Cyberpunk Patriarch

Arthur stood at the door, deep in thought. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he clapped his hands. "Of course!" he muttered to himself.

The realization hit him: the original owner's wife and child had likely moved away long ago—possibly even died in this chaotic, unforgiving city. It wasn't guaranteed that the people living here were his family.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief and approached the door cautiously. But as he stepped closer, a notification suddenly appeared on his retina interface, asking him if he wanted to pay the rent immediately.

His mouth twitched in frustration. "Sure enough, there's no avoiding it."

Arthur selected Pay, and the funds in the corner of his retinal display deducted instantly. With a soft beep, the door unlocked and slid open.

He stepped inside and glanced around the room. There was no one present, but the place showed clear signs of being lived in. Clothes were strewn across the sofa, artificially manufactured Night City food cluttered the table, and the radio played news updates in the background.

Arthur grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the table, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. He leaned back on the sofa, feeling strangely at ease.

"System?" he called out mentally.

A soft chime followed.

[Ding! Sign-in successful. Congratulations, host! You have obtained a suppressor manufacturing plan.]

Arthur felt a rush of knowledge flood his mind. It wasn't his, but it settled as if it had always been there.

He pinched his temples, digesting the new information. In this world, nearly everyone had cybernetic implants, and those implants often triggered rejection from the body. Most people relied on inhibitors, drugs that suppressed both immune and neurological reactions, to keep their bodies from rejecting the invasive technology.

The suppressor, on the other hand, was a more advanced alternative—a chip that mimicked the effects of inhibitors. Once installed, it tricked the body into ignoring the foreign parts, eliminating the need for daily medication.

Arthur frowned. "This thing's bad for business," he muttered.

A suppressor was a one-time purchase, unlike inhibitors, which needed to be bought continuously. It was clear why something like this wasn't mass-produced—it wasn't profitable for pharmaceutical giants.

As he pondered this, a loud noise interrupted his thoughts.

"Boom!"

Arthur instinctively pulled out the pistol from his waist and aimed it at the vent where the sound originated. Moments later, a boy climbed out, his head wrapped in gauze and wearing a school uniform. He dropped a black plastic bag onto the floor.

Arthur froze.

"David?" he muttered, recognizing the boy. David Martinez.

Arthur glanced around the room again, piecing things together.

"So... this is David Martinez's home. And that means I'm... his father?"

David, startled by the gun aimed at him, quickly raised his hands in surrender. "I—I'm just here to grab my stuff! I'll leave, I swear!"

Arthur chuckled, lowering the weapon and sinking back onto the sofa. He crossed his legs, resting one arm along the back of the couch. With a bemused expression, he looked David up and down.

"I see. More than ten years apart, and this is how you greet your father?" Arthur asked with a playful smirk. "You don't even want to call me Dad?"

David stared blankly. "Huh?"

He quickly jumped to conclusions. Was this man his mother's new boyfriend? That had to be it. After all, his father was long dead. It wasn't unreasonable to think his mom had found someone new.

Straightening his posture, David cleared his throat. "My father is dead," he said firmly. "I'll never call anyone else 'Dad.' But if you're serious about my mom, I won't stop you. Just don't expect me to call you anything other than 'Uncle.'"

Arthur blinked, then burst into laughter. "Good lord, you've got guts, kid."

"Boom!"

Arthur fired a warning shot into the ground near David's feet.

Startled, David raised his hands even higher. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Arthur leaned back casually, the pistol still in his hand. "Call me Daddy."

David froze, staring at the man in disbelief.

"...Dad," he finally muttered under his breath.

Arthur's expression brightened immediately. "Ah, my good son!"

Standing up with a grin, he walked over, patted David on the shoulder, and handed him the pistol. "Here. A gift from your old man."

David hesitated, examining the weapon. If his memory was correct, it was a Unity, a basic but reliable handgun. It wasn't fancy, but it was practical.

"Thanks," David mumbled, tucking the pistol into his waistband. Despite the bizarre interaction, it was one of the few gifts he'd ever received, and he felt compelled to cherish it.

Arthur lit a cigarette and took a drag. "Where's your mom?"

David's expression darkened. "She's... at the Night City Mental Rehabilitation Center. There was a car accident when she was picking me up from school. We didn't have insurance, so..."

Arthur already knew this, but he needed to hear it directly. He sighed, exhaling a puff of smoke, and patted David on the shoulder.

"You're a real filial son," Arthur said sarcastically.

David scratched his head awkwardly, misinterpreting the comment as genuine praise. "I just did what I could."

Arthur rolled his eyes and smacked the back of David's head. "I wasn't complimenting you, idiot!"

He picked up the black plastic bag David had dropped and tossed it onto the sofa. Then he grabbed his own handbag, unzipped it, and poured out a pile of clothes. Hidden beneath them were two long guns. Arthur slid the cigarette between his lips, zipped up the bag again, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Listen up," he said, turning to David. "Things are going to change around here. Stick with me, and I'll make sure you're prepared for this city. Got it?"

David nodded silently, gripping the pistol at his waist. Something told him his life was about to take a very strange turn.