Cyberpunk Patriarch

To be honest, finding a cyberpsycho in a place as vast as Watson North District wasn't an easy task.

Arthur understood the nuances of cyberpsychosis well. Generally, there were two kinds of cyberpsychos: the completely deranged and the relatively manageable.

The first kind—the highly unstable ones—would go on murderous rampages, destroying everything and everyone in their path until they were neutralized. People like that didn't interest Arthur. They were better left to the Trauma Mobile Team, who specialized in putting such rampages to an end.

The second type, however, were those whose madness wasn't always at the surface. These individuals could sit quietly like statues, fixated on their obsessions, as long as no one provoked them.

Fortunately for Arthur, Regina Jones was a competent fixer. As a self-proclaimed "partner of justice," she had a reliable hacker team at her disposal. They pinpointed the location of the cyberpsycho, sparing Arthur the effort of wandering aimlessly through Watson North's labyrinthine streets.

Arthur parked his car near the designated spot. As soon as he stepped out, he spotted the target: a bald, older man standing atop a rusted shipping container. The man wore a tattered trench coat and held an oversized, custom-made weapon that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi museum.

Arthur lit a cigarette and climbed onto the container with a nimble jump. The smell hit him immediately—stale sweat mixed with unwashed grime. He grimaced, suppressing a gag as he exhaled smoke to mask the stench.

"Brother, I'm not saying we cyberpsychos need to be perfect, but hygiene's important, you know? Look, I think fate brought us together. How about I treat you to a foot spa? One-stop service. Or at least clean yourself up a little. You're gonna scare the neighbors."

The man didn't respond. He just stared ahead, holding his massive weapon as the wind tousled his coat.

Arthur leaned closer, his tone turning playful. "Listen, I'm not here to bother you. In fact, I've got good news. There's a girl who's fallen for you. She's got a killer figure, a voice sweet as honey, though she's blind in one eye and enjoys waving a gun around. Don't be ungrateful, man. Opportunities like this don't come around every day."

The man's lips twitched, and drool dribbled down his chin. He began mumbling incoherently, his eyes locked on some invisible point in the distance.

Arthur glanced down at the street below. A few passersby had stopped to watch the scene unfold, their faces blank with the apathy that defined Night City's residents. In this soulless place, people only reacted to two things: violence and hot women.

"What are you all staring at?" Arthur called down. "Never seen a cyberpsycho before? Keep gawking, and you'll all end up as collateral damage when he launches a missile into the block."

The onlookers muttered under their breath but didn't leave. They were too bored—or too curious—to look away.

Among them, a young man dressed in dark, rock-inspired clothing stepped forward. His confident swagger screamed gang affiliation, and judging by the whirlpool tattoo on his neck, he was a member of the Uzumaki Gang.

"Hey, uncle," the gang member said with a smirk. "What's this I hear about a one-eyed beauty with a big ass? Why're you introducing her to this old timer? I'd be a better match. His prosthetics are probably older than I am."

The bystanders burst into laughter, their previous indifference replaced by amusement.

Arthur's eyebrow twitched. He knew better than to take the bait, but the situation was already spiraling. If he dared connect Regina's name with this clown, he could kiss his commission goodbye.

The bald man, however, didn't seem to appreciate the joke. His pupils flickered erratically, glowing with an intensity that reminded Arthur of a malfunctioning hologram.

"Great," Arthur muttered. "Now you've pissed him off."

He patted the bald man's shoulder, then turned to the Uzumaki Gang member. "You're in trouble now, kid. My buddy here doesn't take kindly to insults. You're about to see if his steel cannon is just for show."

The gang member snorted. "This guy? Please. What's he gonna do? Pee on me? I've seen this lunatic around here before. He's harmless. Just another crazy old man."

Arthur sighed. "Harmless? Sure, keep telling yourself that."

The gang member's buddies, a ragtag group of heavily modified thugs, began to gather around. Their mismatched cyberware looked like it had been scavenged from junkyards, but there was no denying the raw power in their augmented limbs.

Arthur took a step back, hopping off the container with practiced ease. He lit another cigarette, leaned against a lamppost, and watched the situation unfold with mild interest.

"As long as you can convince me, I'll introduce you to the girl," Arthur said, blowing out a plume of smoke. "But you'd better hurry up before my buddy decides to teach you a lesson."

The gang member's grin widened. "You said it, old man. If I win, you'll hook me up with that beauty, right?"

Arthur nodded nonchalantly. "That's the deal. And if she says no, I'll take you to Twisted Street instead. My treat. Satisfaction guaranteed—or your money back."

The gang member chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He thought he'd hit the jackpot—a free trip to Night City's infamous pleasure district? Luck was finally on his side.

But Arthur wasn't laughing. He knew the gang's outdated cyberware wouldn't hold up against the rage simmering inside his bald companion. The psycho's erratic breathing and twitching muscles were telltale signs of an impending meltdown.

"Go ahead," Arthur said, gesturing lazily toward the container. "Convince him. I'll be right here, enjoying the show."

The gang member climbed onto the container, swaggering like he owned the place. His friends cheered him on from below, egging him into action.

Arthur took a long drag from his cigarette, his expression unreadable.

"Let's see how long this lasts," he muttered.

The bald man's pupils pulsed like warning lights, his grip tightening on the steel cannon. Arthur casually stepped back, putting more distance between himself and the inevitable chaos.

Moments later, the gang member let out a startled yelp, followed by a deafening explosion. Arthur smirked, exhaling smoke as the sound of chaos echoed through Watson North.

"Kids these days," he muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground.

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