Corpo Age [Cyberpunk Progression LitRPG]

I dove headfirst into the bed and burrowed my face into the pillow as I thought back on my day and what to do from now on.

Well, that sucked…

Stomping on the injured robber was apparently enough to kill him. I quickly called the cops right after, and they didn’t show up until 30 minutes later, which was enough time for me to snap out of my daze, only to find the store in a mess. I even mindlessly rang a customer out who didn’t seem to care one bit about the two dead bodies while they shopped.

When the cops showed up, all they did was ask me a few basic questions and take a few pictures of the crime scene. They didn’t even take the bodies away, quoting “Not our job.”

Not even five minutes after the police had left, I received a call from my manager, who angrily yelled over the line. “YOU IMBECILE! WHY DID YOU CALL THE POLICE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THEY CHARGE PER CALL?” He continued yelling profanities at me. In the meantime, I wallowed at the realization of how different things worked in this world.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHOW UP TOMORROW ANYMORE, YOU’RE FIRED! AND YOU BETTER CLEAN UP THE GODDAMN MESS IN THAT STORE BEFORE THE DAY ENDS OR I’M TAKING IT OUT OF YOUR PAY!”

I hadn’t even bothered arguing. I had done enough research that I knew it was expected of every business to screw their employees over just because they could get away with it. If you tried to fight back, it would only waste time and money, with the lawsuits always ending in a battle of attrition.

Once you are rich enough, you could bend any rules at will or, at the very least, play by an easier rulebook.

I suppressed my simmering anger and got to cleaning. 

I looted the gun and dagger from the bodies before I disposed of them. It didn’t seem like the cops cared at all about their weapons, so I helped myself. It would save me some credits, as I was looking to buy a weapon anyway.

I left the store as soon as the person for the next shift had arrived and power walked straight home.

Once I had enough of self-wallowing, I jumped straight into the shower to clear my head.

I finally had some time to think back on the floating “+10 EXP” message I had seen. Did I hallucinate that, or was it even real? If it was real, then did I attain some sort of system?

I couldn’t help but be a little excited as that thought came into my mind and started testing out my theory. “System!” I called out louder than I had wanted, but luckily the sound of the shower dampened the noise and no one else was here to hear me.

Nothing happened, so I kept trying, “Menu…Status.” On my third try, a menu popped up. The third time’s the charm, they say.

Status
Level:	1
EXP:	10/100
Musculoskeletal:	11
Neural Reflex:	15
Visuomotor Coordination:	12
Endurance:	8
Sensory Perception:	12
Upgrade Points:	6
Upgrades:	null
Enhancements:	null

 

I instinctively reached out to touch the screen, but my hands went straight through it. I went over what the screen displayed and when I got to the upgrade points, the screen automatically changed and displayed a list.

I looked through the list and quickly got the hang of navigating, as it simply moved according to my intentions. What was shown on the menu were various skills such as Hand-to-hand Combat, Pistol, or Stealth while it also had more knowledge-focused selections like Kinetic Weapon Technology.

This was like the status screen from some kind of game where I could upgrade skills and stuff. However, the only thing I could interact with was the upgrade points. I couldn’t upgrade the other stats or anything…

I held back my impulse to test it out and upgrade something right away. I needed a plan first before I randomly upgraded anything, assuming it even worked. 

Shelving my thoughts regarding the system, I started looking for a job once more. Despite being paid last week, with the amount I had to set aside for rent, I won’t be able to build up much of a war chest at all. It would have been so much easier if the money I had been saving came along with me to this world…

I always used to say ‘Money is power’, it has never hurt so much to be right. Time to start saving…again.

 

---

 

It wasn’t long before I found a new job, well… old job, but different store. At least this time it was even closer to my home, being just down the street.

On my second day of work, I stopped by the gun store in my building and brought along the two guns and knives I had looted from the bodies. 

Upon passing through the first set of doors, a guard asked me to unload my weapons or store them in a nearby locker. The guard watched me awkwardly pocket the bullets I unloaded, as I had nowhere else to put them.

With the guard’s permission, I headed further into the store by passing through another set of doors, where I found the store’s merchandise on display.

Good thing I had practiced with the guns at home and understood how to handle them safely, with the help of my personal advisor, the web. Otherwise, it would’ve been even more awkward.

I headed directly to the checkout counter, where a woman with a red ponytail wearing an army vest over a tank top was. She stood on the other side of what I presumed to be bulletproof glass with a bored expression. I placed the pistol and knife into the opening of the glass between us.

“How much can I get for these?”

The woman ignored the knife and picked up the pistol to look it over. She took it apart with practiced ease before she replied. 

“Decent condition Vipera, I’ll take it for one fifty creds. The knife is just a hunk of metal. I’ll take it for ten creds, a total of one sixty creds.”

“C’mon, you can do at least two hundred!” 

“No can do. We still have crates full of these sitting around. One sixty is the best I can do, or you can try your luck elsewhere.”

Well… it wasn’t as bad of a deal as I had thought. From what I had found online, a brand new ACN-90 or more commonly known as the Amazing Corp, Vipera, would cost around 300 credits.

I made the sale and looked around before I bought a few extra magazines and ammo for the Vipera I kept. I also got a small belt holster that had room to fit three additional magazines. 

I had come out of the store positive, though by only 10 credits, but that was better than nothing. Plus, I got some new gear.

Once I got to my workplace, I promptly headed to the back to get changed. I kept my new weapon strapped to my waist underneath my uniform. It was somewhat hidden beneath the shirt, but anyone could easily spot the bulge if one paid enough attention. 

The other employee that had passed by likely had seen the gun but they didn’t bat an eye.

That was just how it is in this world, I guess…

As I started working, my mind inevitably wandered towards the system. I thought about what I should upgrade, and what the future awaited if it was real. I was so excited at the prospect of escaping from these dead-end jobs, and the possibility of becoming filthy rich! 

 

---

 

For the past week, I had gotten settled into a routine of going to work and then heading to the shooting range at the gun store to practice with my new firearm. It also doubled as a test since I saw the “Pistol” skill available to upgrade. I wanted to see if practice would help me gain a level in it without having to spend a point.

There really wasn’t an option to add points to any of the other stats like Musculoskeletal and Neural Reflex, so I only focused on what I could control for now.

So far, there was nothing to show for my efforts, so it was probably one of three scenarios: 

1. It took even more practice to reach level one.
2. The upgrades provided a fixed amount of knowledge/skill. That meant if I naturally learned the same skills before upgrading it, I wouldn’t gain much as it would be redundant content.
3. The upgrade was in a literal sense. It will be an upgrade on top of what I already have, kind of like a +1 to my base stats if this were a game. However, that brings the question of if it would be dynamic; if my natural skill increased, would I suddenly learn more or would I just build on top of what I already had?

Without more information about the system, I shelved away my thoughts and continued practicing my shooting at the range.

On a quiet day at the range, two women approached me and struck up a conversation all of a sudden, “You new at this co? We could give you a few pointers if you want.”

I looked over to the two women who both fit the description of textbook Amazonians to a tee. They were muscular and stood around six feet tall, just around the same as me. However, the one who spoke to me had a distinctive dark red metal right arm and matching cybernetic legs.

“Sure, if it doesn’t cost me anything, why not?”

The one who had spoken to me proceeded to watch me shoot, while her friend began shooting at her own pace in the lane beside me. Once the last of my mag was spent, the target returned, and I embarrassingly examined the results.

“How long you’ve been shooting?” The woman asked without a hint of belittling me in her voice, much to my relief. “Just started up again for a week or so. Previously, I had only shot maybe 3 or 4 times in my life,” I answered while I reloaded.

“You a corpo or something?” She said with an eyebrow raised.

“What…? No, um…orphanage, corpo sponsored.” I quickly made up an excuse and kept my eyes on the target, not wanting to meet her eyes.

“I see, well why don’t you take a look at how we shoot for a bit, and then we will give you some pointers? By the way, I’m Flo and this is Erza,” Flo said.

She then gave me a grin as she drew her large pistol that matched her size while Erza looked over and gave me a quick wave.

I introduced myself before Flo proceeded to demonstrate her shooting skills. It was evident from her form and stance alone that she knew what she was doing. Once she finished, it was my turn again. She helped correct my stance and coached me as I tried to imitate their form.

As they took turns teaching me, I became more comfortable chatting with them and my aim became slightly more consistent as well.

“Nice. You’re getting at least five outta ten in the inner circle now, much better than before.” Flo commented with her arms crossed.

“Better than before, yeah, but how does that even compare to the average?” I curiously asked. 

The two of them were hitting seven or eight out of ten shots at a much longer distance than I was shooting from. 

“Well, at that distance, the average wasteland raider outside the cities would probably hit about seven. The average security guard with a few weeks of training would probably hit about six outta 10. And as for mercs who have been in the game for a while like us, if you can’t get at least 9 out of 10, they should probably consider different careers. This is a stationary target we’re talking about, after all.”

I soon ran out of the practice ammo I had bought for the day and was relegated to being only a spectator. The pair also didn’t continue for long, as they had apparently only been testing out their new iron.

“We’re done for the day too. Wanna head out to grab a drink with us?” Flo asked as they secured their weapons. 

“While that sounds great, I gotta get up early tomorrow, and I don’t have much disposable income right now.” I gave them a helpless smile.

“Well, you take care then and keep practicing. You improved pretty damn fast in a day. We may drop by again sometime. Once you have had some more practice, you could probably make some creds working as a merc if you are willing to take on some risks.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Here, let’s exchange contacts. Oh, you can save this contact as well. It’s for our QG, Fitel, for when you want some merc work.”

As appealing as that sounded, I needed some time to consider the risks first. I would much rather live a long and healthy life where I could enjoy my wealth. The best way to do that was to start a business, but I needed startup funds for that. Mercenary work may prove to be a decent way to break free from being a wage slave. 

If there was one thing I learned throughout my life, it was that good health came at a pretty penny. I would need security, healthy food, doctors, financial security, and more. 

“QG?” I asked, despite having gotten the gist that it was some fixer guy.

Flo raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Seriously? Quest Giver, the people who mercs like us work with to arrange jobs and guarantee…”

As Flo rambled on, I couldn’t focus on her words. I was too busy screaming internally.

I mean… Quest Giver? Really? Who the hell named that?