Cyberpunk Patriarch

Rita left quickly, leaving Arthur alone with Judy. She leaned back in her chair, barely glancing at him as she tapped away at her computer.

"So, you're Susie's boy toy, huh?" she asked casually.

Arthur nearly choked, feeling as though someone had grabbed him by the neck like a market rooster ready for slaughter. For all the things he liked about Night City, its unfiltered bluntness wasn't one of them.

"I'm just a regular at the bar," he said defensively. "Nothing more, nothing less. Don't go around spreading rumors—I have a wife and kids."

Judy smirked. "A serious guy, huh? That's rare in this city. Too bad being serious doesn't mean much here. You know, at least 80% of the people partying outside are married with kids, too."

She spun her chair around to face him, her sharp gaze locking on his. Arthur pulled a chair over, sat down, and lit another cigarette.

"Listen," he began, exhaling a puff of smoke, "today I had a chat with someone—a cyberpsycho, to be exact. Found out he was wearing a Mewtwo recorder. Now, cyberpsychos live... colorful lives, to put it mildly. I figured the data on that device might hold some, uh, valuable insights."

Judy raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.

"Anyway," Arthur continued, "I thought, 'Why not find someone to edit it, clean it up, and see if the guy left behind anything worthwhile?' If I can sell it, I'll use the money to cover his medical bills. You know how it is—cyberpsychosis treatment costs more than the junk heaps outside the city."

Judy chuckled, clearly entertained by his pitch.

Arthur used the word "toilet" to describe the thrill-seekers who'd be interested in such a recording—people who'd risk their lives for a quick rush. The term fit. These individuals, like the Uzumaki Gang, shoved all sorts of experimental tech into their bodies without a second thought, even if it fried their brains.

"Alright," Judy said, leaning forward. "Send me the data. Let's see what we've got."

She gestured toward a device on her desk. Arthur connected his neural interface to it, transferring the data directly from his memory. Once the upload was complete, he wiped it from his internal storage.

Better safe than sorry. Who knew if the recording contained viruses or malware? Even though Arthur himself was a cyberpsycho, he wasn't about to take chances with cross-infection.

Judy worked quickly, importing the data and converting its format. She grabbed a Mewtwo headset, adjusted it, and placed it over her head.

Arthur sat back and smoked in silence, watching her as she processed the recording. Mewtwo tech was nothing new to him, but it was still fascinating in its own way. Unlike traditional films, Mewtwo directly stimulated the user's neural pathways, creating an experience so immersive it felt real.

In 2077, the technology was as advanced as it was addictive. The concept had been born decades earlier, in 2007, when a Japanese inventor had the groundbreaking idea of recording sensory data from the brain and transferring it to another person. The neural processor made this possible, acting as a bridge between implants, the nervous system, and the brain itself.

Judy remained frozen for several minutes, entirely engrossed in the recording. Arthur watched her carefully, wondering what was so captivating—or horrifying—about the data.

Finally, she pulled off the headset, her expression an unreadable mix of confusion, disgust, and fascination.

"You okay?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence.

Judy didn't reply immediately. Instead, she grabbed a cigarette from the pack on her desk, lit it with shaking hands, and took a long drag.

"Hot damn," she muttered. "Where the hell did you get this?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

Judy let out a sharp laugh. "At least 90% of that recording is just some lunatic waving around his... uh, personal weapon and peeing everywhere! I mean, come on! The only redeeming parts are the combat data and a few useful tools buried in there. If it weren't for that, I'd shoot you for wasting my time."

Arthur scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. "Hey, it's not my fault. I didn't ask the guy to record that stuff."

Judy sighed, rubbing her temples. Despite her exaggerated frustration, she wasn't actually angry. If anything, she was impressed—and more than a little unsettled—by what she'd seen.

The combat scenes in the Mewtwo recording showcased Arthur's raw, terrifying power. Judy had heard stories about Night City's cyberpsychos, but seeing the footage firsthand was a different experience altogether.

"You know," she said, her voice quieter now, "you're not just strong—you're something else entirely. The way you move, the way you fight... It's not human."

Arthur didn't respond, but the tension in the room was palpable. Judy leaned back in her chair, blowing out a slow stream of smoke.

"I guess it makes sense now," she continued. "The prosthetics, the cyberpsychosis... You're like a walking bomb. If you ever lose control, God help us all."

Arthur gave a dry laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that. I've got enough on my plate without turning into a full-blown monster."

Judy smirked, her usual sharpness returning. "Just don't make me regret helping you, okay? I'll edit this data, clean it up, and get rid of all the... unnecessary parts. You'll have what you need by tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, grateful for her help. Despite her tough exterior, Judy was one of the few people in Night City who still cared about doing the right thing—at least, in her own way.

"Thanks," he said simply.

As Judy turned back to her computer, Arthur leaned against the wall, watching the dim light of the screen flicker across her face. Night City was a place where trust was a rare commodity, but in that moment, he felt like he could count on her.

One way or another, he was going to make it through this mess. And with allies like Judy, maybe—just maybe—he'd survive long enough to see the other side.

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