Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 1: The Corpse Collector on a Night of Icy Rain (Patreon)

Synopsis:The way you'll die is beyond anything you can imagine.

Transported into the world of Cyberpunk, Pantheon finds himself at the very bottom of Night City, working as a lowly corpse collector.

Fortunately, he's been granted a corpse-collection system. Every dead body is another chance to obtain new traits and abilities. And so begins his career as a mercenary, killing his enemies, collecting their corpses, and seeing what rewards they leave behind.

[Detected trait: [Cyberware Capacity Upgrade] (Blue)]

[Detected trait: [Scientific Superpower] (Blue)]

[Essence +7. Draw from the lottery?]

[Ability acquired: [Dead Eye] (Red)]

...

Years later, Pantheon stands atop Arasaka Tower, Adam Smasher's corpse lying beneath his feet.

"You want to know how I became a legend?"

Pantheon glances at his status panel, packed with more traits than he can count.

"What I really want to know is what kind of traits Saburo Arasaka's corpse would have."

Cyberpunk 2077 × Cyberpunk: Edgerunners

…

Chapter 1: The Corpse Collector on a Night of Icy Rain

The way you'll die is beyond anything you can imagine.

Nowhere was that more true than in Night City.

And here, right in front of Pantheon, lay another corpse unlike anything he could have imagined.

Judging by the scene, the poor bastard had been burned alive.

A foul stench hung over the cramped rental apartment, so deeply ingrained that it seemed to have become part of the place.

How could anyone describe that smell?

Sour rot mixed with scorched grease. Imagine Nurgle swallowing one of Khorne's demons, getting indigestion, and letting out a thunderous, putrid fart.

The charred remains barely resembled a human body. They looked more like a puddle of melted asphalt spread across the floor.

Flies and bedbugs swarmed everywhere. The corpse had become a perfect nest, with maggots wriggling inside the carbonized skull.

No wonder the neighbors had complained en masse.

Nurgle's Garden had descended into the mortal world, right next door. Who the hell was supposed to put up with that?

Pantheon stared blankly. He didn't even have the energy to complain anymore.

By now, sights like this hardly surprised him. He silently turned and went outside to fetch different tools.

His partner Roman took one look inside and clicked his tongue in disdain.

A former Militech paratrooper, Roman had seen far more grotesque and revolting sights. Compared with those, this was nothing.

Pantheon scooped up a lump of flesh coated in sticky, stringy corpse fat. Squeeze it hard enough and fluid would burst out. At a glance, it almost resembled Black Forest cake.

To anyone else, this was hazardous filth best avoided. To Pantheon, it was simply a particularly gruesome mystery box with an unusual shape.

After all, he'd been given a corpse-collection system.

[Ding!]

[No complete trait detected in this corpse. Trait fragments will be converted into Essence.]

[Essence +3]

Pantheon cursed inwardly.

Damn it! Not even a flashy little trinket?

This guy had died in such a creative fashion, yet he hadn't dropped a single trait. All Pantheon got was three Essence points.

He'd been in this world for over a month and had searched more than a hundred bodies, only to obtain two traits and one lottery draw. The drop rate was downright miserable.

He glanced at his status panel and sighed again. At this rate, when was he ever going to make a name for himself?

[Name: Pantheon]

[Attributes]

Body: 2

Reflexes: 6 (+2)

Intelligence: 6

Cool: 6

Technical Ability: 2

[Essence: 97]

[Items: None]

[Ability: [Stronger with Every Battle] (Blue)]

[Traits: [Workhorse] (White), [Quick Start] (Green)]

[Workhorse] (White)

Description: Workhorses used to be fed and looked after. Now they're expected to bring their own lunch.

Effect: Increases stamina by 20%. Special effect: Increases endurance and mental resilience.

[Quick Start] (Green)

Description: The deceased asks, "Bet you can't outrun me?"

Effect: Reflexes +2. Special effect: Increases the speed of your initial movements, including drawing a gun and getting to your feet.

[Stronger with Every Battle] (Blue)

Description: Fight! Feels great!

Effect: Each defeated enemy increases attack speed and critical hit chance by 5%, stacking up to four times. Lasts one minute, with the duration resetting whenever another enemy is defeated.

"Well, look at the college boy. Even the way you shovel corpses is refined."

Roman's sarcastic voice came from beside him.

They were partners, but Roman was the veteran. Even when the old bastard took advantage of him, Pantheon wasn't really in a position to complain.

He could only keep score, learn what he could from Roman, and wait for a chance to return the favor.

Just a month ago, Pantheon had been an ordinary office worker. Then he'd gone to sleep and woken up in the world of Cyberpunk.

Corporations controlled everything here. Ordinary people had almost no chance of getting ahead.

Having arrived in the flesh with no legal identity, Pantheon couldn't even prove who he was, much less find a decent job.

Fortunately, growing up an orphan had taught him to adapt. After plenty of trouble, he'd managed to join Duncan's crew as a contract cleaner for REO Meatwagon.

REO Meatwagon offered emergency medical assistance much like Trauma Team, except it served people at the bottom of society.

Given Night City's famously "upstanding" and "hospitable" residents, it wasn't hard to imagine how dangerous rescue work could be.

The company couldn't afford generous wages, so it quietly allowed its responders to pocket cyberware from injured patients and corpses as payment.

That practice gave REO a terrible reputation. People often assumed its employees were working with the Scavengers.

At the same time, the job offered plenty of opportunities to make money on the side.

Just look at Gloria from Edgerunners, another REO employee. Her extra earnings were enough to send her son to an elite school like Arasaka Academy.

Unfortunately, Duncan was the one making the money. A rookie like Pantheon didn't see a cent.

At least he had his own special advantage.

While his thoughts wandered, the cleanup drew to a close. They'd shoveled away the larger pieces of the body, but the blackened marks on the floor refused to come off.

Pantheon took a deep breath and reluctantly removed a tightly sealed canister of chemicals from his toolbox.

The glaring warning symbols on the label said it all. This was powerful acid, the kind chemical plants used to strip away stubborn deposits.

Hisssss.

White fumes rose the instant the acid hit the floor.

The sharp chemical odor overwhelmed even the stench of the corpse. The thin protective mask on Pantheon's face was little more than a comforting decoration.

Suppressing the burning discomfort in his lungs, he crouched and spread the acid evenly with a specialized brush.

Not even the most stubborn bits of flesh could withstand it. Unfortunately, the floor around the body suffered a little damage in the process.

It had only lost a centimeter or two. Maybe three. Surely that wouldn't make it collapse?

Pantheon and Roman turned away in perfect understanding. A fall like that probably wouldn't kill anybody, so they could pretend they hadn't noticed.

The moment they left the apartment, Roman tore off his mask, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it in one practiced movement.

"Whew! Fuck, this job isn't fit for humans!"

He tipped his head back and blew a smoke ring. The secondhand smoke, mixed with the lingering stench, entered Pantheon's nose and set his lungs burning. He broke into a coughing fit.

"Cough! Cough! Fuck! Will you smoke a little less? I don't want to end up collecting your corpse."

"What's there to be scared of?" Roman grinned. Gray smoke seeped between his metal teeth and drifted toward a crack in the ceiling.

"Militech Type 3 battlefield lungs. Mustard gas and biological viruses don't bother these babies. You think I'm scared of a little nicotine?"

He glanced sideways at Pantheon with a teasing smile.

"Your natural lungs are practically rotting away, aren't they? Get yourself a replacement. If you're broke, borrow from me. I'll only charge you fifty percent interest."

Only fifty percent?

Back in his old world, anything over thirty-six percent counted as usury!

Welcome to the world of Cyberpunk.

From the moment Pantheon learned where he'd landed, he'd known he was in trouble.

Night City was horribly polluted. The air, water, and food were all contaminated, and that wasn't even counting the radiation left by nuclear detonations.

Everyone who lived here was affected to some degree.

The wealthiest could use advanced biotechnology to clone replacement organs. Everyone else had to make do with implants or transplants.

That made ordinary people's organs a tempting commodity. They weren't as useful as cyberware, but they were cheap.

Pantheon had no intention of waking up one morning to discover himself floating in a jar of formalin.

So he'd deliberately inhaled toxic exhaust and chemical fumes. Combined with Night City's filthy environment, they had quickly begun to damage his vulnerable natural organs.

He was still functioning only because the damage hadn't had long to progress and because he had access to special anti-pollution medicine.

Pantheon wiped a trace of blood from the corner of his mouth and pretended not to hear Roman.

Finding the lack of reaction boring, Roman pursed his lips and wandered off.

They continued searching and cleaning the apartment, slipping anything valuable they found straight into their pockets.

More than twenty years of being taught kindness and restraint had been undone in less than a month in Night City.

Anyone who couldn't adapt here wouldn't survive.

Unless, of course, they were rich.

When Pantheon turned over a heap of junk in the corner, several creatures scurried out. He couldn't tell whether they were rats or cockroaches.

He stopped. Something useful had caught his eye.

It was an HK-8 heavy bulletproof vest made by Militech. Judging from the model, it was an older version.

"Seven or eight years old. Outdated junk. Worth nothing," Roman said casually, leaning over for a look.

Pantheon had already fallen for that trick several times. He wasn't about to believe him again.

His cybernetic eye glimmered faintly as he searched the Net.

Don't ask where the eyes came from. He'd found them. End of story.

He soon located the relevant specifications on Militech's official website.

The HK-8 used ceramic composite armor plates, with a rated service life exceeding ten years.

And this one was in remarkably good shape, apart from some damage to its outer stab-resistant layer.

Roman was clearly trying to fool him again.

"Fair enough. I'll donate it to a museum one of these days."

Pantheon threw Roman's argument right back at him while pulling the vest over his clothes.

Roman froze. He hadn't expected a rookie to talk back.

"Are you two done yet? We've got another job!"

A dark, shiny bald head, like a preserved century egg, appeared in the doorway as someone called impatiently.

"Almost, boss," Roman answered, tossing his cigarette butt into a body bag.

Duncan came inside, gave the room a cursory glance, and told them to pack up.

"Fuck! If those troublemaking bastards hadn't complained to City Hall, I wouldn't have wasted a second on a lousy job with nothing worth taking."

They loaded the remains, stowed the equipment, and left nothing behind but worthless rubbish.

As the newest member, Pantheon had to ride in the back with the corpse and all the tools.

Roman even turned around from the front seat and made a face at him. Pantheon ignored it.

The Columbus V340 slowly pulled out of the megabuilding. Pedestrians spotted the REO logo and stepped aside with looks of disgust.

It was October 10, 2075, and nothing of note had happened in Night City.

No terrorists had attacked Arasaka Tower. No rebel warlord had shot down the president's vehicle.

Well, not tonight, anyway.

Gang crime might be rampant and living standards might be falling, but for most people, it was simply another awful, ordinary night.

Pantheon shivered as an ominous feeling crept over him.

He checked the number on his status panel. Ninety-seven Essence points. Just three more and he could draw the lottery again.

God, Mother Mary, whoever's listening... Please, let the next corpse drop something good.