My Girlfriend’s a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

After leaving Afterlife, Lucky and Mower were strolling through the streets, idly discussing how to dig deeper into the secrets behind Militech in hopes of uncovering leads on Rockman Technologies. That was when a call interrupted his train of thought.

"Lucky? Got a moment? Urgent business."

A sushi-flavored accent burst through the speaker. Lucky checked the caller ID.

Of course—Takemura.

"You found that friend of yours?" Lucky asked.

He glanced at Mower and accepted the call.

Motoko's experience always gave her a knack for offering valuable insight—especially when dealing with corpos.

As for Takemura, he was a man whose world revolved around Arasaka. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. And if anything did, it was Saburo Arasaka himself.

"Yes. I contacted an old Arasaka friend. He is in Night City now, with strong connections to important people. Very promising," Takemura said, still in his broken accent.

"An old friend with influence, huh..."

A shadowy figure flashed in Lucky's mind—the type with glinting eyes and layers of mystery.

"So mysterious. Don't tell me he's from Tokyo HQ."

"How you know?" Takemura sounded impressed. "We need meeting—you, me, and this friend."

"Why? What makes you think we'll help you?" Lucky chuckled. "Just because you used to work for Arasaka? Now you want to use us to testify against Yorinobu?"

Rogue had confirmed it: Arasaka hadn't issued any kill orders for them.

Ironically, it was loyal dog Takemura running scared, dodging assassins left and right.

"I told you. Help us convince Hanako-sama, and you'll receive rewards beyond your dreams."

Takemura's loyalty to Arasaka was unshaken. Even with patricide on the table, he believed in the tower's unyielding power.

"You think Yorinobu's too dumb to see you pulling strings?"

Takemura might not have a temper, but he was bullheaded as hell.

"What about V and Jackie? You talk to them?"

"Yes. But they are in the Badlands. Can't return soon. Doesn't matter. You are enough."

"So what do I get out of this?" Lucky sighed. "I prefer tangible payoffs over vague promises."

Dancing with corpos was always dangerous. Getting tangled in their internal power plays? That was worse than infiltrating Konpeki Plaza.

"You worry about safety. I know. But we only need truth. Tell what happened at Konpeki. That's all."

Lucky scratched his head, weary of the endless pleading.

"This is Night City, choom. No one's reliable—not even old friends. Don't bring wishful thinking. Prove this guy is trustworthy."

The risk of getting burned was too high.

"We had many chances to kill each other. Didn't take them. That is trust. If he can't help, no one can."

Lucky watched freight trucks race past like souls in a rush to reincarnate.

Mower looked at him and nodded.

Her look said: "Can always bail if it goes south."

"Fine. Where and when?"

"Kasamoto Pier. After dark. I'll send the exact location later. See you."

Hanging up, Lucky felt like he'd just crawled out of one mess and jumped into another.

Still, if Takemura didn't offer what he wanted, he'd let him fight Yorinobu alone.

Hours later, night fell slowly.

Yellow sunset mixed with greenish haze—the result of air pollution.

The marked pier in Japantown was abandoned.

No workers. No machinery. Just an empty guard booth, rusted barriers, crumbling dividers, and Night City's unofficial mascot: trash.

It sat beneath an overpass, lower than the street—barely five meters above sea level.

The bay's other side held Arasaka HQ, complete with its shamrock logo. Lucky even spotted the megatower he once called home.

Reflected in the water, Night City shimmered like a fortress of neon excess—stacked high with corporate spires.

At 11 PM, darkness had fully settled.

Takemura stood by the seawall, staring silently at the bay.

Lucky approached quietly, but Takemura noticed.

"You came, Lucky."

He didn't move. His face showed wear and fatigue.

"What happened? Arasaka hitmen tucking you in every night?"

Lucky leaned back on the rail opposite him.

The gentle lapping of waves was clearer than the city's roar.

"Implants, money, dignity... all gone. This is me now."

His accent was still funny, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

Distant waves rose and fell, like a tragic symphony.

"At least now... no one pays attention."

Despite his tone, his spirit hadn't broken. He was just tired.

A flickering streetlamp revealed a black sedan parked nearby.

Black suit, white shirt, polished shoes, and a flashy fringe. The man's look clashed with everything around—yet Lucky hadn't noticed him until now.

He felt a chill, like being stared at by a viper.

"Takemura-san."

The man bowed slightly, voice low and dangerous.

"Oda," Takemura replied, without honorifics.

"This the little thief?" Oda glanced at Lucky.

"This your friend?" Lucky asked.

"Hanako-sama's guard," Takemura clarified.

Hanako Arasaka. Daughter of Saburo. Sister to Yorinobu. A firm loyalist.

She had arrived aboard the aircraft carrier Kujira—way more imposing than any Air Force One.

Takemura served Saburo. Oda protected Hanako. Adam Smasher was Yorinobu's pitbull.

Three elite bodyguards for Arasaka's trinity. Not just tough—they were death incarnate.

Lucky figured even without active cyberware, Takemura could still kill him.

And Oda? Probably worse.

This was supposed to be a secret meeting, but the danger was palpable.

"I heard you know things. Speak."

Oda stood firm, guard stance perfect.

"I was there. Yorinobu strangled his father..."

"Enough!!"

Oda roared, voice like thunder.

"Say no more."

He pointed a finger at Lucky's forehead.

"Talk like that, and you'll die."

Takemura stepped forward, arms crossed.

"But it's the truth. Hanako-sama must know."

"I only care about her safety," Oda snapped.

"Is she in danger?"

"Now? No. But at Saburo-sama's memorial... yes."

"I bring a witness to murder, and you're worried about ceremonies?"

"Fool!"

Takemura barked, though he remained composed.

Lucky would've cracked under this pressure.

"Unlike you, I remember my oath," Oda muttered.

"Oath? You mean the kind where you die just because your new boss says so?"

Lucky cut in.

"What are you loyal to? The company? Honor? Power? Or just whoever gives the orders?"

He wasn't a corpo, but Oda's indifference pissed him off.

"That blind loyalty of yours looks down on street values? Don't make me laugh. Same hypocrisy, different outfit."

"Shut up!!" Oda snapped, eyes flashing.

Even Takemura looked displeased.

Lucky met their eyes, then glanced at the neon-lit cityscape.

He chuckled—quiet and bitter.

"We were never the same."

He stepped off the railing.

"Serve your masters. But don't expect others to follow. You're both laughably stubborn."

Oda glared with clear intent to attack, but Lucky turned away.

"Stop. You can't leave!"

Takemura shouted. His face was all seriousness now.

"You are the witness—the key to exposing Yorinobu!"

Oda scoffed.

"You should be grateful I didn't take your head to him already."

Right now, Arasaka answered to Yorinobu.

Takemura's loyalty was to Saburo, then the company.

Oda's to Hanako, then Yorinobu.

They weren't just bodyguards. They were the last samurai of 2077.

Ready to die for loyalty.

Everyone else—including Lucky—was just a tool.

"Wait."

Just as Lucky walked off, Takemura called out again.

But this time, like Oda, his voice carried threat.

Lucky turned.

Takemura's eyes were sharp—a predator ready to strike.

"Where did you get that sword!?"

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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

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