Neon Dragons - A Cyberpunk Isekai LitRPG Story

The ensuing hours were a disorienting whirlwind of revelations, each one more startling than the last.

First off, my name—or at least the name attached to the body I seemed to be occupying—was Seraphine Vildea. Friends and family, I was told, shortened it to Sera.

Secondly, I apparently had a true, real, bona-fide, flesh-and-blood family!

The frantic man who had burst into my room was none other than my father, Oliver Vildea. There was also a mother in the picture, Valeria Vildea—yeah, the double V didn't escape me either. Plus, I had an older brother named Gabriel Vildea, who I apparently referred to as Gab.

What a nick-name!

Thirdly—and yes, it turns out that's a word—the date was pegged at 2122, and I was indeed in Neo Avalis. As in, the Neo Avalis from the game Neon Dragons.

Clearly, my mind had taken a one-way trip to Absurdistan, likely induced by the severe oxygen deprivation I had caused myself, considering I'd apparently ceased breathing for quite the long stretch back there in my studio apartment.

Fourth, this body was a mere 15 years old.

Just last week had been Sera’s birthday, but the celebratory mood was marred by the fact that I—she—had been in a coma for over a month. Found basically dead in a trash container near Selfour Plaza, of all places.

Intriguingly, that name struck a chord; it was an area in Neon Dragons renowned for its upscale boutiques specialising in, let's say, peculiar merchandise.

What Sera had been doing there remained an enigma even to me, as I couldn't seem to access a single memory from her—or my former self, if that even applied. My sense of identity was blurring, my own name slipping through my fingers, much like the specifics of my previous life.

My gig at the deli, for instance, felt increasingly like a fragment from a long-forgotten dream.

When I realised the gravity of this erosion of my sense of self, I had been the epitome of serenity.

Absolute, perfectly calm, serenity.

The sedatives coursing through my veins? Purely a standard procedure for coma patients, who are known for their occasional volatility.

It had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with a prior episode involving me, a rather startled doctor, and two bewildered nurses.

Lastly, and perhaps most shockingly fortunate of all, it turned out my family had a fairly robust healthcare plan! My hospital ordeal wouldn't be the financial sinkhole I had feared it might be.

A bizarre revelation, really, considering this dystopian cyberpunk universe seemed to have a better healthcare system than my own reality—now that's irony for you.

However, this silver lining had a cloud: Now that I was out of my coma, the hospital was essentially evicting me. Evidently, our insurance didn't cover 'extended stays' or other such bureaucratic nonsense.

My dad, Oliver, had gone back to our home—yes, Sera, or I now, lived with her, or my parents—to fetch some of Sera's clothes and a more wheelchair-friendly vehicle.

Oliver was a motorbike guy, you see, and a wheelchair was a logistical nightmare in that equation. The doctors had made it abundantly clear that my newfound friendship with the wheelchair was going to last a while.

So, there I sat—completely zoned out, thanks to the heavy-duty sedatives—in an unfamiliar body, in a world ripped straight out of a video game. All while awaiting the arrival of a man who was the father of the person whose life I seemed to have hijacked.

To say I felt 'strange' would be like calling a hurricane a 'slight breeze:’ An absolute understatement.

Yet, the range of my emotional spectrum was startlingly narrow at the moment. Credit for that goes to the industrial-strength sedatives coursing through my veins.

Those things were the real deal.

My memories of Oliver's return and the subsequent ride back to our home were quite fuzzy, yet certain details managed to imprint themselves in my consciousness. One was Oliver's genuine, heartwarming smile as he ushered me into the cramped apartment that the Vildea family—my family—occupied.

"Welcome home, Sera!" he had announced with such unbridled enthusiasm you'd think nothing in the world had gone tits up.

The apartment was modest at best; it was clear we weren't rolling in dough… or I guess “Credits” now, as they were called in Neon Dragons. The space felt too small for a family of four, each corner seemingly filled with either makeshift furniture or essential utilities.

Sera and Gabriel, I learned, even had to share a room.

Their domains were separated merely by a thin sheet of metal hung from the ceiling with some old wire.

To say that I was less than ecstatic about sharing the room with a 16-year old teenager was quite the understatement once again, but hey, at least it wouldn’t get too boring with all the hormonal angst likely to happen.

I just hoped that he would keep his… personal activities to a minimum whenever I was around.

Perhaps Oliver was blissfully unaware that my world had been upended, or perhaps he was putting on an act to keep his newly-awake daughter from spiralling further into panic.

After all, the doctor had flagged me with an amnesia diagnosis. That would at least lend some credibility to my flurry of idiotic questions.

Thank the lords for these small mercies.

Regardless, Oliver had been thoughtful enough to grab me some food from the vending machine just outside our building's entrance—home cooking was naturally an unaffordable luxury in Neo Avalis, reserved for the ultra-rich.

Now, I found myself nibbling on a piece of something that was optimistically labelled as "meat," its texture more akin to a science experiment gone wrong. Had it not been for the sedatives still dulling my senses, I might've turned our small living space into a splash zone of regret and half-digested future food.

Oliver's time was limited; he'd only been able to swing by during his work break after receiving the emergency alert about my sudden awakening. He worked as a foreman for some sort of transportation company, a detail that seemed oddly grounding in this unfamiliar world. Before rushing back to his responsibilities, he had left me with some parting instructions.

"Listen, Sera. I know things must feel surreal right now, but we'll navigate this whole thing together, okay?"

He had placed a slip of paper with contact details on our tiny, cluttered dining table. "If you need help, just enter your brother Gabriel’s info into the data-pad by the TV. I've already told him to expect a call from you."

"Just... sit tight and—” His face had whitened as he realised the inadvertent insensitivity. I couldn’t do anything but sit, even if I wanted to, after all. My world had been reduced to this wheelchair.

To ease the awkward moment, I had laughed and reassured him, "Don't sweat it, Oliver. I intend to stand on my own two feet soon enough. Go on."

Something in my voice or maybe the use of his first name seemed to make him wince. "Dad" would likely have been a better term, but how could I call him that?

He was Sera’s father, not mine; my own father had been gone for over a decade.

"Er, yeah. Just stay put, and we'll catch up more when your mom and I get back from work, alright?"

I offered a thumbs-up, a universal sign I hoped I couldn’t mess up, and watched as Oliver, who seemed to be a genuinely caring dad, retreated toward the door.

"Love you, Sera!" he had called out before disappearing beyond the threshold.

Though I wasn't Sera, hearing those words from a fatherly figure like Oliver ignited a pang of longing within me.

'Well, if my mind is set on manufacturing this fantastical reality, at least it's given me a world like Neon Dragons and a seemingly loving family to be a part of,' I mused.

'There are far worse imaginary places I could've ended up in. Like some nightmare realm with Cthulhu—that guy's an absolute menace.'

With that comforting thought, I wheeled myself over to the TV, ready to further explore this bewildering new existence.

Regrettably, my plans to gather information came to an abrupt halt when I realised the TV had neither a remote nor any physical knobs or dials to fiddle with.

"How does one even operate this arcane contraption?" I mumbled with the puzzled voice of an old-timey wizard.

Given my current situation, I felt an acute need to understand more about this world, to know the extent to which it mirrored the Neon Dragons game I was familiar with.

And speaking of timing, the game's storyline commenced in 2128.

That made me a 'time traveller' with a six-year head start, and I wondered if that meant my game knowledge was, well, obsolete—or should I say, 'presolete'?

And don’t worry, the irony hit me quite hard: I had consciously limited my Neon Dragons wiki deep-dives to only the topics relevant to the Let's Play episodes I'd watched. Oh, how I regretted that self-imposed limitation now.

Those episodes never ventured anywhere close to discussing a ton of topics, much less getting close to the Wall, which was one of the most iconic features of the game.

But here's the kicker: I had actually seen the Wall. With my own two eyes! Well… with Sera’s own two eyes. But that was good enough!

And let me tell you: The Wall was no mere backdrop or decorative element.

It was a colossal structure, a monolithic partition that stretched far beyond what the eye could see, imbuing the horizon with an aura of untouchable grandeur.

Neo Avalis was situated at the northeastern edge of the game map, as far as major cities went.

Sure, there were still hundreds of kilometres of forests, smaller towns, and other miscellaneous landscapes extending further northeast before one would actually hit the Wall, but it was still the furthest north-eastern major city.

The realisation that the Wall was a tangible entity—something not just confined to digital pixels and intricate lore—filled me with a mix of awe and trepidation.

But before I could fully ruminate on this, my field of vision was abruptly interrupted by a translucent window popping up. Had it not been for the heavy-duty sedatives rendering me emotionally numb, I might have leapt out of my wheelchair in surprise.

"Okay, what now?" I thought, my eyes darting around as if expecting a manual to materialise.

As I focused my gaze on the ethereal window, it expanded, revealing a message:

[Just a reminder: Don't forget to do your exercises, if you feel up to it! -Love, Dad.]

Warmth washed over me as I read the message; I couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion, albeit subdued by pharmaceuticals. More importantly, however, this incident sparked a hunch about how I might interact with the inscrutable box that was this TV set.

I turned my attention to the television and felt an intuitive "click" within the confines of my mind.

"Aha, cyberware! I should've guessed!" I couldn't help but crow triumphantly.

Guided by an internal sense of navigation, I mentally 'flipped' the activation switch within my cerebral interface.

Instantly, the television sprang to life, settling on a news channel focused on Neo Avalis.

"Bingo~! We have contact. Time to absorb some local knowledge," I mumbled to myself, now doubly focused on the unfolding broadcast.

A full two hours of mind-numbing news later, I was no closer to enlightenment than before.

"Yikes, future news is bleak as hell. It’s just a relentless parade of corporate greed, political sideshows, and today's most sensational mass-murder cases," I muttered, only to pause and reflect on my own words.

"Actually, scratch that—it's pretty much business as usual compared to my original world. Almost comforting..."

With another mental flick of that elusive internal switch, the TV screen went black.

'God, this is surreal. I wonder if I'll ever grow accustomed to having a built-in remote in my head,' I thought, still somewhat mesmerised by the bizarre conveniences of this future tech.

With more idle hours stretching ahead before Sera's parents would be home, it was crucial to tackle some existential quandaries.

Number one on the list: Was I alone?

And I don’t mean physically alone in the room—that much was clear. I meant mentally alone in this body. Was Sera still lurking in some cerebral crevice?

Over the following hour, I experimented with vocalising and mentally chanting every conceivable variation of “Sera,” “Seraphine,” “Miss Vildea,” and any other identity tags that might elicit a response.

Had anyone been present to witness my repetitive monologue, they'd have fled, convinced they were sharing space with a certifiable nutcase.

But all my efforts proved fruitless. There was no sign of Sera answering or even stirring.

That left me with two disquieting possibilities.

‘Either she’s truly gone, or she's trapped so deeply within our shared psyche that she can't communicate,’ I mused, a shiver coursing through me at the prospect.

‘The last thing I'd ever want is to be a passive prisoner in my own body while someone else takes the wheel. That’s an actual fucking nightmare,’ I thought to myself, imagining the horrific scenario.

Inwardly, I found myself hoping that Sera was actually gone. The alternative—a consciousness trapped inside its own body, silently screaming for release—was too ghastly to contemplate.

Taking a breath, I finally whispered to the empty room, "If you're in there, Sera, I am so, so sorry," each word heavy with genuine remorse.

The sole glimmer of consolation—in so far as one could find comfort while pondering the gruesome and untimely death of a 14-year-old girl—lay in the hospital reports I had eavesdropped on. They strongly suggested that Sera had, in all likelihood, died over a week ago.

Sera had been discovered lifeless, her data-slot at the nape of her neck irreparably scorched. The emergency medical technicians must have been flabbergasted when, against all odds, she convulsed back to life, only to lapse into an immediate coma.

The burned-out data-slot had been replaced—a non-negotiable necessity in the tech-dependent landscape of Neon Dragons’ world.

Here, the data-slot served as the universal interface for virtually everything.

Consequently, even my parents' seemingly somewhat bare-bones healthcare plan had no alternative but to fund the replacement of the data-slot in my…Sera’s neck.

Agitated by this line of thinking, I flung my arms into the air. Hindered by the muscle atrophy from a month-long coma, the motion was more like a sluggish salute to the heavens rather than a gesture of frustration.

'I really have to make a decision about whose body this is—mine or Sera's,' I thought, grappling with the existential dilemma before me. 'I can't keep second-guessing every thought or action. It's time to face the music; Either I accept this strange fever dream as my new reality for now, or continue to deny its existence…’

Easier said than done, let me tell you.

How does one even begin to grapple with a decision like this? It's like trying to realise you're dreaming when the dream feels as tangible as waking life.

'Hold on a sec... Wasn't that the premise of that Inception movie? Do I have some kind of totem hidden in my pockets?' My mind meandered as I started patting down the limited pockets of my ill-fitting outfit.

'Serious mental note: Invest in clothes with more functional pockets,' I mentally chided myself. The harsh reality became crystal clear: This so-called "future" had only graced me with two measly pockets! Who in their right mind thinks reducing pocket space is progress?!

Naturally, no totems surfaced in my brief search. That would have been too convenient, too easy an out.

I proceeded to the next logical step: A reality check, Neon Dragons style. I pinched, slapped, and otherwise subjected myself to mild discomfort—avoiding any actions that would leave a lasting mark, of course. I didn’t want to incite panic when Sera’s parents returned.

Taking it up a notch, I hurled myself out of the wheelchair, attempting to jolt myself awake with that disorienting, free-fall sensation.

Bad move.

All I achieved was an intimate encounter with the grimy apartment floor.

Apparently, cleanliness wasn't high on Oliver’s priority list, which explained why he hadn't bothered to remove either of our boots upon entry. The ordeal cost me twenty agonising minutes to hoist myself back into the wheelchair, each second a reminder of my deteriorated physical condition.

'Once I untangle this identity knot between Sera and me, there's no question—I need to dedicate myself to some intense physical therapy. Being trapped in a wheelchair with a body that's atrophied, while the world of Neon Dragons is literally right outside my doorstep, is like having my computer crash the day before the Neon Dragons game release. Absolutely, unequivocally unfair!'

Finally, after another agonising ten minutes of heavy breathing that nearly made my vision swim—credit to the compromised state of what was originally Sera's body—I managed to bring my physical systems back to some semblance of normalcy.

'Okay, let's take inventory: I have no magical totems to snap me back to reality. Pain is real. Gravity's pull is very real. I'm either locked in the most elaborate VR game ever, or this is genuinely my life for the foreseeable future.' A thought slammed into me like a rogue wave.

"Would that truly be so bad? Do I even want to get out?" I mumbled, as if voicing the question would give it added weight.

The answer slapped me in the face: A resounding “NO”.

Why would I want to go back?

And to what, exactly?

To my miserable, loveless life?

To a dead-end job that made every day feel like a carbon copy of the one before it?

To an existence where even my one escape—gaming—was literally impossible without selling my disgusting body to perverts on the internet?

‘So. What’s the alternative, exactly…? I pretend I’m Sera…? That’s really fucked up. She’s just some random girl, with a loving family! I can’t just take over her life like this!’ I protested my own thoughts.

After a few more minutes of intense internal debate, my thoughts, my emotions, my fears, and my hopes—all these chaotic elements distilled down to one compelling conclusion:

“...Unless?”