Cyberpunk Patriarch-Chapter 106 – V!
Chapter 106 - 106 – V!
"It seems like you haven't been doing too well lately."
Arthur raised an eyebrow as he shifted the conversation away from Jack's tragic tale of maternal financial conquest. Jack, for his part, just waved the thought away and took another sip from his glass.
"The Valentinos and the Uzumaki Gang have been at each other's throats recently," Jack said with a shrug. "As long as you don't get your head bashed in, there's decent money in it. But you know how it is—feels like a damn grind. Not like the chaos I get running with you."
Arthur gave a crooked smile. "Right. Like crawling through a trauma team murder scene with a BD recorder duct-taped to your chest."
Jack grinned. "Exactly. That's the kind of adrenaline money can't buy."
Arthur leaned back, swirling his drink. "I'm not here for nostalgia, Jack. Adam Smasher landed in Night City, and I may or may not have—let's say—helped myself to a few of his toys."
Jack's smile vanished. "Zhuo, why didn't you say that earlier?! I just remembered my mom's waiting at home with a steaming pot of polenta—I gotta go!"
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He stood halfway up before Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Jack froze mid-exit like a caught schoolboy, then sheepishly sank back into his seat.
Arthur lit a cigarette and rolled his eyes. "There's a line back in Long Kingdom—'I should turn a blind eye to your performance.' This moment? That line."
Jack cleared his throat and quickly downed the rest of his drink.
Arthur, meanwhile, had turned his eyes toward the stairs leading down from the Ritz Bar's upper lounge.
That's when she appeared.
A woman descended the staircase with the kind of elegance that screamed high-grade corpo. Her steps were precise, deliberate, calculated to the millimeter. Everything from her tailored black uniform to the silver pin bearing the Arasaka logo on her lapel radiated efficiency and cold poise.
She didn't walk—she glided.
Arthur immediately knew the type. Company dogs, the lot of them, optimized to the decimal. Her posture, the rhythm of her gait, even the visible muscle tension—it was all finely tuned by supplements, precision diets, and perhaps a dash of neuro-conditioning.
To most, she might've looked like a professional on a mission.
To Arthur, she looked like someone one bad spreadsheet away from a mental breakdown.
"Jack," the woman greeted with a ghost of a smile. "How's life on the street?"
Jack grinned. "Better than slinging reports in a cubicle."
She turned to Arthur, extending a hand with practiced courtesy. "You must be Arthur. I'm V."
Arthur took her hand. "Charmed. A face like yours shouldn't be slumming it in a bar like this."
V shrugged with a smirk. "Jack and I used to knock heads on the streets. Bars like these are a step up from that."
Jack shot Arthur a smug look. "Told ya she only sold her soul to the corpo machine temporarily."
Arthur gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Please. Sit. You look like you stepped in something unpleasant on the way here."
As if on cue, Arthur flagged a server and motioned for another glass and a fresh bottle of whiskey.
V sighed as she sat down. "Worse than dog crap. Triple layered. Today's been the kind of day that makes you question why you ever got up."
"Ever consider finding Misty and asking for a blessing?" Arthur quipped, handing her the glass once the server returned.
V took a sip, grateful. "Might be worth it at this point. I think even a placebo would be an improvement."
Arthur tilted his head. "I don't really do fortune readings. But I do read people."
He filled her glass again. Jack, leaning on his elbow, gave her a slight nod. "You can trust Arthur. Like you'd trust me."
V hesitated, then met Arthur's eyes.
"This isn't just gossip. It's serious."
She reached into her coat and slid a small data shard across the table.
Arthur frowned but picked it up and slotted it behind his ear. Data streamed across his retinal display—security logs, access records, encrypted memos. A job dossier laced with red flags, encrypted names, and one too many classified attachments.
After a moment, he slowly ejected the chip and laid it back on the table.
"Corporate black-ops dressed up as a 'special opportunity.' Jesus. This is the start of the play."
Arthur rubbed his jaw. "The gig to transport her, isn't it?"
V looked away. "Yup."
Arthur scoffed. "The company's super secret golden opportunity—nothing but radioactive trash in a fancy box. You're lucky you've only stepped in metaphorical shit."
He leaned back. "Let me guess. You were given a target with zero intel, promised promotion if you survived, and reminded what would happen if you didn't complete it."
V's grip on her glass tightened. "Pretty much."
Arthur pointed toward the first floor. "And I think your lovely bosses just walked in."
At that moment, two agents in Arasaka tactical coats entered the Ritz Bar, scanning the crowd with clinical disinterest. Behind them, waddling like a steel-plated walrus, was an executive Arthur guessed had come straight from Neon HQ—complete with the smugness of someone who hadn't touched pavement in years.
Arthur smirked and turned to Jack. "Looks like the contract with the devil's about to be enforced."
Jack followed his gaze and grimaced. "Yeah, this reeks of cleanup protocol."
Arthur leaned closer to V. "So let me guess. You made a deal—access, clearance, power. In return, you take a job no one else would. They gave you a handshake with one hand and sharpened a knife in the other."
V's eyes narrowed. "And now they want to erase me and call it collateral."
Arthur took a drag of his cigarette. "Welcome to the real Night City. You're not a player—you're a pawn they're done with."
V took a long swig of her drink and set the glass down with a clink.
"Help me cut the strings?"
Arthur gave her a sideways grin. "Only if I get to shoot someone important."
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