Using the doctor as a springboard, Eighteen hacked into the Scavenger systems, unlocking every door for Li Pan. He moved upstairs unimpeded, then circled back through the morgue.
Outside, the firefight was blazing—rat-tat-tat, boom, crackling like fireworks.
The NCPA was frustrated. They'd only responded to a call: a cyberpsycho had skinned a man and tossed grenades into a crowd. Standard procedure, show up and contain.
But the Whirlpool Gang saw it differently. To them, their cash cow had been raided by cops. And the underground hospital declared under attack? That was intolerable—cutting off their profit was like murdering their parents. So: fight.
Whirlpool troops swarmed like roaches, RPGs blasting police cars into lampposts, heavy guns spraying cops and civilians alike into shredded meat.
But unlike the suburbs, Old City still had decent police numbers, plus drones. They held on, retreating into the hospital while calling reinforcements. Both sides blazed across the street—gunfire nonstop, explosions endless, like Lunar New Year fireworks.
Li Pan frowned. Bullets stormed above; Whirlpool had even more troops below, only blocked because Eighteen sealed the doors.
He'd planned for a quick snatch-and-exit. Instead, Whirlpool mobilized with shocking speed—organized, coordinated, almost military. Their reaction rivaled Martian MM's tactical elite. Could it be endless exposure to Cerberus' live-combat streams had evolved their battle instincts this far?
Still, Li Pan tried sticking to the original plan: exit topside, get to the vehicles.
Problem: Orange hadn't woken. She'd been overdosed with anesthetics, and her neural port locked by a MATRIX device—external server blocking uploads. Forced removal risked brain damage.
So Li Pan hid her in the morgue, disguised himself in a hospital gown, bandaged head and arm, and scouted.
He found a ward with three NCPA officers trading fire from cover with smartguns and drones. One lay choking blood, throat shredded by a stray round. A blonde rookie cop tried futilely pressing the wound. The man died in seconds.
She froze, dazed, hands still pressing the corpse.
Another officer, Black, screamed and fired bursts—until a sniper round dropped him too.
Li Pan cursed. Snipers. Carrying Orange out head-on was impossible.
He peeked outside.
Yes—Whirlpool. Hundreds, red cyber-eyes glowing, swarming like flies.
But more terrifying: they moved in eight-man military squads—two riflemen with commander, one RPG, one heavy gunner, two shield-and-SMG troopers, two shotgun grenadiers, plus ammo drone. Coordinated suppression, assault, flanking. Systematic, efficient, like drilled soldiers.
Holy shit. This wasn't a raid—it was a hornet's nest.
If NCPA couldn't hold, they'd call Cerberus with SMS mechs—full war.
He hurried to the blonde officer. Nameplate: Angela Reagan.
"Hey, Officer Reagan! Snap out of it! You need to evacuate civilians—protect citizens!"
She blinked, muttering:
"Right… I'm a cop… must protect citizens…"
While she drifted, Li Pan stripped body armor off the fallen cops.
She snapped:
"What are you—"
"They don't need it anymore! Others do! Come on, help me, or I'll file a complaint!"
That jolted her. She stammered:
"I—I'm not a patrol. I'm an Inspector."
"What!? You? Oh, elite track, right. Makes sense."
He realized: she was a top-university graduate, fast-tracked into NCPA as Inspector-cadet. Six months desk, nine months field training, then straight into Bureau ranks. A system designed to funnel connected elites into Public Safety.
Angela stayed silent—she knew what he implied. Her rise wasn't merit alone.
Still, she had hidden privileges: system protections, immunity from low-level violence. Safer than most.
Li Pan outfitted Orange in two layers of police armor, then handed her to Angela.
"Miss Reagan, this is my girl. I'm hurt, one hand down. You carry her. I'll charge the front, draw fire. You slip out side door with her. Can you?"
Angela hesitated. "But—can you?"
He shrugged. "Wouldn't suggest it if I couldn't. You just don't ditch her, alright?"
She gritted her teeth. "My family's been cops nine generations. I won't abandon an innocent citizen."
Li Pan almost laughed—he wanted to show her the corpse furnaces downstairs, the product of her nine generations—but held it in.
"Then I'm counting on you, Inspector."
They moved to the side door. Their old ward was already overrun. A four-man Whirlpool squad had set up a machine-gun nest.
Li Pan grinned. Opportunity. He dashed forward—Superman Groin Kick Combo, four in a row!
"Argh!" "Oof!" "Gah!" "Aaagh!"
Squad wiped.
Looting their weapons—good, unlike NCPA's ID-locked guns, Whirlpool's homebuilt gear fired freely.
Angela swallowed hard. "…Sir, what do you do for a living?"
"Census. Next time. Move it! Don't follow too close."
Li Pan hefted the machine gun, leapt out, spraying fire in zigzags. He ran loops, firing bursts, taunting fire, drawing every eye.
Angela, trained if inexperienced, seized the moment—carrying Orange, slipping through, out the hospital gates.
Li Pan didn't linger. His aim was trash, his magazine emptied quick. He bolted, weaving, dozens of snipers chasing, rounds punching holes through him.
But Nine Yin Qi kept him going. Any normal man would be down, screaming for a medic. Li Pan kept sprinting, wounds bleeding but body alive, as if playing a VR game.
He ran circles around the hospital, in and out the main gate, kicking enemies whenever he could—his signature groin strikes sending fear through Whirlpool ranks.
Soon, even snipers stopped wasting rounds. "Must be a bot," they muttered.
Sensing reduced fire, Li Pan knew they'd shifted focus. Distant booms echoed—new attackers breaching Whirlpool lines. Not NCPA. Someone stronger.
He turned to retreat, to regroup with Angela and Orange.
But a figure charged straight at him—fast as wind, clad in kendō uniform, wielding a katana. Behind him, a road of corpses—Whirlpool elites cleaved apart in single strokes.
The swordsman's geta clacked across a trail of blood. Without a word, he drew—blade flashing, sword-qi slashing straight for Li Pan's face!
Li Pan twisted, rolled, barely dodging. The sword wave carved a trench at his feet. He'd noticed the scabbard steaming—some hidden force brewing. Now he understood: this man could unleash sword-qi at range.
The swordsman pressed relentless, triple slashes, triple thrusts—waist, legs, head, chest. Each blow split brick, stone, even trash cans in half.
Shit. Grade-5 blade.
Li Pan's scalp tingled. This was no aug-bought fighter. This man had trained, mastered true sword-qi. Among grade-5, he was apex.
Only Nine Yin's twisted, rolling footwork saved Li Pan—dodging like a feral animal. Without it, he'd be diced barbecue.
"Nine Yin Fist!"
Cornered, Li Pan roared, swung wild fists at the swordsman's head.
The man, traditional to the core, halted—sheathing his blade, bowing, intoning solemnly:
"Itsukenryū! Battōjutsu! En garde!"
"I'll guard your ass!"
Li Pan hurled sand into his eyes.
"Bakaa!"
Blind, the swordsman slashed in fury—another sword-qi, stronger, tearing half the hospital wall apart.
Li Pan had anticipated. Sliding low, rolling, he stomped the swordsman's ankle—SNAP!
"Arghh!"
The man fell, but his thrust still stabbed into Li Pan's leg, splitting bone.
Li Pan ignored the pain, unleashed his ultimate—Superman Groin Kick, accelerated, all his qi focused into the strike.
"Gwaaaahhh!!"
Even the strongest blade, deepest skill, finest gear couldn't withstand a perfect weak-spot strike. The kick lifted him three feet, seven holes bleeding, dead on the spot—horrific.
The watching Whirlpool troops froze, swallowing hard, thighs clenched, forgetting to shoot.
"Fuck—my leg…"
Li Pan wrenched the katana free, checked his wound. Right leg shredded, unusable. Only left leg and right arm remained.
"That's it. Retreat. I'm done."
So, in full view of Whirlpool, Li Pan limped away—katana on his shoulder, hopping on one leg like a crippled rooster.
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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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