or a god?
With pollution this bad, only humans, rats, and cockroaches thrive. If it's biological, how did it escape the food chain? If it's an extradimensional demon, then it must be bound by certain rules—Heaven's order—a "dragon-monster," constrained.
Kotaro kept dropping bombs:
"Family records say something is bound beneath the old shrine, from before Takamagahara—from the elven era. Likely the Dragon King.
"When I was jailed under Chiyoda, I heard death-row rumors about the Dragon King Well. They say a well in the prison whispers dragon-song and the sea's tide. Some tried to escape through it—no one ever did.
"And the demon-mark on me fails completely inside the prison. I think there really is a dragon."
Ashiya nodded. "Dragons are fiercely territorial. Ordinary demon apostles submit under dragon-might. Converting the Dragon King's shrine into a prison? Surely the idea of a master."
Okay, say dragons exist—so what?
Li Pan shrugged.
"When we fought Belia, 01044 also said if the opponent's too strong, we could use local leylines and the ancient elven magi-net to power a formation. These 007s are likely doing the same—fortifying to confront the Collector. Pre-battle setup.
"No need to freak out. If they want to melt glass, they can."
Ashiya and Kotaro traded looks.
"That's… acceptable?"
Li Pan frowned. "What is?"
Kotaro: "Letting outsiders run wild on Night City turf. Boss, you're the General Manager of this world. Aren't you going to do something?"
Huh? You too? Why is everyone pushing him to act? He just wanted to run…
Ashiya smiled.
"We'll keep eyes on Chiyoda. If you change your mind, just say the word."
Ashiya hung up. Moments later, Shiranui Wuzi pinged in.
Good grief—tonight was a story checkpoint if there ever was one. If only he could make a save… ahem, not a file cabinet save.
"Yo, Wuzi—yeah, I heard about the Dragon King."
"What Dragon King? Want to come over? I bought a new set of pajamas to show you."
"Are you feverish? Night City's on fire!"
Shiranui switched her cam to the window view: below her high-end condo, the city glowed with fire; mushroom clouds rolled. From the cloud-tops downward, the neon of downtown remained untouched—festive, almost.
Right. For all the fury—millions tearing each other apart—it was still the bottom against the bottom. Cockroaches versus dogs. They couldn't even brush a Skyfolk hair—much less a Spaceman's.
"The Old Capital and the Urban Core are the city's heart. Even the street janitor-bots are retired military with riot modules. What could happen? My building spun up auto-turrets and missile defense already.
"But Manager, you have guest access—come anytime. Rare day off; have a drink, relax…"
As she talked, she sashayed back from the window; the silhouette slid across the floor. A belt loosened, a robe slid, thighs grazed silk…
Right. Now he really didn't want to go meet any 007 at a prison.
"Hiss—damn, hold on. I've got cockroaches coming in."
Li Pan yanked up his pants, killed the call, grabbed Black Kite, and stalked to the window. He popped shots into the sky and yelled at Uzumaki punks chainsawing his front door.
"Hey! Mother—! Scram!"
They answered with a panicked burst from a cheap SMG. The rounds zipped ten meters overhead—whiffed clean.
Sigh. Couldn't even hold their guns—kids, really, maybe teens. Sold off half their faces. Completely gone.
Li Pan vaulted from the factory roof to the gate.
The punks stared—where had a country-factory sprouted a superman?
Li Pan leveled Black Kite at a forehead.
"Bang. Beat it."
"Go, go!"
They scrambled onto a trike to flee. He eyed their kit—one real gun, the rest plastic sticks and bats.
He thought a second, grabbed the trike, and yanked them back.
"You boys buying? SMGs, RPGs, 40mm—ready stock?"
"???"
"Wait here."
He hauled out a grenade round, stuffed it in a kid's arms.
"Freebie. Tell your warband boss to talk to me. Name's Broomhead. I've got goods. Say Bobo sent you."
They looked at each other, shrugged, and buzzed off hugging the shell.
Li Pan rolled a cart of rifles, ammo, and RPGs out of the warehouse and, after a quick peek at Wuzi's latest clip, didn't have to wait long—three pickup-technicals growled up.
A Uzumaki "big guy" stepped down—left hand a vise, right hand a chainsaw, metal fangs glinting.
"So you're Broomhead. I'm Sharktooth. Bobo says you hawk scrap!"
Li Pan patted the container. "Yup. Buy or not. Two hundred thousand."
Sharktooth barked a laugh. "Ha! If I had two hundred grand, I wouldn't be hustling here!"
Li Pan shrugged. "No problem. It's free."
Sharktooth squinted. "You stupid?"
Li Pan didn't mind—country folks talked that way.
"City's lively tonight. I want in. I know a place with good stuff. We go together. In or out?"
Sharktooth laughed harder.
"You think I'm stupid?"
Li Pan eyed his crew.
"I go with you. Plus fifty grand. Leave a few to guard my gate. Beer's on me. You can haul my industrial scrap later."
"Ha! You're real stu—"
The laugh strangled. Fear crept into his voice.
"Hold up—you're not into me, are you? I don't swing that way!"
Li Pan inhaled, silently killed Wuzi's video, fetched a grenade round, popped the safety, and overhand-lobbed it. WHUMP—a crater bloomed. He turned back, eyes flat.
"Relax. I'm not sending you into the Core to die. Just a little suburban warehouse. You in? If not, I kill you all."
Superman, hand-throwing 40mm, convinced Sharktooth.
It was chaos—everyone wanted in on the city raid. But Sharktooth's was a fringe industrial crew—misfit teens, three pickups total—no way they'd be tapped for the big push. They got stuck on base defense…
Whatever. He didn't need many. He wasn't taking them to steal the Holy Grail.
His target was Warehouse No. 42.
When 01044 mentioned it earlier, he'd already meant to try Dragon's Blood, then got distracted. Ashiya's call reminded him.
That "Hui Wine / Dragon's Blood" should buff his true body—maybe boost combat power.
Those 007s disrespected him because he was "weak," right? If he had Li Blood-Red's oppressive aura now, who'd dare speak loud to him?
And robbing his own warehouse? That ship had sailed—zero times or endless times; once you're used to it, it's nothing.
"Ooh ooh!" "BRRRRT!" "K-THOOM!" "K-THOOM!"
Turns out, looting during a citywide fire sale was easier than he thought.
Sharktooth had just three trucks and a couple dozen bodies, but rolling up to Warehouse 42 with swagger drew hundreds of rioters to piggyback the raid.
Li Pan hung back, lazily tossing a few grenades. Uzumaki kids shouldered RPGs and hurled satchel charges, blasting holes through the outer wall. The crowd poured in, stripping corporate stock to the shelves.
He wasn't in a rush. The outer goods were just tax-offset civilian kit—let them take it. Once they cleared out, he strolled to the front, face-scanned, and walked right in.
Why panic? On a night like this, wasn't it "reasonable" for the General Manager to be inspecting? Company stock was stolen—wasn't it "reasonable" for him to assess losses? The warehouse was unsafe—wasn't it "reasonable" to seal a monster using his own body?
Too reasonable, really. Pay him overtime already.
He reached the Dragon's Blood container and found a case of cans.
Yep, pull-tabs—looked like some craft brew. 500 ml, dust-capped, no clue how old. Uh…
There was even an instruction slip inside:
"Hui Wine / Dragon's Blood: twenty-four cans per course. Oral or injectable."
On the back, a handwritten line:
"Swallow it."
Right. He cracked one open. …It was brown.
He gritted his teeth, wiped the rim, and took a sip.
Urk. Urk—
UURGH—
What the—! UURGH—
Bitter and astringent, sticky and viscous, fishy and rank. His whole body shuddered as it went down.
This stuff—uurgh—
Wasn't fit for humans—uurgh—
He forced it down and upended the can.
He heard his stomach gurgle and churn, a snake writhing inside him, his intestines clawing up his throat to escape the taste of excrement.
"Calm down!"
He snarled at his own guts.
"Eat the bitterest, become the highest!"
Then he cracked a second can.
UURGH—UURGH—
No good. He clamped his mouth to keep it from blasting through his nose. His body rejected it on principle.
But don't underestimate his will to grow stronger.
He opened a third, jammed it into the auto-injector, and forced it into his veins.
At once, his blood vessels ignited.
Cords swelled all over him—thick black snakes crawling beneath his skin.
Holy—
This… hurts…
Maybe a little anesthetic—
He'd thought Nine Yin and Candle Dragon kinship would help—but Nine Yin Scripture did nothing.
To his body, this "Dragon's Blood" was raw poison—no "energy," no "buff," only burn.
He waited, then staggered up and took another.
Then another.
Why?
Why ask why.
This was a chance.
For an orphan with no parents, no power, no cash, no gun—this was the only chance.
For someone who clawed up from the gutter, who lived on bitterness—
What bitterness couldn't he swallow?
Look at this city.
This garbage heap—paradise for wild dogs and cockroaches.
Born into this world, you get no chances.
None.
The more you struggle, the more it hurts.
The harder you strive, the deeper you sink.
The clearer your mind, the blacker the despair.
Like falling into an abyss.
Like sinking into a lightless sea.
No light.
No handhold.
Buried in eternal despair and chaos.
He refused that future.
He refused the dark.
He wanted to live.
To break the mire.
To climb from the abyss.
To reach clear skies again.
I…
I will…
I will crawl out.
I will crawl out!!
Out of this darkness! Out of this abyss! Out of this shell!
CRAWL OUT—!
"AAAH—AOOO—!"
"AAAAAA—AAAAAA—"
"AOOOOOO—!!"
"Wh—what the hell? EMP…?"
Sharktooth heard something—and nothing.
A sudden blast of radiation fried his cheap camera sensor to ash.
He turned and saw the earth torn open, the escarpments split, the warehouse behind him collapsing to rubble.
In the sky, something seemed to lift its head from smoke and flame—and fell into Night City.
But he saw nothing.
He'd sold his eyes long ago, for cash. The child of Uzumaki now stood blank among the crowd as those around him dropped in unison—
Like devout believers, prostrating to a newborn Presence.
"Hey! What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you SEEING?"
Sharktooth seized a nearby rioter.
"A dragon."
The man knelt, ecstatic. His eyeballs collapsed like crushed grapes—blood gushed from nose and mouth—and he died.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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