Cyberpunk Patriarch

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The operator quickly hung up the phone, grabbed some documents, and rushed to the NCPD Director's office.

"Director, there's a case that might require your personal attention," he said, slightly out of breath.

The bald director scratched his hairless head in frustration. His lack of hair wasn't just genetics—it was a mark of someone dealing with the endless chaos of Night City. In a city like this, a full head of hair meant you weren't worried enough about your job.

Taking the file from the operator, the director scanned through the contents. His brows furrowed deeper with every line. After a moment, he looked up, disbelief written across his face.

"You're telling me someone in Pacifica called in claiming to be under attack by cyberpsychos?"

"Yes, sir."

"And this person has been paying taxes in Pacifica for over a decade?"

"That's correct."

The director groaned, scratching his scalp so vigorously he nearly dislodged what few strands remained. "Damn it! Cyberpsychos running wild in broad daylight, attacking our taxpayers? Send in the MaxTac team immediately to handle this!"

"Right away, sir."

The operator froze for a moment, stunned by the unusual urgency in his superior's response. Was this really the same NCPD that never lifted a finger to protect taxpayers? And they were talking about Pacifica, of all places—a no-go zone even for most cyberpsychos.

As he turned to leave, the director called out again.

"Wait. Handle the guy who made the call too."

The operator hesitated. "Sir?"

"You heard me. NCPD is a private corporation, not a charity. If taxpayers start calling us for every little problem, we'll drown in work. Deal with the troublemaker along with the trouble. That way, the problem solves itself."

The director leaned back in his chair, sighing. In his mind, anyone foolish enough to pay taxes in Pacifica for over ten years had to have a screw loose. There was no way a person like that wasn't a cyberpsycho.

"Understood, sir."

Meanwhile, Arthur had just ended his call, looking smug.

Lucy, crouched beside him, gave him an incredulous look. "You—a cyberpunk—called the NCPD for help? Are you serious?"

Arthur pulled out his pistol and fired a couple of warning shots over the car as a show of force.

"What's wrong with that? I pay taxes. Isn't it normal to call law enforcement when you're in trouble?"

Lucy opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. Technically, Arthur wasn't wrong. But everyone in Night City knew better. If the NCPD solved problems, sows would be climbing trees.

Arthur, as always, seemed unfazed. "Relax. I've got an old friend at NCPD. She'll sort this out for me."

Lucy stared at him, torn between disbelief and frustration. Arthur had a way of making the most outrageous claims sound plausible. You wanted to call him a liar, but then reality twisted just enough to prove him right. At the same time, his "truths" often came with gaping holes in the story.

"Damn it," Lucy muttered under her breath. "Next time I agree to help you with anything, I'll officially become a dog!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Arthur ignored her grumbling and returned fire. Standing up briefly, he shot three unlucky gang members in the distance before ducking back behind cover. His shots were precise—each hit its mark with a satisfying spray of blood.

Though he could have eliminated the entire group on his own, Arthur held back. Why get his hands dirty when someone else could handle it? Besides, too much killing—even in a gang fight—might make people think he was a cyberpsycho.

Arthur had worked hard to pull himself out of the spiral of cyberpsychosis. He wasn't about to risk falling back in.

"Arthur!"

A booming voice called out, echoing across the chaos. Arthur didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Placid," he muttered.

Placid was one of Maman's top enforcers, a massive wall of muscle and aggression. He was one of the few members of the Voodoo Boys who cared about physical strength, which made him a rare sight in a gang dominated by hackers.

"Arthur!" Placid shouted again. "Come out now, or I'll personally make sure you regret it. How about I show you what your head looks like stuffed up your own ass?"

Arthur chuckled at the empty threat. "Placid, buddy, I heard you've been selling chicken these days. Always told you that you looked like a butcher waiting to happen."

Placid growled in frustration, his hulking frame tense. Arthur didn't stop.

"You should've listened to me sooner. By the way, my reinforcements are almost here. When they show up, you'll be the one regretting this little skirmish." Arthur paused for effect. "Oh, and save me a couple of kilograms of chicken. I haven't had real meat in ages."

Placid's crew burst into laughter at the ridiculous jab, but their leader wasn't amused.

"Reinforcements? You just got back to Night City. Who the hell would come to help you? Don't tell me you cried to the NCPD!"

The gang erupted into laughter again. The idea of NCPD officers setting foot in Pacifica was laughable. Rockets could be flying overhead, and NCPD still wouldn't bother showing up.

Arthur smirked, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "You'll see soon enough, big guy. Just try not to piss yourself when they get here."

Lucy looked at Arthur, then at the chaos around them. Despite herself, she started to wonder if—just maybe—Arthur wasn't bluffing this time.

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