The company's main task today was to ensure that Eighteen's neural upload surgery was completed successfully.
To guard against anyone trying to stir up trouble, Li Pan clenched his teeth, slotted in a Level 5 chip, and hurried back to Warehouse 7, standing guard fully armed as Eighteen's bodyguard.
Fortunately, after sealing the sewer entrances, no cockroaches, rats, or Whirlpool Gang vermin had come to cause mischief. The surgery itself went smoothly too—worth every penny. Having the company foot the bill was truly a luxury; they had hired an entire elite surgical team from a private hospital, who worked from daybreak until late into the night. In the end, this mortal girl was elevated from flesh and blood into a true electronic soul.
From today onward, the world had lost one ordinary hacker girl, and TheM Company's tech division had gained a new brain–machine processing hub.
A brain in a jar.
An electronic ghost.
A cybernetic demigod.
Orochi.18.
In truth, what Takamagahara had been doing—extracting human brains into tanks, uploading consciousness, replicating dead personalities—was all akin to UI Technology. In terms of the law, it was skating on the Ethics Committee's bottom line, probing again and again at the forbidden edge of AI superintelligence.
Li Pan didn't know all the details, but what he'd learned in military academy history class went something like this:
Back when humanity was still confined to Earth-0, nations competed fiercely in the development of super-technologies such as quantum computing, interstellar travel, and biological evolution. In the end, they created self-evolving super artificial intelligence.
And then, just like in so many movies, the Machine Crisis broke out. Intelligent machines rebelled, and after a long and brutal war, the old world order collapsed. The victors were hollowed out as well, and corporations took control of everything.
But fear of the AI rebellion still lingered in every human heart. Thus, the Ethics Committee was established.
This Committee was composed of humanity's greatest sages and experts across every field, with decades of experience, numerous disciples, and vast social networks. They were professors, directors of institutes, chief technologists, and corporate advisors.
The Committee's chief duty was to evaluate the endless stream of new high technologies produced by the corporations. Each time a new breakthrough was mass-produced, the tech ratings were updated, shaking the markets of the multiverse.
Ratings mattered—a product's classification combined its technological content and performance benchmarks, serving as crucial reference for both the tax bureau and corporations.
Levels 1–3: basic civilian tech, no more patent fees, open to mass production, lowest profit tax.
Levels 4–6: consumer goods. Level 4 was essentially military-grade, Level 5 corporate-grade, and Level 6 luxury customization, with progressively higher taxes.
Levels 7–9: the Ethics Committee's main focus—super black technologies. Not for personal use, but traded only at the corporate level.
Level 7 tech had the potential to cause species-level extinction. Level 8 tech was the corporations' ace-in-the-hole in warfare. Level 9 was so advanced that even the Committee had to study and verify its principles before assigning classification.
In a sense, "monster companies" made their business trading in Levels 7–9.
And AI technology itself was outright forbidden.
What was allowed to circulate now were merely IS Smart Assist Chips.
These had AI-level computational ability but no final decision-making rights; commands could only be executed with citizen authorization.
Thus, the human operator became the bottleneck of the system.
No matter how advanced your smart assist was, if the user was a fool, then in the end, it was still mortal intelligence at the helm.
This was why many corporations, like Takamagahara, secretly developed UI Technology—brain–machine hubs, uploaded intelligence, turning human brains into near-artificial intelligence to compensate for the human bottleneck.
Of course, UI and AI were not the same thing.
Though it broke past human limitations and reached immense processing power, a brain-in-a-jar was still flesh, with an expiration date. Long-term reliance on nutrient fluid could trigger countless psychological and physiological problems.
Each brain–machine unit had to regularly report to the local Security Bureau for deviation-value testing, and also face surprise inspections from Earth-0's Public Safety Bureau. If deviations exceeded the limit, the unit would be forcibly disconnected and scrapped.
The Ethics Committee also tracked and retrieved every brain–machine, to ensure corporations weren't secretly running "dead-body UI"—brains already dead but simulated by programs, effectively resuming forbidden AI research.
If you could accept all these drawbacks, then you could roam the vast QVN Network in true freedom.
Though your body was trapped in the machine, your mind—your soul—could swim the electronic seas, become lord of the network, a new god of the cyberworld.
With power and money, you could download your consciousness into any world, any dimension, any cybernetic shell. Scientific transmigration. Cybernetic incarnation.
In a way, it really was apotheosis. A bit enviable, even.
"New local network detected—TheM exclusive comms channel. Connect?"
The message from Fuxi interrupted Li Pan's thoughts. Orochi.18 had formally launched, completing the setup of TheM's private subnet.
"Connect. Eighteen, how do you feel?"
Then Rama, standing beside him, spoke with Eighteen's voice:
"Wooow, this is amazing!"
'Rama' leapt like a monkey, bounding around the warehouse machine room, flipping in a wild triple spin and landing back with a flourish.
Li Pan was speechless. "Wait… did you just hack Rama?"
Eighteen checked Rama's cybernetic body, activating every implant. Lights flared, systems overloaded, and she bounced around the steel beams, tossing heavy crates, ammo boxes, and drones into the air like toys—acting like a full-blown cyberpsycho.
"No worries! Rama agreed! He lent me his body for two days. I'll tune him a custom combat OS, and once the QVN opens, I can buy my own chassis online."
"All right, just don't break him."
"Got it!"
Eighteen bounded away, scampering like a wild monkey. Maybe she had never truly wanted to be some jarred cyber-god—maybe she just longed for a healthy body to run free.
Li Pan returned to the rooftop for lookout duty, linking into the network via the new company server.
Eighteen wasn't only playing around—her brainpower was now at its peak. She could romp in Rama's body while simultaneously linking Orochi's serpent-head nodes online, probing into the 0791 local net, harvesting data streams into Li Pan's Fuxi-15.
Don't be fooled by the calm outside Warehouse 7—Night City was already in chaos.
To try to contain the unrest and cool the street punks, the Ye Clan had edited Night City's weather, unleashing torrential rain to disperse the crowds.
It didn't work.
Yesterday's cyberpsycho massacre had sent too clear a signal. Gangs like the Whirlpool Gang, Lovers' Gang, Akainu, and Cerberus had all understood.
With the Public Safety Network offline, all of Night City was now a battlefield without restraint. No surveillance, no evidence, no consequences—old grudges could all be settled in blood.
And so, despite the rain, mobs surged into the streets. Looting, vendettas, smashing, burning.
With the city's factions in chaos, the already useless NCPA collapsed completely.
Most NCPA officers cowered in their precincts, too afraid to even go home. The local precinct near Warehouse 7 even shamelessly took shelter at Li Pan's door, trying to cling to CSI's private security forces and TheM's upgraded automated defenses.
If the police were like this, the rest was obvious. Corporations mobilized security, mustered private contractors like CSI, protecting only key assets, corporate parks, and rich districts—leaving the rest of the city's gangs and mobs to burn.
Li Pan piloted drones through the rainy maze of stacked, cramped neon-lit streets, listening as the sound filters picked out the stutter of gunfire amid the pounding rain.
Demons and wraiths, reveling in the storm.
In some parallel worlds, corporations even closed security once a year under the pretense of "system maintenance," letting citizens kill each other freely to vent. It reduced crime, boosted employment, spurred arms sales, eased public management, even sold movie rights.
But that only worked in worlds fully under corporate control. Even if mobs burned down a tower, the next day they still trudged to work.
Here in 0791, though, with rebel remnants still at large, it was far more dangerous.
Which led to the CSSF—Citizen Starfleet.
In theory, the interstellar fleet belonged to all humanity. Under Public Safety rules, only through service could one earn citizenship. Each world thus had its own fleet, offering citizens the path of service-for-rights.
For locals like Li Pan, too poor for private schools and unwilling to wait years for public university slots, a military contract offered both education and a future. In exchange, you served as active or reserve, in war or peace. But unless you had family status, you ended up a grunt—Li Pan was only a spider-drone engineer.
Still, it wasn't so bad. You gambled with the army—lose and you die, win and you get a diploma and a job. Not a bad deal.
But by this era, fleet funding was paid by local corporations. The fleets were no longer citizens' fleets but oligarchs' private navies.
In 0791, the officer corps was filled with Takamagahara loyalists. And though many companies had their own fleets, mercenary groups, and contractors, one had to worry: if some Akainu remnant among the 0791 command took advantage of the network outage to drop nukes, satellites, or moon-rocks onto Night City, the fallout would be catastrophic.
According to Eighteen's scans, Nightwalkers and Akainu were already fighting fiercely in Tokyo Underground.
This time, Cerberus hadn't joined—they were too heavily regulated, bound to the Security Bureau, and withdrawn to protect officials during the outage.
With no oversight, the vampires no longer had to pretend to be model citizens.
After cutting a deal with Li Pan, Night City's true masters moved. The Emilius, Cornelius, and Fabius clans—their vampire princes, their night knights, their elder retainers—marched to cleanse the Old Capital District and every Akainu-linked gang.
Blood for blood. Indiscriminate reprisal.
With Orochi.18 feeding him intel, Li Pan observed their tactics, gauging the Ye Clan's true combat power.
Most Nightwalkers were Level 5 augmented—superhuman physiques, hyper-speed, mastery of guns and blades. Each clan had its own style:
Cornelius Knights (exemplified by K) were classic warriors, balancing speed and power, clad in blood-knight armor like medieval tin cans, wielding halberds, greatswords, or modern heavy weapons to smash through enemy lines.
Fabius Knights leaned toward bio-enhancement, often fighting bare, mutating into winged monstrosities, bat-demons, feral beasts, tearing foes limb from limb.
Emilius Knights were more elegant—agile, evasive, favoring drones, sniper rifles, and hacking warfare, often flanked by mercenary guards and thralls, making them no less dangerous.
And the Night Clan wasn't alone—they had long fostered immigrant gangs like the Lovers' Gang, who now launched assaults on Old Capital's Japanese syndicates.
Their enemies fared poorly. Li Pan didn't see many Akainu fighters, nor a single ninja. Most who died tonight were local Japanese-style gangs: Bearded Hornets, Yamabishi, East City Union, Heavenly Dragon Gang, Shura-gumi—low-tier thugs once shielded by Takamagahara, bullies of immigrants, hired muscle. With no proper Level 5 gear, they were swept aside by the Night Clan's purge.
Through drone feeds, Li Pan watched corpses pile in streets and clubs, tattooed bodies torn apart, gunfire mowing down fleeing men, rain washing blood into rushing gutters.
Soon, Kotaro linked into the channel with a report.
"Manager, it's bad. Akainu launched a mutiny. The Akechi clan has been annihilated."
So, Oda's bones were barely cold, and now the deputy minister was slaughtered by his own. Takamagahara was collapsing fast.
From Kotaro's intel, the five Elders had long harbored treachery. When they learned Oda was truly gone, the Akechi—ranked first as chief stewards—sought an alliance with the Ye Clan, rallying board members to seize majority control.
But someone struck first, riling up Akainu and pinning every crime on the "bald turtle." Betrayal, Oda's murder, vampire dealings—all blamed on him.
The Akainu hot-bloods exploded. "Bakayaro! Revere the Emperor! Down with traitors!" With a triple shout of gekokujo, they mutinied, slaughtered the Akechi to the last child, and lit their sky lanterns—the first Elder swept off the board.
"Well then," Li Pan muttered. "This is going to be quite a show… keep probing, and report back."
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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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