Cyberpunk Patriarch

The middle-aged man with a beard didn't mind Arthur's comment. Instead, he extended his hand, shaking Arthur's firmly while offering him an olive branch.

Anyone capable of single-handedly taking down a Militech team was someone worth respecting—and fearing. Thor, the man with the beard, knew this kind of person could be an invaluable ally. Perhaps, in the future, they could help each other.

Of course, his gesture wasn't purely utilitarian. The biggest difference between the wanderers and the residents of Night City was humanity. Out here, people still held onto scraps of decency and trust. Life among the Rangers was rough, but at least it wasn't mired in the filth of the corporations.

Arthur shrugged, leaning against The Sword in the Stone. "Welcome to Night City, Thor. Closest place to hell on Earth. Sorry, but the smell on you is something else."

Thor threw his head back and laughed. "Hah! Doesn't matter. After escaping Militech, I feel like I just crawled out of hell. By the way, name's Thor," he said, his voice rich with humor and relief.

Arthur nodded knowingly. He had heard of Thor before. A man worn down by years of wandering, Thor was desperate to find stability for his people. He wasn't the type to look for trouble, but circumstances often forced his hand.

Thor gestured to the others climbing out of the car. "The bald one over there is Mitch, the guy with the scowl is Scorpion, and the woman behind the wheel is Panam."

Arthur stepped forward, offering his hand. "Name's Arthur Martinez. Call me Arthur. I'm a small-time merc in Night City. If you need work done, I'm your guy."

Scorpion and Mitch hauled a crate of beer from the trunk, setting it on the ground. Mitch chuckled, shaking his head. "Small-time merc? You just took down a Militech convoy, man. That's not exactly small-time."

Thor pulled a beer from the crate and tossed it to Arthur. "Sorry it's warm. We don't have a fridge yet, but it's not bad at room temperature."

Arthur caught the beer, cracking it open and taking a swig. "Not bad," he said, eyeing Thor curiously. "So, what exactly did you guys do to piss off Militech this much? It's rare for a whole elite team to be hunting wanderers. Even Night City doesn't see that often."

Thor sighed, scratching his beard. "arthur we just hijacked one of their cars, and those bastards chased us across half the Bald Eagle."

Panam, having overheard Arthur's words, jumped out of the car, visibly agitated. "What the hell? Are we not allowed to rob corporate cars anymore?" she snapped. "That's how we survive!"

She had the look of someone ready for a fight. And truthfully, her frustration wasn't unwarranted. For wanderers, looting corporate transports was a way of life. It wasn't about malice—it was survival.

Thor shook his head. "Panan, I warned you. I told you not to go after the big corps. Sooner or later, it'll backfire. Now Militech's on our tails, and I don't think they're giving up anytime soon."

His voice carried a note of resignation. Thor's dreams of settling down seemed increasingly out of reach. He had hoped to bring his people to Night City, to find stability in the chaotic hub of the world's biggest corporations. But now, that dream was under threat.

Arthur smirked, taking another sip of his beer. "Whatever you stole must've been something special to stir up this much trouble."

Mitch, standing nearby, suddenly crushed his beer can in his prosthetic hand. Beer splattered everywhere, and Arthur raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Sorry," Mitch muttered sheepishly. "This old arm of mine probably got banged up in the chase."

Arthur examined Mitch's arm closely. The prosthetic was ancient, likely dating back to the era of Johnny Silverhand. Unlike newer models, which were covered in bionic skin to appear more human, Mitch's arm was bare metal—a relic of a bygone era.

"Looks like the neural processing chip's burned out," Arthur said, gesturing to the arm. "You can probably find a replacement in a junkyard. No need to fix it—just swap it out."

Mitch chuckled. "Can't tell if you're a merc or a mechanical expert."

Arthur grinned. "Cut up enough people, and you start to learn a thing or two."

The group fell into an uneasy silence. Panam sat down next to Arthur, gulping down her beer with a distant look in her eyes. She understood the risks of robbing the corporations, but she also believed it was a necessary gamble. Without risk, there was no reward—and without reward, there was no future.

Arthur broke the silence. "Look, I don't know what was in that car you stole, but if Militech's this determined, it must be important. If you plan on staying in Night City, you'll need to make a decision."

Panam's temper flared. "Decision? Do you know how many lives we risked to get those supplies? You think we'll just give it up?"

Arthur shrugged, his expression calm. "That depends. Are you willing to risk more lives?"

His words hit like a hammer. Panam stared at him, struggling to respond. The truth was hard to swallow. The supplies might hold the key to their survival, but without people, there was no family to save. It was a bitter reality, but one she couldn't ignore.

Arthur leaned back, finishing his beer. "Think about it. You've got a good group here, Thor. Don't throw it away for something that might not even be worth it."

Thor nodded slowly, his face grim. "You're right. At the end of the day, it's the people who matter most. Without them, there's no family."

Panam scowled but said nothing. Deep down, she knew Arthur was right. Opportunity only came with risk, but the cost of failure was too high. Sacrificing lives for a chance at prosperity wasn't a choice she could justify.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group remained quiet, each lost in their thoughts. For wanderers like them, the future was uncertain. But at least for tonight, they were alive—and that was enough.

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