The best cyberpunk novels from Next Chapter [March 2023]
Cyberpunk is a subgenre of science fiction that emerged in the 1980s, characterized by a focus on high tech and low life. These stories typically feature a dystopian future where advanced technology coexists with social decay and corporate greed. Cyberpunk authors explore themes such as artificial intelligence, virtual reality, and the merging of man and machine.
Some of the most famous authors of the genre are Philip K. Dick (author of Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep, later made into the movie Blade Runner), Roger Zelaszny and Harlan Ellison. Cyberpunk is also popular in movies and TV shows today, with The Matrix Trilogy and Netflix’s Altered Carbon being prime examples.
Cyberpunk books offer a thrilling and often dark glimpse into the potential consequences of our increasingly technological world. They challenge readers to consider the role of technology in society and the ways in which it might shape our future.
Below, you’ll find some of our best cyberpunk novels as of March 2023. Some of the books on this page are completely free to download as eBook from Amazon, Apple Books, B&N, Kobo and Google Books!
If you enjoy one of the stories below, please don’t forget to leave the author a review! Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know your favorite :)
Novels featured on this page
The Running Game (Reachers Book 1) by L.E. Fitzpatrick
Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) by L.E. Fitzpatrick
Scarlet Angel (Scarlet Angel Book 1) by C.A. Wilke
Under A Dark Sky (Worldburner Book 1) by Johan M. Dahlgren
The Running Game (Reachers Book 1) by L.E. Fitzpatrick
Book excerpt
Cold mornings were the worst. Charlie woke early, feeling the agony ringing through his body; his very own malicious alarm clock. He lay on the bed, unable to move his legs without crying out. John was on the floor, resting calmly on his back, as though there was nowhere else in the world more comfortable. His eyes were closed, but Charlie couldn’t work out if he was still asleep or just waiting – he did that sometimes. Either way Charlie couldn’t risk taking his final pills in the same room. The last thing he needed was John finding out everything.
When the pain had dulled and the ache in his bladder worsened he found the energy to haul himself up. With the crutch bearing most of the effort, he made it to the bathroom and swallowed his last pills dry before relieving himself. Immediately his head started to ease, his thoughts slurred slightly, but it was better than the pain. Anything was better than the morning pain.
He turned to wash his hands and looked down at the orange stained sink. With the aches temporarily subdued he could work on his powers. Letting his hand hover over the tap, he concentrated. His temples began to burn with the effort. His hand trembled, but slowly the tap turned. Water trickled and then flooded out. Compared to what he had been it was pathetic, but the past year had been an endless struggle and this, at last, was an improvement.
He left the bathroom with a smile. John was already up, sitting at the table and going through the file as though he’d been there all night. His fingers loitered on the folded sheet of torn paper. It was the remains of a letter, written seven years ago by the girl in the opposite tower. It didn't say much, just that she had work in a hospital, she would start in a week – a week seven years ago – and it was signed: R.
“Do I even want to know?” John said without even looking at his brother's smirk.
“I turned the tap on,” Charlie announced proudly.
John put the letter down and gave his elder brother an incredulous stare. “Good for you,” he eventually replied in a voice rich with sarcasm. “I boiled the kettle, together who knows what we could do.”
“I mean, smart ass, I turned the tap on hands-free.”
John’s unimpressed expression wavered slightly. “Not bad,” he replied, but they both knew for a man who had once driven a car whilst locked in the boot, it was far from astounding. “See what happens when you get your head back in the game.”
The mobile on the table started ringing. John nudged it towards Charlie, he didn't like phones – or people for that matter.
“It’s him.”
Charlie carefully picked it up, trying not to let it see how nervous he really was. He could do this – he could play the game. He had to.
“Mr Morris, good to hear from you.”
“Do you have what I asked for?” Pinky Morris asked.
The Sandman Cometh by Stuart G. Yates
Book excerpt
The street in which we lived in those days was wide and sweeping. Terraced housing, but each possessed with that little blush of individuality which made them so attractive. All had front gardens, with little paths leading from the tiny gate that separated our private worlds from the traffic beyond. Not that there was much traffic, as I could remember. The fuel crisis had become a permanent fixture by then and the distant war in the Middle East meant people were conserving everything, especially petrol.
I was about six, I think, on that fateful day, sitting on our garden wall, my Nan beside me talking to Mrs. Roberts from next door. I can’t remember what they were talking about, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyway – my Nan could talk about nothing for hours on end. She was a lovely woman, so kind, so caring. Tall and big-boned. Spectacles. ‘Have you got your glasses case?’ my mum always asked her as Nan readied herself for work. ‘Handkerchief, purse and keys?’ It was a ritual. This particular day, she wasn’t at work, so I guess it must have been a Thursday because the shops weren’t open on Thursdays. They’d gone back to the ‘old days’ as Nan called them. Another indication of just how bad things were becoming.
Well, they talked, Nan and Mrs. Roberts and I watched the street. There were two dogs across the road and they alerted us to the danger. They froze, ears standing upright like they were on stalks, eyes shooting down to the left, then they were off, tails between their legs, racing away like greyhounds from the starting gates. I felt Nan tense, then she gestured for me to get off the wall, her hand flapping around like a flag in a gale. She didn’t speak, but I knew she was worried. I got down, brushed my backside and she put her arm across my chest, pressing me back against the wall, hard. Both she and Mrs. Roberts stood ramrod straight, like soldiers at attention, eyes set straight, not a muscle moving, as rigid as marble pillars.
The Sweepers came. There were two of them, big men, dressed in long, beige coloured raincoats, collars up, massive coal scuttle helmets on their heads, the neck guards trailing down their backs like lobster tails. Some called them lobster-tails, a throwback to the English Civil War someone at school told me years later. But I didn’t know that then. All I knew was that Nan was frightened, more frightened than I thought a human being could be, and that frightened me too.
The lead Sweeper drew close, smiling, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes were everywhere, the reason they bore the name ‘Sweepers’. They patrolled the communities, seeking out ‘undesirables’ – the unregistered, those who were not yet chipped, many of them foreigners. So many people fled from the devastating wars in the east and swarmed into our country, creating a society at breaking point, and despair and fear walked hand-in-hand along every street. Most were innocent refugees, but some were hardened terrorists, drug-traffickers, gangsters. This was what Nan told me. I won’t repeat what Dad called them, but I think his sentiments echoed the majority.
Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) by L.E. Fitzpatrick
Book excerpt
The wilderness rapidly became blemished with concrete and then erupted into a full infection of industry. S'aven smoked and hissed beneath them as they soared across the urban landscape. The air thickened in dense plumes of sulphuric cloud as the sky greyed. Heat waves drifted off the flat roofs, trapped under a thick cloudy blanket. Summer in S'aven was unbearable and, even as high as they were, they couldn't escape the suffocation of the shanty town encircling London.
There was an insulating blanket on the helicopter. Rachel wrapped Darcy in it, focusing on him rather than the buildings beneath them. He was still stable, although Rachel had no idea how that was even possible after all he’d been through. The space in the helicopter was crowded and she had to cradle Darcy on her lap. John sat opposite, keeping his attention fixed on Riva and her men. He was edgy and it had nothing to do with flying over S'aven.
She glanced up at him and subtly he reached out his hand. Their fingertips touched. She felt a surge of concern from him, it was enough to make her worry about Charlie. Riva was watching them curiously.
The helicopter started to descend. Rachel felt a lurch in her gut. She looked up, expecting to see St Mary's, her old workplace. But they were nowhere near the chaos of S'aven's biggest hospital. The white mansion and the artificial grounds took her totally by surprise. Riva had taken them straight to her personal compound, a sight that Rachel had hoped she would never see again. As she turned John was already pointing his pistol at Riva's head and her four soldiers were pointing their automatic rifles at his.
"Think about this situation, Mr Smith," Riva said, checking her nails. "How quick are you really?"
"I guess we're going to find out," John replied, quirking his eyebrow.
"Rachel," Riva said sharply. "If we take the good Father to your old hospital, what do you reckon his chances are?"
"At this point in time I'd say the detour has probably killed him," Rachel replied. If John fired it would be over for them all, but it would be a satisfying end.
"My personal doctor can be here in eight minutes once I make the call. Would you like to take him inside and make yourselves comfortable?"
They didn't have much of a choice and that gave Riva just a little too much arrogance for Rachel's liking.
"Are you sure you want to invite us in – it didn't end so well for you and your men last time we were here." Rachel glared at them all. "Tell your men to lower their weapons."
"Tell your man to lower his."
Organo-Topia by Scott Michael Decker
Book excerpt
"Jerk me blind!" Detective Maris Peterson almost went out the back door at the sight.
A platoon of reporters awaited him in front of the precinct. They buzzed around him like flies on poop when he emerged, crapped onto the steps after his unproductive interrogation of the Muceniek pair in booking.
"No comment," he said repeatedly, descending the steps and hailing a magnacar on his trake.
One persistent pup reporter stuck a mike in his face. "It's said she's got friends at Justice. What's your response, Detective?"
An Omale, Maris saw, just doing his job. On a reporter's salary, he'd be indentured the rest of his life. "Find another line of work, kid."
A magnacar pulled out of the clotted street, stopped in front of him, and popped open its door. A two-seater, he saw. Probably charge me double, he thought.
"And the husband's rumored to be a guerilla-cell leader. Care to confirm?" The shoulder-mount holocam peered at Peterson like a praying mantis.
Maris got in, and the pup followed. "Coroner," he told the magnacar. "What species are you, a bulldog?" he asked the kid.
"Filip Dukur, Telsai Daily News," the Omale said, sticking out his hand.
Maris grabbed his ear and looked behind it. "Still wet," he said, shaking his head. "Listen, Dukur, I got nothin' cause the case is two hours old, all right? Sorry to disappoint you."
"Can I tag along to the Coroner's?"
"Like havin' a goddamn puppy lap dog."
"Thank you!" and he threw his arms around Maris, who endured it as a cat might a bath.
What the hell? he thought. "You gotta lay low, though."
"You got it, Detective!" the boy said.
He'd wag his tail if he had one, Maris thought.
The magnacar whined to a stop and its door popped open.
"Thanks for the lift," the kid said, and he sped down the street, holocam swinging wildly on his shoulder.
What the hell? Maris thought, shaking his head. Just wanted a free ride, I guess.
He strode up the steps to the doors, like most municipal buildings elaborate and daunting on its façade. Inside was a foyer packed with people, multiple agencies sharing inadequate space.
The spidery arms of a nanotector scanned him as he entered. I could be a walking nanochine and the damned thing would let me through, Maris thought, seeing its brand. He made his way to the basement and endured another useless Sabile Nanobio detector scan.
The receptionist, an Ofem at the job fifteen years, grinned at him from behind reinforced glasma. "Detective Peterson, nice to see you, sorry it's here."
Scarlet Angel (Scarlet Angel Book 1) by C.A. Wilke
Book excerpt
Most people regret their pasts. They want to go back to fix bad decisions, take different roads and speak when they chose to stay silent. I don’t regret my past. I can’t regret what I don’t have.
Scarlett’s gaze drifted up the copper and glass sides of the building until it disappeared into the clouds. Her eyes traced the structure’s stark lines back down to the sparkling black and silver luxury sedans drifting by on the hot asphalt. She winced at a flash of sunlight reflecting off another skyscraper’s sun-tracking panels.
The giant Universal Dynamic Industries logo dominated the cement courtyard of the copper building. The ten-foot-tall, metallic-orange letters, UDI, surrounded an even more massive glass globe.
The cars came to a stop and Scarlett decided it was time to go in. She wove her way through the vehicles. Dozens of people milled about, some standing outside for a smoke, others coming and going from the building. None of the passers-by paid her any attention. She was just another bystander.
Scarlett’s stomach twisted as she approached. Logic told her to be calm, that no one inside would remember or know her. Even so, she felt vulnerable. Each breath came only with effort as the scale of the skyscraper threatened to crush her.
Ahead, the gigantic logo warned of the limitless corporate power contained within the building. Bright sunlight reflected off the building’s surface and glared down on her. The intense light sent a stab of pain into the back of her skull. The pain vanished as soon as she passed into the shadows.
Inside, the lobby was a model of corporate minimalism. At Scarlett’s right sat the main information desk. The rest of the space opened up above for at least three stories. The floor was covered in a black tile flecked with bits of copper. Sparse pieces of metal and leather furniture dotted the waiting area.
An unfamiliar voice drew Scarlett’s attention back to the desk. “Can I help you Miss?”
“I’m sorry?” Scarlett’s voice was meeker than she intended.
The young, twenty-something man stared at a holodisplay. He sat on a chair perched on a raised platform, putting him at eye-level with her. “I said, ‘Can I help you Miss’.”
“I’m, um... I’m looking for someone. I think.”
The clerk rolled his eyes for a second and turned to her. He made no effort to hide his disdain. “Well, are you or aren’t you?”
Scarlett cocked her head to the side. “Aren’t I what?”
“Are you or aren’t you looking for someone? I can’t help you if you don’t decide.”
She was taken aback and could not find the words to express her confused annoyance.
“What’s the person’s name?”
Scarlett placed her arms on the chest-high counter. “I’m not sure. I...”
The man’s impatience won out and he interrupted her. “I’m sorry Miss, but if you don’t know who you are looking for, I cannot help you. If you need help, you can use one of those data terminals over against the far wall.” He raised his arm and pointed.
Scarlett followed the man’s direction to a nearby wall with alcoves built into it. Inside each alcove sat a holodisplay console.
“Oh... thank you.”
When she looked back at him, the clerk was already staring back at the floating shapes and letters made of light from his holodisplay.
Scarlett walked across the glossy floor to one of the terminals. Her knuckles became white as she clutched her purse. She reached the small cubicle and set her handbag down on the counter.
Something whirred overhead. She looked up to see a security camera angling down to see her. A shiver ran down Scarlett’s back at the thought of someone on the other end of that video feed staring at her. It was clear she had someone’s attention.
She swiped at the holographic display, bringing it to life. Something touched her shoulder and she jumped. She spun around and came face to face with a blonde woman a few years older than herself.
Under A Dark Sky (Worldburner Book 1) by Johan M. Dahlgren
Book excerpt
Gray's mercenaries emerge from the jungle on a wide line, weapons at the ready. Meridian moves silently around them, keeping out of their line of sight as he circles them. The soldiers look warily about them as if hunting a great beast of the forest. And they are not far off.
The deadliest thing in the forests on the general's home world of Elysium is the carnosaur. Fifteen tonnes of rage armed with foot-long claws, teeth the length of a man's arm, and a spine of razor-sharp ivory spikes crowning its back. The carnosaur is the greatest predator on all the known worlds.
Meridian killed his first carnosaur when he was a nine.
He wasn't supposed to kill it. They were meant to evade them, to prove to their tutors that they had learnt the skills necessary to master the jungle at night. The test was simple. Survive in the forest until the sun rose and you passed. No points for second place.
As night settled over them that night, he could hear the other boys screaming one by one as the creatures of the night got to them. Some of them he thought he recognised by their voices, and he knew he would never see them again. He didn't care. He found the whole exercise boring. Evading the great, lumbering beasts was no sport, so he decided to try and kill one, just for fun. The easiest way to get to one would be while it was feeding, and the closest source of food was his squad brothers.
He settled down to wait in the highest branches of the tree where Jeremiah had made camp. Jer was one of the tough guys of the brood. He liked hurting the smaller boys and relished bullying them around. To little Caspar, Jeremiah was a god.
A head taller than Caspar, Jer was a natural leader. Little Caspar had watched him, and he had learnt, and he had practised in front of the mirror in his cell at night. He had mastered the skills, and he knew that he would one day be a great leader of men. Jeremiah would not. Jeremiah would die that night.
It was so simple. All he had to do was wait for Jer to fall asleep on his branch from exhaustion. Then he climbed down from his hideaway, cut Jeremiah's hamstrings, and pushed him from the tree. Before the poor boy understood what had happened to him, his terrified screams brought the carnosaur.
They found little Caspar the next morning, sitting smiling in a shaft of sunlight on the creature's bony skull, his angelic face war-painted with its stinking blood.
When they found out what he'd done to Jeremiah they were stunned. Then they gave him a squad.
There you go - the best cyberpunk novels from Next Chapter in 03/2023. We hope you enjoy the stories - and if you do, please leave a comment below, or a review in Goodreads or your favorite store. It would mean a lot to us!
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