Cyberpunk Patriarch

Victor stroked his chin thoughtfully as Arthur finished his ramblings. Ultimately, he shook his head and chuckled. "The brain has always been God's forbidden territory for mankind. Even in this advanced world, no one truly understands the human body, let alone the mind."

Victor had seen enough absurdities in Night City to accept even the most outlandish explanations. After another sip of whiskey, he asked, "So, what's next for you? Back to being a cyberpunk? If you returned, the Afterlife crowd would lose their minds."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah. Let the young blood have their shot. I'm too old for this sh*t. Maybe I'll start a small business—sell beef offal on the street or something. What do you think?"

Victor rolled his eyes. "Where are you gonna find cows in Night City?"

Arthur froze, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He'd forgotten that Night City's food was almost entirely synthetic. Beef noodles? 100% artificial. Eggs? Just a name for lab-grown substitutes.

Then, something clicked in Arthur's mind—the suppressor production data the system had sent him earlier. In the chaos of the last few days, he'd forgotten all about it. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Suppressors were always in demand. If he could tweak the production data and find the right hacker, this could be a lucrative business.

As Arthur mulled it over, a knock echoed through the clinic. Victor returned moments later with a few boxes. Arthur, realizing that surgery would soon begin, scooped David up and moved outside to wait.

---

David, always curious, nudged Arthur. "Can we visit the Afterlife someday? You've been there, right?"

Arthur leaned back on the clinic's worn sofa, pouring himself another glass of Victor's whiskey. "Kid, call me anything like that again, and I'll plant my size-42 boot up your ass."

David hesitated, his hands instinctively covering his backside, but then he begrudgingly muttered, "...Dad."

Arthur grinned, satisfied. "Now that's more like it." He took a sip of his drink and said, "Sure, I could take you to the Afterlife. But let me warn you—it's not as glamorous as you think. It's just a bar. The people there? Legends, maybe. But there are only two kinds: fools waiting to be exploited and wild dogs ready to climb the ladder over someone else's bones."

David frowned, confused. "Really? I thought it was where all the greatest cyberpunks hung out."

Arthur scoffed, lighting a cigarette. "The Afterlife is nothing more than a crime hub—a glorified morgue where deals are struck. Theft, espionage, smuggling, hit jobs—name the crime, and it's got a spot there. Night City's already a cesspool, so why not have a palace for criminals?"

David's enthusiasm dimmed. "Well... I still want to order a Johnny Silverhand drink."

Arthur laughed. "That? It's just tequila, beer, and chili. Go home and mix it yourself, kid."

Arthur exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression softening. "Actually, you're too young to drink anyway. Besides, if you want to go, you'll have to get your mom's approval first."

David groaned but didn't argue. Arthur glanced at him thoughtfully. He'd never been a father before, let alone to a teenager. The idea of raising David felt as overwhelming as scaling the Arasaka Tower.

---

Victor emerged from the back room a short while later, brushing his hands off on his coat. "She's stable. Should wake up in about half an hour. You know the drill with the inhibitors better than I do."

Arthur nodded, relieved. Victor glanced at David, then back at Arthur, his expression nostalgic. "Your son's that old now? Time flies."

Arthur smiled faintly. "Yeah, more than ten years have passed... Want a drink?"

He handed Victor a glass and filled it with whiskey. The two men clinked glasses and drank deeply.

Victor leaned back, watching Arthur. "So, are you really leaving the cyberpunk life? No more running jobs?"

Arthur sighed. "Haven't I already reached the top? What's left—storming the Arasaka Building to secure a hollow legacy? Nah, I'd rather switch gears. A quiet life sounds pretty damn good."

Victor smirked, raising his glass. "Glad to hear it. Living's the most important thing. Too many people forget that."

The two men fell silent, lost in their thoughts. Victor had seen countless cyberpunks chase fame and fortune in Night City. Most of them ended up dead—discarded in the gutters or forgotten in unmarked graves.

Even legends like Johnny Silverhand weren't immune. Where was he now? Buried in some unmarked grave, his name remembered only in fleeting whispers.

---

A pained cry broke the silence. Gloria staggered out from behind the curtain, her face pale but conscious.

Her last memory had been the car crash, but when she saw David sitting nearby, a wave of relief washed over her. "David..." she murmured, her voice weak but filled with emotion.

David rushed to her side, helping her to a chair. Arthur watched them silently, his cigarette burning low.

"Looks like she's tougher than she looks," Victor said with a grin.

Arthur nodded, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Yeah. She always has been."

Gloria reached out, gripping David's hand tightly. For the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of hope. The family she thought she'd lost was slowly piecing itself back together.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette, watching them with a rare softness in his eyes. Perhaps he wasn't perfect, but he was here. And for now, that was enough.

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