Cyberpunk Patriarch-Chapter 5: God May Have Caught the Sh*t

Some time later, deep in the slaughterhouse-like operating room, Arthur finally found Gloria.

Even in a place as filthy and blood-splattered as this, Gloria's brilliant red hair stood out like a beacon.

It was unmistakable—blazing, vibrant, untamed. A defiant flash of color against a world soaked in grime.

Arthur pulled out a personal link wire from his wrist and jacked directly into the brain-computer interface behind Gloria's ear. A thin blue progress bar immediately popped up across his retina, steadily advancing from 0%.

He leaned against the wall, idly tapping his foot.

"Tch," Arthur clicked his tongue. "After all these years, Night City's scavenger rats still haven't upgraded their anti-viral systems? What a bunch of broke losers."

He scratched the back of his head and waited lazily for the progress bar to complete.

As it finished, a soft chime echoed in his mind, and Gloria's furrowed brows relaxed into a peaceful expression, as if she were simply taking a long nap.

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Arthur looked down at her—really looked.

That flawless face still shone even through blood, sweat, and exhaustion. Her soft features and stubborn expression melted something inside him.

For a moment, an absurd, powerful impulse overtook him.

Should I... kiss her?

Right here, right now?

It was like something out of a brain-melt drama—a hero rescuing the damsel from the jaws of death.

He bent down slightly, lips parting—

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?! Shouldn't we be leaving already?!"

A panicked, confused voice shattered the atmosphere.

Arthur froze.

Grinding his teeth, he turned to glare at the interruption—and found David, clutching the pistol Arthur had given him, eyes wide and darting around the horror show of the operating room like a spooked deer.

Arthur twitched violently with frustration.

You little s**t!

BOOM!!!

In a flash, Arthur smacked David on the back of the head with a resounding thud.

"OWWW!" David yelped, clutching his skull, tears instantly welling up in his eyes. "W-What was that for?!"

Arthur, looking righteous as hell, scooped Gloria gently into his arms and growled, "I told you to wait outside and keep watch! What if someone was waiting out there, huh? Planning an ambush while you were daydreaming in here? We'd be riddled with bullets already!"

David stared at him with a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew why Arthur was mad—and it wasn't because of tactical concerns.

It was because he'd interrupted whatever weird nonsense Arthur had been trying to pull on his unconscious mother!

David gritted his teeth, his cheeks burning with humiliation and anger, but said nothing.

Instead, he followed Arthur as they made their way quickly back toward the exit.

Outside, Delamain was still waiting loyally in his black armored taxi.

Arthur climbed into the back seat, still carrying Gloria protectively against his chest. David scrambled in after him, slamming the door behind them.

As the taxi pulled away from the Night City Rehabilitation Center, red and blue flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirrors.

An NCPD squad had finally arrived—too little, too late.

Inside one of the police cruisers, two grizzled officers watched the crime scene unfold.

"The director really screwed the pooch this time," the one in the passenger seat muttered, lighting a cigarette. "Cyber Security says everyone inside's dead."

The driver shrugged. "Better off. Scavengers, every last one of 'em. Good riddance."

The passenger laughed, exhaling smoke through his nose. "What, you wanna investigate?"

"Investigate what? A bunch of bottom-feeders? Nah. We mark it down as gang violence, do a quick sweep for survivors, and call it a day."

Neither of them noticed the black Delamain taxi disappearing into the neon haze.

Inside the cab, Arthur gently stroked Gloria's cheek, his expression unreadable.

"Living like this without me... not even a Trauma Team subscription?" he muttered bitterly. "What the hell were you thinking, Gloria?"

Everyone who lived in Night City with half a brain knew—the first thing you did when you had cash wasn't buying a bigger gun or chrome.

It was buying medical insurance.

Because in Night City, death could come faster than a cheap braindance glitch—and without a Trauma Team membership, you were just another corpse rotting in the street.

Arthur shook his head and sighed heavily.

Then, a quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Are you really... my dad?"

Arthur looked up.

David was staring at him seriously, clutching the pistol Arthur had given him so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

Arthur nodded without hesitation.

"I told you already. Arthur Martinez," he said. "You're my son, David. Whether you believe it or not."

David's face twisted into an ugly scowl. His breathing quickened.

"You BASTARD!" he suddenly shouted. "Why did you leave?! Why did you leave Mom alone?! Why did you abandon us?!"

Tears glistened in his eyes.

Arthur didn't get angry. He simply looked down at Gloria again, his expression softening.

"...I didn't leave because I wanted to," he said quietly. "When you were just a little kid, I found some Black Mewtwo recordings at home. One of them... was footage of the Memorial Park cyberpsycho case."

David blinked in confusion.

"You...?"

"I was losing control, David," Arthur said. "Cyberpsychosis. Real bad."

He leaned back in the seat, exhaling slowly.

"If I'd stayed, I would've snapped eventually. Maybe killed your mom. Maybe killed you. Maybe gone on a rampage and ended up riddled with bullets in some gutter."

He looked over at David, his eyes hard.

"I left because it was the only way to keep you two safe."

Silence fell over the cab.

David stared at him, lips trembling, fists clenched so tight he could barely feel his fingers.

Arthur didn't push him.

He just held Gloria a little closer, shielding her from the bumps of the road.

As the city lights streaked past outside, Delamain's soothing, robotic voice broke the heavy silence.

"Mr. Arthur, we have arrived at Dr. Victor's clinic. I wish you a speedy recovery and continued good health."

Arthur grunted a thank-you, shifted Gloria's weight on his shoulder, and reached for the door handle.

Before stepping out, he turned back to Delamain and said dryly, "You know, if your rates weren't criminal, I might actually use you more often."

"If you wish to maintain your distinguished status, Mr. Arthur, a professional driver is essential," Delamain replied with polished politeness.

Arthur laughed bitterly.

"Status? What status does a mutt have on the streets of Night City?"

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out into the cool night air, Gloria still cradled against his chest like something precious.

David followed, his face still stormy with unresolved emotions.

Arthur didn't care.

There'd be time to sort out the past later.

Right now, Gloria needed saving.

And nothing—not guilt, not grief, not the chaos of Night City itself—was going to stop him.