There are people in this world who simply find maggots disgusting—
Or who believe that only pure, unmodified humans are the supreme and perfect beings.
In short, they refuse to use protozoa-based protein grafts or synthetic silicon-medical organs.
They want the real thing.
And then there are those who are simply too poor to even put food on the table.
So they voluntarily sell one eye. Or both eyes. Or a hand, a foot, a liver, a kidney.
Whatever can fetch money, they sell it.
With such a pure supply-and-demand relationship, the rest is left to the market.
That's capitalism.
"Scavengers provide organs for the rich, steady supply, all-you-can-eat. It's Whirlpool Gang's main source of funding. Demand is so strong that even the Security Bureau can't fully shut it down. If you sell an enemy to the Scavs, no one dares to trace them again.
Back in school, some countrymen set me up. I wanted revenge after graduation. But once they fell into Scavenger hands, the trail ended."
In the storm drain underground, Li Pan spoke while he and Qi smeared sewage and mud all over the freshly-washed used car. They snapped the plates, twisted off the mirrors—turning it into a wreck.
Then Li Pan clapped his hands, climbed into the back seat, and stripped off his clothes. Not just clothes—glasses, gloves, even peeling off his synthetic skin layer by layer.
"Rama, you'll drive. Park at the intersection, wait for signal, ready for getaway. Head to Martin Meats' garage. In case the Security Bureau chases, traffic AI will lock autopilot, flood you with red lights. Be ready to drive manual.
Qi, you wait outside. Once I'm in, stir up a distraction, pull their eyes away, then withdraw.
Eighteen—you handle the rest, improvise. Careful—Whirlpool has some really dangerous psychos."
"Got it, boss."
"Boss… you sure Miss Orange is still alive?"
"Not sure. But generally organ transplants are best done fresh—at the scene. No point in storing early.
They won't bother saving her. They'll wait until she's on the brink before cutting."
They reached the Scavenger hospital in Old City. Called a secret base, but looked like a private clinic—one of Whirlpool's last money pools. Open 24/7, bustling with people.
Li Pan was ready. In a blind spot, he tore off his cover sheet, splashed on blood, and sprinted in naked, screaming through the ER hall:
"Help! Cyberpsycho ripped off my face!"
"Yaaahhh!"
Patients shrieked and scattered from the bloodied skinless man.
But medics weren't fazed. Night City medicine had seen it all. A nurse calmly pushed a gurney:
"Cash or card?"
"…Cash."
Five hundred bucks later, he was admitted. A nurse hastily wrapped him up and queued him outside the ER.
Five hundred? Surgery? Dream on. That just booked an appointment. Scan, bloodwork, then pay-per-service. Nothing under 10–20k.
Insurance? Sure—NCHC only. Private hospitals don't accept it.
Why not build more NCHC? Maybe because when med-school grads face a choice—5k monthly at NCHC vs. 5k per cut here, with a million in student loans—the choice is obvious.
Meanwhile, Qi created chaos outside—likely tossed a bomb. Boom! Patients and staff screamed, ducked, crawled to safety with practiced reflexes. Gunfire drills were daily routine. Honestly, Li Pan's naked entrance had caused a bigger stir.
Seeing no one watching, Li Pan sprang into action—scaled walls, crawled through morgue, slipped into the cremator, pried open a steel plate with sword-qi, and slid into the hidden tunnels.
This "hospital" was a front—licensed for gear. The real clinic was underground, reserved for the elite. Li Pan had been here once before, delivering goods. He remembered bodies dumped down here, carved up like meat buns at a butcher's inn.
Morgue workers flinched as a bloody "corpse" suddenly rose and gouged out an eyeball for the scanner. Screaming, they bolted.
Li Pan shrugged, used the eye to unlock doors, and went full rampage—no stealth, just violence.
Security woke up—robots, turrets—but Whirlpool was poor compared to Asura Gang. Cheap drones. Li Pan shredded through like an alien beast, straight toward the OR.
But then—BOOM! A concussive blast hurled him into a wall, half his body numb, flesh torn.
Shotgun. He knew the feel.
Another blast. This time he zigzagged with Nine Yin Qi, rolling across ceiling and walls, dodging shrapnel.
The shooter: a massive cyborg, 90% converted, with arm-mounted shotgun.
"Bang bang bang!"
Grade-5 shells tore into him; fragments lodged deep. After the fifth shot, Li Pan sprinted in.
But the brute reloaded instantly—auto-cycle upgrade! Aimed point-blank at his face!
In panic, Li Pan struck with Nine Yin Palm. The blast missed his head but shredded his shoulder and blew apart his left hand.
"Dammit—Grade-5 shells!"
Yet he countered with a brutal low strike—hand knifed into the cyborg's groin, prying open abdominal plating like cracking a crab.
Still, the brute didn't flinch. He grappled Li Pan, pinned him, gun barrel at his forehead—about to fire.
Li Pan roared, ignored the pain, slammed his shoulder in, overturned him. The blast tore a trench through his back, but he disarmed the shotgun, hammered punches into the cyborg's face until synthetic jaw and tongue flew loose.
Still alive. Legs clamped Li Pan, crushing his lungs.
And another assassin arrived. Optical camo—mantis arms flashing twin blades, diving at Li Pan's neck.
Li Pan twisted the brute up as a shield—CLANG! Twin blades pierced through, nearly skewering his eyes.
"Fuck you!"
He trapped the attacker's daggers, kicked low—classic move. Even through a body, the kick crushed the camouflaged assassin's crotch.
The assassin faltered, cloaking flickering. He flipped back, vanished again.
Li Pan tore open the brute's torso—yanked out a neural core canister.
A Xingtian soldier unit. Remote-operated berserker. HT Tech's product. Unless the brain-can was destroyed, it would keep fighting.
And that invisible ninja—far stronger than Kotaro. A master.
Two grade-5 bodyguards? Must be some VIP surgery inside.
If so, Orange was doomed.
"Come on then! Fight me or fuck off!"
He brandished the brain-can like a club, ran, baiting the invisible assassin.
Sure enough, the assassin shadowed him—too fast, too close. A blade stabbed through his lung.
But Li Pan, powered by qi, absorbed the strike, then smashed the brain-can back—forcing the assassin to react. In the moment of imbalance, he unleashed his strongest move: a lightning-fast groin kick.
CRACK! Femur snapped.
The assassin, cloaked, toppled silently—only for Li Pan to stomp his chest through, splattering him against the wall like a crushed spider.
That was how he practiced kicking sheets every day…
No more grade-5s, thankfully. Kicking, stomping, punching, he fought his way into the OR.
"Operation in progress! Get out—"
One kick knocked the surgeon out cold. Li Pan yanked the sheet off the patient. A man. Almost sewn up.
Raging, Li Pan decapitated him—vengeance for Orange—then seized a trembling nurse:
"Where's the donor!?"
"Next… next room!"
He burst through the wall—only to find a fat old man, already carved, brain removed.
"…Not Orange. Not even Yamato. Just some Tokugawa exec."
Li Pan sighed. "So, prosthetic replacement surgery?"
He dragged the doctor upstairs with his face for door access. Found a ward full of half-dead patients, patched only enough to keep alive, waiting to be harvested.
There—Orange. Intubated, anesthetized, wounds stitched. Still alive.
Relief.
Her injuries were common—bullet fragments, easy to treat. Scavs had patched her up but only to sell later.
Lucky—her blood type wasn't rare. No recipient matched yet. She slept, chip slot locked.
Good. But Yamato?
"Hey, stop faking. Where's her son?"
Eye dangling, the doctor whimpered:
"He left! Wearing his Night Clan school uniform! We didn't dare touch him! Tossed him ashes from the cremator, told him his mom was dead. He left!"
So he'd been tricked. Poor Yamato must be lost by now.
"And that guy on the OR table?"
"Sera Den Motonobu! Tokugawa executive! Came for combat prosthetic upgrade!"
A Tokugawa exec? Using Scavs instead of his own hospital? Weird.
Li Pan shrugged. "Eighteen, patch into TheM's network. Now."
The doctor's eyes flickered silver.
"Boss!"
"Oh, Eighteen. Good. Outside?"
"Whirlpool's fighting NCPA. What about this one?"
"Burn him. I don't care. But plenty of survivors here. Tokugawa dead ones too. Ninjas might come hunting…"
"Forget it. Let's have fun. Call Security Bureau. Broadcast pics to Night Clan's Emilia. A little gift."
"Understood."
Leaving cleanup to Eighteen, Li Pan hoisted Orange and charged upstairs.
.
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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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