Cyberpunk Patriarch

"Breathe in—cough, cough, cough!"

Standing by the roadside at the Night City border checkpoint, Arthur inhaled deeply—and immediately regretted it, choking on the foul air.

"This is it. The authentic Night City aroma."

Arthur couldn't help but sigh. As a time traveler who inherited the memories of the original owner of this body, he quickly recalled that the air quality in Night City hadn't changed much in over a decade.

The cause of it all? That towering, Everest-like mountain of garbage looming on the horizon.

Managing the trash should have been easy. But for the corporate overlords running Night City, such issues didn't matter. Thanks to cutting-edge prosthetic technology, they could simply buy better noses and ignore the stench.

As for the less fortunate?

"Maybe they can take out a loan for a new nose," Arthur muttered to himself, "and keep the city's economy thriving in the process."

He reached into his coat, pulled out a document, and tossed it through the border checkpoint window.

The body Arthur now inhabited was once that of a hardened cyberpunk mercenary—a Night City native. Years ago, the original owner had left the city after excessive body modifications began taking a toll on his mind, threatening to push him into cyberpsychosis.

Desperate for a solution, the man had ventured far beyond the city limits in search of a cure. But after more than a decade, he found nothing. One night, drowning his sorrows in a dingy motel outside Night City, he drank himself to death.

And that's when Arthur, a time traveler, took over.

By some miracle—possibly his strong mental fortitude—Arthur had no signs of cyberpsychosis. The once-hostile cyberware now felt like an extension of his body, responding as if it were natural.

What's more, he had a golden finger: a cheat-like system that rewarded him for "signing in" at various locations in Night City. But to activate it, he had to return to the city—a hub of fate, as the system called it.

The border guard gave the document a cursory glance, stamped it, and slid it back without much thought.

"Welcome back to Night City, Mr. Arthur," the guard said in a robotic tone.

Arthur pocketed the document, muttering, "Stray dog returns to its kennel, and they call it a welcome. Sure."

The guard's eyes lit up. "In that case, Mr. Arthur, have you considered visiting the Crystal Palace? A true paradise. I've got discounted tickets if you're interested."

Arthur rolled his eyes, grabbed his bag, and walked off. "This is exactly why I hate Night City—ads everywhere. Even the toilet paper has ads printed on it."

He glanced at his worn-out coat. "Do I even look rich to you?"

Crossing the checkpoint, Arthur made his way to the roadside, where he had already arranged a ride. A sleek, black Delamain taxi awaited him.

After tossing his bag into the backseat, he climbed in, letting the car's system link to his neural interface.

"Welcome back, Mr. Arthur," Delamain's AI voice greeted him. "It's been quite some time."

"Hello, you metal-brained idiot. What's the latest gossip in Night City?"

Arthur glanced at the year displayed on his internal clock: 2076. He didn't want to hear about some punk scaling the Arasaka Tower to pick a fight with Adam Smasher or Saburo Arasaka getting stabbed in the Kanpeki Plaza. Those events, while legendary in his mind, hadn't happened yet.

Delamain's smooth voice replied, "Night City remains as vibrant as ever, Mr. Arthur. If you're referring to current headlines, the talk of the town is the cyberpsycho who caused chaos at Memorial Park recently."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened?"

"The suspect displayed remarkable combat skills, even taking down several members of the MaxTac unit. Rumor has it the black market's already nicknamed them 'Black Mewtwo.'"

Arthur frowned. The details felt oddly familiar, but he brushed the thought aside. Cyberpsychos wreaking havoc in Night City wasn't exactly rare.

"Probably another lab rat that escaped from some megacorp experiment," he muttered. "You'd think they'd learn by now."

The black taxi glided smoothly through the chaotic streets of Santo Domingo. To the untrained eye, it looked like any other car, but Arthur knew better. Delamain's vehicles were reinforced like tanks—just without the cannons.

"Your destination, sir," Delamain announced as the car pulled up to a towering skyscraper, its steel facade glinting in the fading sunlight.

Arthur stepped out, bag slung over his shoulder, and stared up at the familiar building.

The nostalgia hit him like a freight train. This was where the original owner had lived, back when life was somewhat normal.

The memories felt distant but vivid, like watching an old film.

"Thank you, Delamain," Arthur said distractedly.

The AI responded cheerfully, "The bill has been charged to your account. Thank you for choosing Delamain. We look forward to serving you again. Choose Delamain and leave your worries at home!"

Arthur winced as his account balance took a hit, the transaction flashing in the corner of his vision.

"Yeah, sure. See you never," he grumbled as the taxi sped off.

Dragging his bag, Arthur entered the building and took the elevator to the familiar floor. He stopped in front of a door that hadn't changed at all—except for the eviction notice plastered on it.

The notice read: Final Warning: Rent Overdue. Room to Be Repossessed in 3 Days.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "Looks like my predecessor left me a mess to clean up."

He punched in the old access code, and the door slid open with a hiss. Inside, the apartment was exactly how he remembered it: cramped, cluttered, and bathed in the neon glow of Night City's skyline.

Dropping his bag on the couch, Arthur surveyed the room. It wasn't much, but it was home—for now.

"Guess I'd better get started," he muttered, pulling up the sign-in system in his mind.

A sleek, golden interface appeared, its smooth design contrasting sharply with the gritty reality around him.

[Welcome to Night City.]

[Sign-in successful. Reward: Prototype Cyberdeck Mk. IX.]

Arthur's jaw dropped. The Mk. IX was a cutting-edge cyberdeck, capable of running high-level programs that could hack anything from low-grade vending machines to corporate mainframes.

"Damn," he whispered, inspecting the shiny new addition in his neural inventory. "Guess coming back wasn't such a bad idea after all."

He flopped onto the couch, letting out a long breath. His return to Night City was just beginning, and with the golden finger in his arsenal, he had no intention of wasting the opportunity.

"Night City," he said softly, staring out the window at the sprawling urban chaos, "let's see what you've got for me this time."

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