Li Pan opened his eyes and stared blankly at an unfamiliar ceiling.
"Boss, you're awake," Shiranui Wuzi leaned over from the bedside, her business suit gaping at the collar as she pressed an impressive neckline into his face. "You're drenched. Still hurting from the wound?"
Li Pan slowly came back to himself. "...No, I'm fine. Just had a nightmare."
A quick self-check from his smart assist confirmed it: he was fine. He'd only taken one bullet, and if there's one thing Night City doctors excel at, it's gunshot trauma. Nanobots had already rebuilt and sealed the wound; they'd even grafted skin—no scar in sight.
"Nightmare?" Shiranui scooted closer. "What did you dream about?"
Li Pan opened his mouth, then just shook his head. "...Nothing. Dreamt I had an exam coming up and I hadn't finished the practice tests."
"Uwa—yeah, that's a nightmare," she said, shivering with a sudden flashback to school.
Li Pan glanced at her, then at everyone else crowding the room. "...Why are you all packed in here? Are we holding a meeting?"
0791 temp crew, assemble! The company's "apostles" had all gathered. Spider-Model Eighteen skittered in across the ceiling, shouldering Shiranui aside with glee.
"Boss, boss! You're up! Hah, you don't even know yet—Night City's a stew pot! Red Tengu just went in! Dropped two tac-nukes! Two! Hahaha! The whole city's on fire!"
…Why are you so happy about that…
Ah-Qi said, "Miss Eighteen reached out to us. The visiting company officers got wiped out overnight, and you were hit by the nuke and a sniper. Luckily an emergency team got you into a private hospital in time."
Old Liu mopped his brow. "Yeah, it's a mess out there. Explosions everywhere. Safer to stick together."
Yamazaki Ayato couldn't help asking, "But that many company people going down at once is too weird. Boss, did someone target us? Another corporate war?"
Kotaro was dabbing eyedrops. "Could be. You didn't see it—Red Tengu was insane. They slammed a hypersonic nuke right into the prison. I almost went blind."
Ashiya Shigui frowned. "If we're the target, all of us gathering in one spot—won't they just toss another nuke and wipe the lot?"
Old Liu blanched. "Hey! Don't scare me like that! We need nukes now just to fight over turf?"
"Hey, thanks for checking on me and—wait! Ah-Qi, what did you say? This is a private hospital? Not Paradise Group's hotel? Damn—so I'm paying out of pocket! Can't afford it! Discharge! Discharge!"
Li Pan bolted upright and sprinted to the desk to check out, then ran to the self-service kiosk to scan his iris and pull the bill.
Pulled—because it was long.
ICU emergency intake: 1,500.00
Medical/OR/nursing services: 15,353.00
Emergency resource/ICU occupancy: 32,234.00
ICU equipment maintenance: 7,122.00
OR registration: 4,910.00
OR services: 12,969.00
Non-sterile medical & surgical supplies: 97,632.00
Cardiopulmonary testing: 11,375.00
Physical therapy: 10,800.00
Room & board: 5,352.00
Ward services: 4,950.00
Medical consumables: 5,128.00
Pharmaceuticals: 155,218.00
Pharmaceuticals: 43,213.00
Pharmaceuticals: 19,351.00
…
"AAaaAAa—"
Last line rolled up: *1,429,*something including tax.
"Hea—ven—help—me—!!"
Li Pan squatted, clutching his head.
Right. To spell it out: the Security Bureau must've thought, if they raised hell and killed company people, but didn't also tag the acting GM, the act wouldn't look "realistic." The Cerberus team that "rescued" him had their costs covered by Security—but not knowing he had a Paradise Group insurance agreement, they dumped him in a nearby private ICU.
And since Security had already gone full nuclear, obviously they weren't about to reimburse his medical bill. So the whole tab came out of his pocket.
Because he'd gotten used to toughing out small stuff and rolling back big stuff at the company, he'd never bought private insurance. No cap; no mercy.
Pile on a city-wide mass-casualty event—the ER rates went into surge pricing and climbed with the flames.
So here we are.
Good thing he'd slapped 081007 around and pocketed a million in "apology money." Otherwise, he couldn't even pay…
No—other way around.
Hospitals bill you to whatever they detect you can afford. Your balance determines your triage tier and drug quality.
Because, you know, hospitals aren't charities.
So after one "precision" checkout, Li Pan's personal account showed less than 50K left. If he'd slept a little longer, that balance plus a "full body exam package" would've carried him neatly to dawn—wrung dry and kicked out.
"Whyyyy—! Why is the world like this! @#$%—!!!"
He was actually breaking. Tilted.
Sure, he'd blown eighty million; a million to keep a life isn't "expensive." But waking from Penglai's hopeless dream to get shivved by a hospital invoice right away—yeah, that'll do it.
So hopeless. So hopeless.
Why is there no way out anywhere?
Why won't any world give him a path to live?
"HEA—VEN—S!!!"
His temps huddled at the door, watching their boss kneel and rant at a kiosk.
Spider-Eighteen clattered across the ceiling. "Boss, 01 wants you on a call."
Li Pan sighed, wiped his face, and stood. "Fine. A meeting. Meeting, meeting, meeting."
They piled into a company floater and left the hospital. He looked out the window.
Night City was burning.
An enormous ring of fire had engulfed the outskirts around the middle belt, like a giant crematorium.
This wasn't something rioters could do—most people just wanted AC. You toss a trash bin or two, not torch entire districts.
This was Cerberus.
With authorization, they'd deployed Hellfire—white-phosphorus rockets with precision guidance—"to discourage and sanitize" riot crowds.
Red Tengu had dropped two nukes. The nature of tonight's unrest had changed.
Not a riot.
An insurrection.
An attack on the Committee's order.
The enemy.
Do you really not understand what could make the most self-interested profiteers of the many worlds band together, even cede private gain, to provide basic public welfare and found this Committee?
Sure, debt collection. But more:
The name isn't subtle: it exists to protect life and private property.
So pulling nukes hits the Committee's reverse scale.
Not because "one or two tac-nukes" matter by themselves.
Because uncontrolled nuclear war devalues assets. Do you know how long the fallout from cheap warheads lingers? The planet's resale value tanks, genius.
(Sanction strikes? Clean. Latest tech. Neat and tidy.)
What? "But it was Security that launched the nukes."
And Security says it was Red Tengu. Pick your truth.
Either way, weapons locks came off. Cerberus didn't have to hold back.
Second half: the old soldiers take the field. The war-party begins.
Not much of a "party," really. Just border-earth cleanup.
Through curtains of rocket, howitzer, and artillery fire, heavy SMS in SBS armor with flamethrowers began the sweep.
Superheated flame flash-charred screaming crowds into brittle husks; corpse-reek and smoke smothered the sky, as if to incinerate all Night City's garbage in one go.
The Vortex Gang got named early. "Mushrooms? Watch this." Metal-hydrogen and metal-nitrogen micro-warheads on hypersonic stealth drones precision-popped fuel trucks, ammo stacks—and heads. One wave, instant clan wipe.
Maybe because this world lacked dragons, suanni, and baxia, humanity had poured too much genius into killing itself quickly and well.
The AC Riots ended fast.
Like a summer thunderstorm sweeping the streets.
The rest, the autonomous sweepers would handle.
When the floater reached the office, Li Pan only then realized he was still in a hospital gown, with a draft where a suit should be. Uh… nukes—here's hoping Black Pharaoh holds up.
At the conference room door, he paused, doubled back to file a report: Warehouse-42 was looted during the riot; to prevent a monster breach he'd had no choice but to seal "Viper Wine / Dragon's Blood" in his stomach.
The fax reply came quick: mission accepted, one silver key awarded. Debt to 0113 cleared—for now.
If he got broomed today, maybe 0113 would still throw him a rope.
Then the desk phone rang off the hook: report later, log in now. A table of general managers was waiting.
He killed the lights and jacked in.
"Subsidiary 0791, Fifth Managers' Meeting. Project 'TheM-ACAS68' status. 0791, report."
01's voice was neutral as always. But the round table was packed—way more than twelve managers. Clearly, the company was not "unmoved" by losing four full 007s in one night.
Li Pan felt numbed out; the anesthetic fog hadn't fully lifted. He slowly recited the facts.
Which were: the 007s never reported in, formed their own clique, despised the local temp's hard-won streetcraft, and cut him out—ordered Tech to screen him and feed him nothing.
He, as acting manager, didn't even want the title, but out of duty let them run. They went further and further, and got Warehouse-42 looted—incalculable losses for the company!
So he went to confront 081007: how could they jeopardize the company's interests and the bigger picture just to chase a measly GM chair—some raise and fame?
081007 picked a fight; they both got ambushed—typical clam-and-snipe, both losers—collateral damage and all…
01 rapped the table. "Spare us. Then what?"
"I went to the hospital. You called, so here I am, dragging tubes to report. By the way, are we officially at war now? Is this workplace injury? Who's covering my bill?"
01 ignored him. "Well?"
After a beat, 081's GM spoke. "My man remembers nothing. Everything after stepping through the door was wiped."
0113 chuckled. "Layer-seven QVN memory reset? Not a gateway trick. That's Security's pay grade. Heh. We went a little hard last time; someone got authorization to take a swipe."
0544's GM forced his anger down. "My man is dead. Just like 01044. Dead. This 'TheM-ACAS68' did it, didn't it? 0791! Nothing to say?"
Li Pan spread his hands. "Say what? They never came to the office, skipped morning stand-ups, and I didn't even know where they died. What do you want me to say? Fine, I'll say one thing. Listen closely:
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes."
0544 snapped, "Liar! He pushed a partial report before he died! To avoid being tracked by the Collector, they sealed the office and sent a courier to summon you for a private meet, but you never showed—so they went to scout the site and got ambushed. Someone leaked their route—"
"Eat shit!" Li Pan exploded. "Got rammed by a cruiser, did you?"
0544 blinked. "Y-you're swearing at—"
"Swearing at a brain-dead two-face backstabber! What courier? You had an unregistered apostle sneak into my office, opened with a swing, never said 'meeting' once. I reported it when I cut him down—I even spared your face by not naming names, and now you shade me?"
Seeing Li Pan's glare tilt his way, 0213 raised a hand. "Ahem. I can corroborate. 0213007 arranged that on his own. Because it used an illegal clone body—possible tech leakage—we kept it sealed in Tech and didn't publish…"
0544 rifled his files. "Uh…"
Li Pan: "See that? Eyes but no brain. Next time do your homework before embarrassing yourself."
0544 bit down. "That's no excuse! Even an illegal clone is still a company temp—badge, suit, registry! You could've checked—why kill him—"
"Oh please," Li Pan roared. "I find an unknown, unlogged apostle sitting in my chair, using my cup, and I'm not supposed to ventilate him? Tie my hands so we won't 'misunderstand'? Hear him out? His path? His dreams?"
"A badge? A suit? A file? First day I walked in the door the 'badge-suit-file' apostle I met was a rampaging monster. And you send this clown to sit in my office—ask me 'what do you mean'—nah, how about what do you mean?"
0113: "Using his teacup? That's over the line, 0544."
0213: "Yeah, the cup is too much, 0544."
0544: "W-what—no—that wasn't even—"
01 tapped the table, annoyed. "Enough. I got it. Stay on topic."
Li Pan pounced, "You heard him: someone leaked their route. I iced the courier on sight; I knew nothing about their plan. So whoever leaked it—wasn't me. Also, let's be real: hunting monsters is a nine-lives business. 01044 dying wasn't new. That's why you sent your best. People die. Because they're weak.
"And now that we've barely started, 0544's already throwing pots at me? Sowing division? Sounds like a plot to me.
The only one with private comms to 0544007 was you. Maybe you leaked it yourself.
If you ask me, 0544001 is the Collector's mole."
"Bullshit!" 0544 shot up. "You're dead—"
0113: "0791, no accusations without evidence. 0544, keep it together."
Li Pan slid right into his chair. "See? 0113 speaks reason. Unlike certain people who spray filth and then want to crawl through the cable to hit me—oh, I'm so scared."
0544 stood there grinding his teeth, then forced himself down. "...I—lost my composure. 0544007 was an old friend. I couldn't control my emotions…"
Li Pan snorted. "Oh! So 'lost composure' makes it fine? You smeared me. Do I get to 'lose it' too? Go get a mental eval and stop dragging the office mood down."
A long breath. "...S-sorry. My wording was inappropriate."
Li Pan waved it off. "There we go. I'm magnanimous. We all bleed for the company. You apologize, I won't hold a grudge. Just, uh, help cover my hospital bill…"
The radio set in the center crackled.
Everyone fell silent. Li Pan swallowed his tag line.
When the static faded, GM 01 translated: "Project 'TheM-ACAS68' continues. 0791: recover the remains, determine cause of death, and contain the 0213007 tech leak. The rest of you—prepare and take this seriously.
Our opponent isn't just a 'monster' and the Collector. A Commissioner in the shadows may be involved.
All units: prepare for total war. Dismissed."
.
.
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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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