Cyberpunk Patriarch

Even though Arthur had secured the land, no one was going to clean up the mess—literally. He had to head out himself to clear the trash, shoo off the squatters, and set up a proper perimeter. This was Badlands, after all. If you didn't show up in person, you might find your lot turned into a drug den overnight.

More importantly, he needed to arrange a meeting with the local Rangers and finalize the supply route. That meant facing Sol and whatever lingering biotech drama he'd stirred up. From what Arthur had heard, Sol had played his cards well—enough to cozy up with Biotechnica using the leaked information Arthur had shared.

On paper, Biotechnica sounded humble, scientific. But their reputation—especially in the Badlands—was worse than Militech's. At least Militech didn't pretend to be something it wasn't. Biotechnica smelled like decay under perfume: clean on the surface, rotten underneath.

Arthur slid back into his car, lit up a cig, and adjusted his seat. With David in the passenger side, slouched and quiet, Arthur started the engine and turned toward the dusty highway.

"Alright, kid," he said, sparing David a glance. "It's time to shake off the melancholy. If you're stuck in 'existential crisis mode,' how about I take you to Niaowa Street? You know—see some action, clear your mind?"

David flinched and blushed furiously. "Wh-why would I want to go to a place like that?!"

Arthur smirked, satisfied. At least the kid still had some innocence left.

The car weaved through early afternoon traffic, slicing past neon-lit billboards and the buzzing energy of Night City's sprawl. Daytime offered a different kind of charm here. You couldn't see the vomit or hear the screams. The filth was still there—it just hid better.

David finally broke the silence. "Dad... are there a lot of people like that guy? The one at the bank?"

Arthur didn't respond right away. He blew out a stream of smoke, letting the haze curl near the dashboard.

"More than the cockroaches under our sink," he muttered.