In Cyberpunk, There are Just Too Many Unbelievers

After finishing the evening meal with synthetic meat as a side dish again, french fries came out as a late-night snack.

The children eagerly ate the fries, excited for the rare treat.

“Heeing… I think I’ll gain weight.”

Sonia looked back and forth between the french fries and her own belly, contemplating.

Her words sounded like an adorably cute complaint to Amon.

It was Amon’s belief that you could eat as much as you want during the growth period.

Moreover, with Sonia’s constitution, she didn’t need to worry about becoming obese to this degree.

Her belly fat tended to accumulate slightly higher up…

‘This far.’

Amon caught his wandering thoughts right there.

He piled some fries onto Sonia’s plate and took a bite himself.

The potatoes in the french fries were real potatoes.

There had been some genetic manipulation, but at least as far as Amon knew, there were no side effects.

That’s why the french fries were one of the few foods in this world that Amon could eat without worry.

“Nomnom.”

After taking a bite or two, Sonia also stopped worrying about gaining weight and happily dug in.

Although they had spent almost all the money they had earned yesterday and today, Amon felt satisfied.

Seeing how much the children enjoyed it, that little bit of money didn’t feel wasteful at all.

Licking up the last crumbs from his mouth, Amon had thoroughly enjoyed the late-night snack.

Brushing noises

As the late-night snack time ended and sleep time arrived, Amon stood in front of the sink brushing his teeth, reviewing the day.

‘Shootings occurred near Howard Side again. That’s a week straight now. The gangs are still the same as 50 years ago.’

Although he was currently living his daily life at the orphanage, he was well aware of where he had been reincarnated.

And he also knew why he had reincarnated.

To see and enjoy many things in a wider world.

And if possible, to become a legend.

To use a game analogy, his goal was to achieve his own true ending, one could say.

It seemed like a vague goal, but the image was concrete.

He had been gathering information every day in preparation for when he would eventually dive into that world.

What era it was in this world, what the locations were like, what the power dynamics were.

And in the current situation, which domain he should dive into, and so on.

The reason he had been accepting mediocre-paying delivery errands amid the other errands was not just for safety, but also to gather information.

To summarize the information he had gathered so far, first, he had been reincarnated in the United States.

The time period was 50 years after the ending of Punk City 3.

Since the Punk City series was numbered by era, to be precise, Amon was experiencing Punk City 4 in real-time.

50 years after the events of 3, quite a few things in this world had changed compared to his expectations.

First, the neon signs that drove people crazy were still there.

Well, to be accurate, it wasn’t neon signs due to the improved times, but mass-produced LED screens, but that’s beside the point.

The depressing city, money taking priority over human rights, the virtually toothless public authority – those remained the same.

But the skies had cleared up a bit.

Not because companies had suddenly awoken their conscience and started using eco-friendly fuels and materials, but because they had discovered more efficient and less polluting energy sources.

The name given to these new renewable energies was Entities.

Rumors, strange phenomena, ghosts, cryptids, creatures – the expressions referring to these beings varied, but the standard term was Entities.

When Amon first learned this fact, chills ran down his spine.

‘So they really went and did it, the bastards…’

This messed-up rotating world had even started commercializing supernatural phenomena.

For instance, if they secured endlessly walking red shoes and an infinitely descending endless staircase, then combined the two to power a generator?

Wow, perpetual motion!

They were executing ideas that would make even Satan concede, as if it were a matter of course – this was the era Amon had been born into.

‘The genre is cyberpunk… no, with magic and genetic engineering too, it’s fusion punk?’

Using renewable energy made Amon think it might be eco-punk, but he immediately rejected that thought.

And for good reason – if they were exploiting supernatural phenomena and urban legends to power generators, then calling that eco-friendly was a bit…

It left him with a slightly uneasy feeling.

So the conclusion Amon arrived at was that it was a half-baked fusion punk.

Taking cyberpunk as the base, add a spoonful of magic, a spoonful of genetic engineering, and finally, a pinch of urban elements.

That was this world.

The location of Amon’s orphanage was also completely different from the setting of 3.

But this was within his expected range.

The locations had changed with each 1, 2, and 3 installment, after all.

However, even if the location changed, news of the previous protagonists was still well-known.

It was only natural, since the true endings of each series had been of such a scale that they had upended world history.

In this world too, the true ending of 3 had become established history.

But not just the true ending, other endings were also sparsely visible here and there.

‘Maybe they were mixed in as long as they didn’t contradict the true ending.’

As an example, there was an ending that had completely changed the fundamental nature of the gangs.

“The execution gun… does exist!!!”

Those were the words shouted during a live broadcast when a legendary gang from 50 years ago was executed by a major corporation in California.

After that execution, the gangs that had remained in the area to search for that treasure began roaming across the entire United States.

Their reach had expanded so much that the Children of the Serpent gang Jimmy had recently joined, which operated across more than two states, had even come to Amon’s city.

The ending that ushered in the era of mega-gangs was titled .

Surprisingly, this was not the true ending, but rather a normal ending.

Other normal or bad endings were also sporadically heard of here and there.

In other words, this world was a composite of various endings.

‘Perhaps the different endings of 3 were the lives of different individuals.’

That’s why Amon scoured newspapers and history books whenever he could, searching for those endings.

Determining which ending was official history and which was unofficial.

That was the information Amon was collecting.

Thanks to 10 years of information gathering, this part was more or less mostly sorted out.

“RRRRRRR~ Ptooey!”

After defining the world setting and organizing the history, Amon spat out his mouthwash and recalled the weapons at his disposal.

First, he did not have any knowledge of the future.

The era he was currently living in had not yet been released as a game.

However, he possessed more extensive knowledge of the past than anyone else.

While people could only live in one timestream at a time, Amon’s mind contained information from countless parallel worlds due to his innumerable playthroughs.

Not only that, but he also knew forgotten knowledge of the past, and even secrets of the world that were not on the surface, in the form of game settings.

He had no doubt that this was his weapon.

There was just one disappointing aspect.

‘Well, skill proficiencies can’t be helped since this isn’t a game…’

Just in case, he had tried various methods to see if he could level up skills like in a game.

He had walked around in circles to raise his stamina stat, and hit a dummy with a pipe to increase his combat proficiency.

And the conclusion he reached was:

This is reality.

Not a simulation or a game, but true reality.

Leveling up skills was impossible.

Opening status windows was impossible.

However, in the process of confirming this, there was one harvest.

‘The talent system definitely exists.’

While he couldn’t visually confirm it on a screen like in a game, nor could he directly allocate stats at birth, he could clearly sense it.

The talent system existed in a similar fashion to games.

As Amon left the bathroom and headed to his bedroom, he recalled the settings for his talent stats.

Following Punk City tradition, when creating a character, talent stats could be allocated.

Not only did talents provide skill proficiency bonuses in specific routes or skill trees, but they also affected the level caps.

Of course, the initial talent stats did not solely determine everything until the end of the game.

If one invested a lot of time, or twisted their body to find the secret trick, they could surpass their talents and break through the level caps.

But Amon did not have the hobby of taking the long way around when an efficient path was available.

He preferred efficiency whenever possible.

That’s why for the past 10 years, he had been trying to find his own talents.

He made a list of all the talents that had appeared in 1, 2, and 3 as candidates, then checked and crossed them off one by one.

What was certain was that he had high charisma stats.

At the very least, about 4 out of 10 people he met for the first time were friendly toward him.

‘Just this alone makes life so much easier.’

It might not seem like much, but charisma was actually a stat that games required you to have at least the minimum, if not high levels.

If one’s charisma was too low, all sorts of hardships would rain down on them for no particular reason.

“You seem suspicious. I never agreed to cooperate with you, so let’s just forget about it.”

NPCs that were supposed to cooperate would suddenly get moody.

“This is the regular price. Go check other stores. See if they’ll give you a better deal. Spits“

Merchants would try to rip you off at every opportunity.

“Stop. Don’t come any closer. Stay right there and don’t follow me.”

If charisma was 0, 9 out of 10 people would draw their weapons and be on guard from the moment they made eye contact. (Regardless of skin color.)

If it was in the negatives, there was even an event where you could get arrested while just minding your own business.

Especially during timed quests, if you got arrested, it would result in quest failure and lead straight to a bad ending, so charisma had to at least meet the minimum requirement.

Of course, if you didn’t care about the story and just wanted to go around causing chaos, you could intentionally set your charisma low.

Or conversely, set your appearance as a freak while maxing out your charisma to make it a comedy genre.

‘Ah… I don’t miss you, Master Prostate Masochist Expert.’

If you maxed out the charisma of such a grotesque purple monster character, people would fall in love with that purple monster left and right.

Watching that on the screen was so hilarious that Amon would always allocate maximum charisma when creating freakish characters.

Of course, charisma wouldn’t apply to reality like in games, and even if it did, he didn’t want to be born as a purple monster.

In any case, after putting a check mark next to charisma,

Amon’s talent list did not accumulate any more check marks after that.

He had little talent in the magic field.

Rhetoric or persuasion were also lacking, as was crafting.

Following the process of elimination, those areas were struck through.

Hacking was still pending as he hadn’t tested it yet.

The remaining candidates were weapons and firearms.

And the day to confirm them was not far off.

Tomorrow, in fact.

He was scheduled to test his talents tomorrow.

‘I should get some sleep early today.’

He stopped his thoughts and pulled up his blanket.

Firing a gun while drowsy could lead to big trouble.

A day passed, and finally, the day Amon had been waiting for arrived.

Thanksgiving Day.

The American equivalent of Chuseok, the harvest festival.

A day when delicious food comes out and fun games fill the streets!

…Or not.

My nose would fall off if the streets overflowed with merriment for a so-called festival in the punk genre.

In cyberpunk, Thanksgiving was a day when citizens could open their wallets a bit more happily, and corporations could put on a mask of benevolence to exploit people a bit more.

Still, it wasn’t just an empty facade either.

On Thanksgiving, there were Black Friday sales and special events.

This was what Amon had his sights on.

As if the orphanage had money to buy guns or swords for the orphans.

That’s why until now, Amon had been unable to test whether he had any talent with guns or blades.

But Thanksgiving was different.

On this day, he could at least experience holding guns or swords that he normally couldn’t afford to even look at.

Shooting ranges and dojos would hold competitions with prizes to seize this opportunity.

Even without competitions, people’s wallets tended to be lighter during this period, so they would offer free trial experiences.

And conveniently, Amon had also turned 15 this year, receiving the orphanage director’s permission to finally pull a trigger.

“Marksman Amon, deploying~”

Mumbling to himself, Amon left the orphanage in a good mood.

“Heheh.”

Sonia followed right behind Amon.

Amon had told her there was no need to come along, but she said she wanted to experience it too, so she tagged along.

The two passed through the crowded streets on the holiday and headed to a shooting range.

Bangbang!

Deafening gunshots rang out from Shooting Range.

“Here to join the competition!!”

Amon shouted at the gun shop owner amid the noise.

The owner, behind a bulletproof glass counter, gestured that he couldn’t hear.

Amon approached closer to the glass and shouted again.

“Competition!! Entry!!!”

The gun shop owner nodded.

He handed Amon a paper with the rules written on it.

Having already studied the competition rules in advance, Amon gave it a cursory read and stuffed it into his pocket.

The rules were simple.

Score as many points as possible within the time limit.

The targets would move, and the scoring method differed for each type of firearm.

Amon rented an old pistol and rifle and stood at the shooting range stall.

A speaker announcement came from the speaker attached to his stall.

[Get ready. 3, 2, 1. Start!]

Bang!

He pulled the trigger of the pistol.

A heavy recoil jolted his shoulder and stung his wrist.

‘Ow. It’s more painful than I thought.’

In retrospect, it was only natural.

The targets one would need to shoot at in this world were either xenoraces with tougher hides than wild boar, or cyborgs who had replaced their skin with steel plating and such.

The average caliber and propellant charge had to be of an entirely different dimension compared to his previous life.

Even Amon, who prided himself on being one of the physically stronger ones among his peers regardless of race, struggled to fully control the recoil.

Although his hand was numb, he kept pulling the trigger.

When the pistol ran out, he switched to the rifle and started firing that.

Automatic fire was prohibited, so he calmly squeezed the trigger in single shots: bang, bang, bang.

Perhaps due to the recoil, the bullets kept veering slightly away from the bullseye.

His final score was 1100 points.

Most of the bullets had landed in the 10 point zone, some in the 9 point area, and the furthest strays were in the 7 point range.

The shooting range staff applauded and congratulated Amon.

“At least you won’t starve to death out there.”

Amon agreed.

With this level of talent, he could earn enough as a mercenary to get by on food.

As he returned the firearms, Amon inwardly evaluated his talent score for guns.

‘Guns are not it.’

It wasn’t bad.

But with just this, he wouldn’t be able to reach the highest levels.

Amon’s goal was to see the true ending.

The humans he would encounter on that path wore neural accelerators as standard equipment and fired magic-engineering beams that could pierce tanks.

To deal with such people, he would need to achieve all bullseyes even while dual-wielding machine guns on full auto.

That’s why the talent score Amon gave himself for firearms was ‘mediocre.’

‘Guns are on hold for now.’

He put a triangle mark next to firearms on his talent candidate list.

After reaching a conclusion about guns, Amon waited for Sonia’s turn before moving to the next location.

Finally, it was Sonia’s turn.

With a serious expression, she shouldered the rifle and pulled the trigger.

Ratatatatatat!

“???”

An ominous full-auto sound rang out.

The judge was about to disqualify Sonia for using full-auto mode in a competition that only allowed single shots.

But-

“This is single shot though?”

As if proving her innocence, she performed another single-shot full-auto burst.

Her fingers moved so quickly that afterimages were left behind.

Dudududu!

“Huh? Uhh…”

The judge also looked puzzled and asked her,

“Did you perhaps get a finger implant?”

“No? I haven’t undergone any procedures?”

Dumbfounded again by the fact that she was a pure human, the judge ultimately acknowledged her innocence after some contemplation.

And so, Sonia’s shooting show resumed.

Firing what seemed like full-auto bursts in single shots at the targets.

The muzzle of her gun was remarkably stable.

Stable enough to balance a cup of water on top of it.

As if it was a low-budget gun game that didn’t even implement recoil, there was zero recoil.

‘What’s this? Is the recoil being absorbed by four cushions or something?’

Her bullets all struck dead center in the bullseyes.

At some point, everyone present at the shooting range had lost their minds watching her in awe.

When Sonia’s shooting ended, her score was announced.

3500 points.

Amon patted Sonia’s shoulder and said,

“It seems your career path is pretty much set.”