Now wasn't the ti to study the Sealing Demon ninjutsu, nor to save Kotaro from his peril.
Because explosions were already rumbling nearby.
Although Eighteen had seized control of the subnet and defenses, honestly, the Shura base's robots and turrets weren't much to look at.
After all, this "farm" was a damned enterprise ant to be abandoned at any mont; they'd never invest to turn it into a true fortress. As long as the security system scared off gangs like Whirlpool or kept livestock from escaping, that was enough.
So even with Eighteen turning their turrets against them, plenty of Shura grunts resisted.
And so "custors" joined the retreat. The mont they realized a hacker had breached the farm, they ran down ergency exits, fleeing to the hidden subway.
Li Pan didn't bother chasing them—because the "Demon" ch hadn't shut down. In fact, it had gone berserk, plasma sword flailing wildly, cutting down everything in sight, headed straight for the control room.
"Why not just shut the drone down?"
The hacker possessed by Eighteen fell silent.
"That isn't a drone. It has an independent internal control system, no network port. Likely a brain-jar cyborg inside."
"Soone's piloting it? No way—the cockpit was too small. Unless… tch. These people really have no bottom line."
Li Pan understood. This custom SMS was too small for a full cockpit—but it could fit a half-body pilot.
Hadn't the SMS Corps said it long ago? "Legs are just decoration."
Back in the Great War, there had been SMS cockpits for crippled veterans. Torn from the battlefield, left as nothing but torsos and heads—they were encased into life-support shells to keep fighting.
It was one of the earliest forms of brain-jar, prosthetic, and pod tech. The soldier fused with the ch. In those days, there was no modern QVN network to "ascend" into virtual worlds. Once encased, you lived only as the machine. Torture for most, salvation for a few.
So crippled aces embraced it, becoming war heroes, demons in steel.
But this "Demon" pilot? Rampaging, mindless slaughter… given Shura's style, it was doubtful they'd volunteered.
"Got any weapons? Chainsaw wrench, anything? Bare hands can't dent it."
"…Fire axe?"
"Perfect!"
Li Pan grabbed the axe, infused it with monkey-sword qi, and hacked through alloy doors.
Safety regs demanded fire axes and extinguishers on all cargo vessels. And those weren't just axes—they had mono-molecule edges, plasma circuits, and a ten-second battery charge. Enough to dismantle a ch.
He slid into ambush position, then sprang! Backstab crit qi damage!
The axe ca down like Mount Hua splitting—shearing off a leg!
The ch toppled, off-balance. Li Pan unleashed a storm of blows—plasma arcs flashing, axe shadows whirling. Within one battery's charge, he butchered the "Demon" into eight neat parts!
In truth, the ch wasn't piloted by any ace. It only flailed blindly. No ranged weapons—permissions locked. A brute puppet.
But Li Pan? He was a professional combat engineer. Top of his class. Years of dismantling, repairing, and tinkering. He knew weak points, joints, and connectors by heart. Muramasa chs were standardized modules; he could tear them down blindfolded.
So with surgical strikes, he dismantled the Demon—careful not to scratch the samurai armor plating. Those parts could be resold to pay debts.
And inside, just as Eighteen said: a "control unit."
It wasn't high-grade brain-jar tech. Crude surgery had amputated limbs, cut open the skull, jamd tubes into the nervous system, organs floating in fluid. A consumable husk, good for maybe a year.
When the local hackers still lived, maybe they fed it drugs or VR dreams to dull the pain. But with the subnet dead, the control unit "woke"—and scread in endless agony.
Li Pan gave him a swift release. Then studied the scraps.
The Demon was based on Muramasa's Tiger-class SMS. Unlike mass-produced Type-3s, the Tiger was an elite captain unit. Performance was strong—on par with mid-tier third-rate worlds. Many 0791 elites used customized Tigers as personal chs.
This one had been miniaturized, hybridized into a semi-robot using the control unit. Sothing only Muramasa HQ could have built. Shura had patrons. Investors.
"Eighteen, weren't there supposed to be three of these Demons?"
"No trace in the hangar. Maybe the boss took them. But—I found sothing fun. A chamber with no surveillance, multilayered gene-lock."
Guided by Eighteen's flashing lights, Li Pan hacked through mobs and reached a sealed vault door. His axe couldn't cut it.
…A vault!? Jackpot!
He ran back, fetched the Demon's plasma sword, rewired it into a cutter, and burned a dog-sized hole through the alloy.
Inside—no gold, no guns, no accounts. Just a fridge. Locked. Temperature: -80°C.
He recognized it instantly: frozen red cells. The sa storage he'd seen before. Likely offerings to a Night Elder.
But why store human blood like treasure, when farms wasted rivers of it? Unless—this wasn't ordinary blood.
Li Pan couldn't figure it out. But thieves never leave empty-handed. He dragged the fridge out.
When Team B arrived, Qi brought portable power for the fridge. Rama, yawning, hugged a porcelain vase.
"…Why are you carrying that too?"
"It said it's afraid of the dark. Said our office has ghosts. Refuses to be alone," Rama muttered.
Qi explained:
"Rama burned a silver key in a dream. The vase reverted, containnt successful. As long as it's not in our office, or has company, it behaves."
So simple? And harmless? Then useless.
"…Fine. Keep it for now. We'll stash it in a warehouse."
They packed the fridge, ch parts, and servers onto the ship. Li Pan went to rescue Kotaro, then they all retreated. An anonymous tip to NCPA. Vigilantes never sign their nas. And trespassing private property would only earn him fines from NCPA anyway.
Still—the harvest was disappointing.
"Server's full of black-market VR snuff. Useless without buyers. Shura had no accounts, only direct transfers to Shura Ghost. No client lists. All attendees were undocunted, illegal prosthetic users. Victims' belongings destroyed.
Even the Demon parts are tagged Muramasa—everyone knows they belonged to Shura. Hard to sell."
"So destroying the farm ans nothing. Unless we catch Shura Ghost himself, no profit?"
"Exactly. That's how gangs are. Trust no one but themselves."
Sa as Yuchi—no black money left behind. And with no surveillance, no bounty payout either. This ti they were truly vigilantes.
Qi added salt:
"Boss, you requisitioned the company vehicle outside work hours without approval. Not business travel. No reimbursent."
Company rules: private car use billed at local taxi base fare.
Li Pan sighed—another 400 gone. Still needed his own car.
Worst hit was Kotaro—baited himself, likely molested, lost billions, now comatose.
But at least Eighteen cracked the fridge. Two hundred blood packs. Four hundred units. Fifty liters.
He suspected the buyer was limited. But he told his crew:
"Don't worry. Bread will co. Milk will co. Everything will co! Eighteen, keep eyes on Shura Ghost. He can't hide forever. Once he shows, we grab him. anwhile, I'll see what these blood packs fetch. We'll split the profit. Worst case—we raid East City Alliance again!"
He snapped a photo, sent it to K.
With 18,580.32 in hand, Li Pan felt fearless. Night City itself looked like a field of ATMs waiting to be harvested.
Why not get a bounty hunter license? Registration was 3,000, but tax rates dropped from 15% to as low as 5% for Gold Hunters. Beautiful!
"What are you grinning about?"
Li Pan looked up—K had arrived on her bike.
"So fast? Did you catch those werewolves?"
"No. By the ti we got there—hey! Don't touch my bike!"
Selena laughed, "Ohhh, I love the enthusiasm!"
Li Pan teased, "Selena, must've been lonely, not going out these days."
"Exactly! Hop on, let's ride!"
K rolled her eyes, uninterested in their flirting. She revved, but Li Pan handed her a blood bag.
"Wait, try this—free sample. Interested?"
"Frozen blood? Not yours, is it?"
K sniffed, froze.
"…Virgin's Holy Blood. Where did you get this?"
Li Pan shrugged. "Virgin, huh? Found it. Want so? Lots more. Negotiable price."
K sipped, swirled it in her mouth—then spat, frowning.
"You have how much? I'll pay 20,000 per unit."
Li Pan blinked. "Wha—20k per unit!? One bag's 40k!? You just spat away hundreds!"
K sealed the bag in a thermos, licking her tongue.
"Virgin's Blood. Rich and thick. From a girl under twenty, taken at the instant of death. The final sweetness of her life, condensed into one last breath.
First taste: fear, pain, betrayal. Middle notes: first love, affection. Aftertaste: innocence, hope.
…It's the flavor I hate most. Disgusting."
She paused.
"But the older they get, the more they crave it. They call it the essence of ruined innocence. A sick delicacy.
I detest it. But it's priceless. Perfect as a gift. I'll take everything you have."
Li Pan sent her the fridge photo.
K narrowed her eyes. "That much!? Virgin's Blood is rare—ten victims, maybe one succeeds. If every bag is real… it's a wine-cellar treasure. Who did you steal from?"
"An Elder. So Transylvanian Countess of House Julius. Not a local prince clan."
He sent Shura's intel.
K's face paled.
"You robbed Julius!? That Countess is Prince Julius' favorite! His first childe! One of the last thuselahs alive! Current head of the Secret Party! Night's High Dictator!
Selena! Delete local records!"
"Deleted."
Li Pan rolled his eyes. Big deal. He had "godly" friends too.
"…So what. Want the blood or not?"
K hissed through her teeth, glaring murder.
"…I'll take it. But I don't have that much cash on hand. Cut a deal."
"Oh, so you do want it. Fine. We'll talk price."
.
.
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.rcs 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.
🔗 /DrManhattanEN
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