Cyberpunk Patriarch

Arthur's eyes gleamed with excitement as he grabbed David's arm and rushed toward the elevator.

David, still confused, rubbed the back of his head. "What's going on?"

Arthur didn't reply immediately. Instead, he muttered to himself, seemingly addressing no one. "Delamain, don't give me that nonsense about availability. I know you can get those things. Fine, fine—charge me a handling fee. Double it? You're bleeding me dry here, but fine. No wonder you managed to outsmart those corporate vampires."

The elevator doors slid open, and Arthur practically dragged David to a sleek black taxi parked in the underground garage. They hopped inside, and Arthur connected his personal link to verify his identity.

A soothing, robotic voice announced, "Destination: Night City Rehabilitation Center. Estimated arrival in 10 minutes."

Arthur leaned back in the seat, finally taking the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a plume of smoke. He turned to David with a smirk.

"I should've told your mother years ago that boys need to toughen up."

David frowned, still trying to process what was happening. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "The Night City Rehabilitation Center isn't what it seems. On the surface, it's a hospital, but in reality, it's a scavenger operation."

David's heart sank as Arthur continued.

"If the patient's conscious, they'll slap you with absurdly high medical bills. But if they're unconscious... they'll harvest implants and sell them on the black market. Those implants usually end up on some poor bastard in a dark Mewtwo vid."

David's face went pale, the weight of Arthur's words hitting him like a freight train. He stared blankly ahead, unable to reconcile the horrifying reality with the fact that he had unknowingly sent his mother there.

Arthur, noticing David's shock, shoved the cigarette into the boy's mouth. "Don't just stand there looking dumb. Smoke it."

David mechanically followed Arthur's instruction, his mind still racing.

Arthur reached into the handbag at his feet and pulled out a weapon. It was a kinetic shotgun—Kill—a weapon notorious for its power and reliability. Online forums often joked that it could punch a hole through time and space.

Arthur checked the gun's ammunition, pulled the bolt, and grinned in satisfaction. Then he opened a hidden compartment under the car's front seat, retrieved two grenades, and tucked them into his pocket. Lighting another cigarette, he barked a final order to the car.

"Delamain, wait here for me. I'll be back in a few minutes."

The AI responded calmly. "Of course, sir. The bill has been sent to your account for confirmation. Good luck."

Arthur chuckled and motioned for David to follow him. As they approached the entrance of the rehabilitation center, the kinetic shotgun slung casually over Arthur's shoulder drew attention. People scattered, some screaming, while others tried to contact the NCPD.

The neon glow of Night City bathed the streets, and the massive, polluted moon loomed overhead. It was the perfect setting for chaos. Arthur took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and smirked.

"Ready for the party, kid?"

"I—"

"Boom!"

Before David could respond, Arthur kicked the hospital door open with a deafening crash. The heavy steel doors groaned as they fell inward, and Arthur strolled in like he owned the place.

David, clutching the pistol Arthur had given him earlier, hesitated before hurrying after him.

"What the hell are you doing—"

A doctor emerged from a nearby room, clearly startled by the commotion. His confusion turned to terror as Arthur raised the shotgun, its barrel aimed directly at the man's head.

The doctor froze, hands slowly rising in surrender. Arthur's cybernetic eyes zoomed in, his enhanced vision picking up every detail of the man's face and even the rifling inside the shotgun's barrel.

"Gloria Martinez," Arthur demanded coldly. "Admitted this afternoon. Red hair, injured in a car accident. Where is she?"

The doctor stammered, clearly trying to buy time. "Uh, sir, are you... visiting a patient? If so—"

Arthur sighed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Boom!"

The shotgun roared, and the doctor's head snapped back as blood and fragments painted the walls. Arthur turned to David, who stood frozen, his wide eyes fixed on the lifeless body.

"Wrong answer," Arthur muttered, reloading the shotgun.

David's stomach churned as the smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air. He dropped to his knees, retching violently, but his empty stomach produced nothing but dry heaves.

Arthur ignored him, advancing deeper into the hospital. Another doctor tried to draw a weapon, but Arthur moved with inhuman speed, unloading three precise shots that sent the man's body tumbling over the second-floor railing.

"Stay close," Arthur ordered, glancing over his shoulder at David.

The boy struggled to his feet, gripping the pistol tightly. His hands shook, and his vision blurred with tears, but he forced himself to follow.

As they moved through the building, Arthur's tactical efficiency became evident. He cleared rooms methodically, taking out staff who attempted resistance and sparing those who surrendered quickly.

Finally, they reached a dimly lit corridor. Arthur's cybernetics scanned the area, and he pointed to a door at the end.

"There," he said. "That's where your mom is."

David hesitated. "How do you know?"

Arthur smirked. "Trust me, kid. You're not the only one with skills around here."

Pushing past David, Arthur kicked the door open. Inside, Gloria lay unconscious on a hospital bed, hooked up to various monitors. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he spotted a tray of surgical tools nearby—clearly intended for an implant removal procedure.

"Bastards," Arthur growled.

He motioned for David to stay by the door and approached the bed. Carefully disconnecting the equipment, he lifted Gloria into his arms.

"Let's go," he said firmly.

David nodded, swallowing hard as he followed Arthur back through the blood-soaked halls. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance—NCPD was closing in.

When they reached the taxi, Delamain greeted them with his usual calm demeanor. "Welcome back. Shall we proceed to the designated safehouse?"

Arthur grinned as he placed Gloria gently in the back seat. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

David climbed in after him, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The boy who had walked into the hospital that evening was gone, replaced by someone who had seen the harsh reality of Night City up close.

As the car sped away, Arthur lit another cigarette, exhaling smoke as he glanced at David.

"Get used to it, kid. This city doesn't forgive, and it doesn't forget. If you want to survive, you've got to be ready for anything."

David stared out the window, the neon lights of Night City flashing past. He clenched his fists, a mix of anger and determination burning in his chest.

"Ready or not," he muttered, "I'll make sure this city remembers me."