Chapter 63: Spirit Energy Tax

“Why is there a Black guy here?”

“Or… did the Cyberpunk version update bring in racial data too?”

Lu Yan stared at the familiar dark skin, the distinctive dreadlocks, and that unmistakable zero-dollar robbery behavior. For a moment, he genuinely wondered if he’d landed in the Cyberpunk Version… or just been dropped into the Freedom Nation across the sea.

But seeing the man about to bolt out of the alley, Lu Yan didn’t dwell on it. He raised his right index finger, channeling mana into an invisible tether that coiled around the man’s legs.

The man, mid-sprint, was instantly halted. His body pitched forward like a log, and his head smashed directly into a puddle of sewage.

The impact sent a gruesome mix of blood and filth flying. The man let out a terrified cry, struggling to break free from the invisible binding around his legs.

Lu Yan had assumed this would be a pointless struggle. After all, how could an ordinary mortal escape a mana binding?

Yet in the very next moment, a glowing blue light erupted from a tattoo beneath the man’s clothing, and the mana rope actually loosened slightly.

Though the binding quickly tightened again, preventing escape, Lu Yan’s eyes lit up with surprise.

This man clearly had no cultivation, yet the glowing tattoo had briefly produced something akin to mana. The fleeting burst of power had even interfered with Lu Yan’s binding.

That only made Lu Yan more curious about the supernatural framework of this Cyberpunk version.

Reclaiming the battery and USB stick from the man’s hand, Lu Yan glanced down at the tattoo—a mess of strange, chaotic lettering. He couldn’t sense any mystical energy from it.

The tattoo seemed to be purely visual. The real source of power must be within the man’s body.

Just as Lu Yan was considering running some tests, hurried footsteps echoed from beyond the alley. Two uniformed officers with blond hair and blue eyes appeared at the alley entrance.

Both raised their weapons and shouted:

“Hands in the air!”

“Place your hands on your head!”

Lu Yan turned and looked at the two white officers with some confusion.

If the Black man could be explained away as a mutant gene or southern bloodline… then these two blond police officers confirmed it:

This Cyberpunk version was not like the others.

Lu Yan sensed a faint trace of mana from both officers, stronger than what he’d felt from the Black man—but still, neither had any cultivation realm.

Their weapons were also far beyond his previous knowledge. The magazine had been replaced by a flashing blue battery, clearly powered by energy rather than gunpowder.

Even so, these two were no threat to Lu Yan.

If he wanted, a single flick of his finger could kill them both.

His gaze swept across the body cams on their uniforms, and he wisely gave up the idea.

Getting into a fight with law enforcement the moment he entered a new version? That was not a good idea.

Before he could even raise his hands, the older officer had already rushed forward and smashed his gun into the Black man’s head.

“I told you to put your damn hands up, you worthless trash!”

Already bleeding from his earlier fall, the man now had a fresh gash pouring blood into the filthy puddle. Dazed and groaning, he had no time to react.

“Piece of shit!”

The older officer slammed a knee into the man’s neck. Nearly 200 pounds of weight pressed down, and Lu Yan could almost hear the bones cracking.

With brutal efficiency, the cop pinned him in place, yanked out a pair of handcuffs, and locked the man’s arms behind his back.

Only after subduing him did the officer stand up, turning to Lu Yan with a polite smile:

“Sir, I hope this lower-district scum didn’t disturb you.”

Lu Yan’s expression froze for a moment, then he smoothly lowered his still-raised hands, put on a warm smile, and praised:

“Officer, you did great.”

Meanwhile, the younger officer entered the alley, raising his wrist device. A holographic screen floated up and scanned the Black man pinned on the ground.

Moments later, the man’s info popped up:

“Bruce Wicks, former Midtown resident. Home was repossessed for credit default half a month ago. Relocated to the Lower District. ID: 1145149527.
Per Urban Security Law, subject to three-month detainment.”

Blood dribbled from Bruce’s lips. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared up at the officer and shouted:

“You’re abusing your authority! Brutalizing an unarmed civilian! I’m going to get my lawyer and sue your ass! You’ll pay for this!”

The younger officer didn’t even flinch. He scrolled the screen and said coldly:

“Mr. Bruce, I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity to contact a lawyer.

“According to our records, you’ve defaulted on your elementary school loan, Thirty-Without-Childbirth Tax, Lower District Residential Tax, Tier-3 Air Tax, and Tier-3 Sunlight Tax.

“Your bank account was cleared out three days ago. No lawyer would take your case.”

Terror flooded Bruce’s dark-skinned face. He struggled desperately and screamed:

“No way! My house was already auctioned off! That money should’ve paid—”

“I’m sorry,” the officer interrupted. “Your 120-square-meter Midtown apartment had a damaged toilet. The court feared it might endanger future occupants, so they conducted an internal auction.

“A judge bought your apartment for 1,000 credits. After fees and taxes, you now owe the court 5,000 credits.”

He paused, and his eyes took on a trace of sympathy.

“One more thing—your Spirit Energy Tax is now ten minutes overdue. You are hereby fined 1,000,000 credits.”

At this, Bruce’s face twisted in sheer panic. He shook his head wildly and cried:

“No, no, no! I’m not late! There’s still half an hour left—I can pay it right now!”

But his pleading changed nothing. The young officer delivered his final sentence.

“According to records, your total debt is now 1,375,352.5 credits. As per the Urban Management Law, you will be transferred to the Paradise Computing Center, where your soul will be used as compute power for the PanCosmic AI Brain.

“If you work 24 hours a day without pause for 40 years, you’ll clear your debts, fines, and 12% interest by the time you’re seventy-three—and may then enjoy your retirement.”

(End of Chapter)