Cyberpunk Patriarch

Chapter 128 - 128 – This Won’t Work, And That Won’t Work Either!

"This is the Trauma Team!"

"We are entering the building to retrieve our client!"

"Remain where you are and do not resist—failure to comply will be met with lethal force!"

The loudspeaker blared outside, crisp and cold, a warning wrapped in corporate efficiency. Then, silence.

Thor immediately turned to Arthur, his brow furrowed with deep concern. "What now?" he asked. "Seriously, what do we do now?"

Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully, as if considering what toppings he wanted on a slice of synth-pizza. "I mean... we could just kill them?" he offered casually. "It's just a few Trauma Team operatives. Slaughtering them would be like squashing roaches."

His tone was so relaxed, so nonchalant, it almost made the suggestion sound like a trip to the corner bodega.

Thor looked like he wanted to slap him. "You're insane. You might walk away from that kind of stunt, but you're not alone right now! You've got us—me and this poor guy you dragged along for revenge. We're not built like you!"

Arthur sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "Fair. I forgot I'm babysitting."

He rubbed his temples. "Alright, Plan B?"

Thor leaned in. "You have a Plan B?"

Arthur grinned. "Of course. I always plan ahead."

There was a pause, and then he continued.

"So. As we all know, Trauma Team doesn't treat the dead. Just the injured. All we have to do... is fake being severely injured."

Thor squinted. "How fake are we talking?"

Arthur's face lit up with inspiration. "Well, you lie on the floor, I stab you with my mantis blades—just a couple of minor artery slices, nothing fatal. You bleed out a bit, look convincingly near-death, and Trauma Team carts you away. Easy!"

"WHAT?!"

Arthur blinked. "What? You said you wanted options."

"You call that an option? You want to stab me? With those?" Thor jabbed a finger at the twin mantis blades, still gleaming from their last encounter.

"It's just a few cuts," Arthur said, slightly offended. "I won't eviscerate you. Probably."

"Absolutely not!"

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. "Ugh, this won't work, that won't work... Are you two made of wet cardboard or what?"

He paced, muttering to himself. "If this were Jack, he'd have already volunteered, screamed something ridiculous, and turned it into a party."

Thor crossed his arms. "Well, I'm not Jack. And I don't want to die for a discount on your mercenary honor."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine. Plan C. We take the roof, hop to the neighboring building, and slip out another way. Bypass the Trauma Team entirely."

Now that sounded better. Even Thor perked up. "That could work."

Arthur nodded. "Only problem is, the Trauma Team may have sealed the perimeter. So even if we hop rooftops like Spider-Men, we could still run into their checkpoints down below."

"Any way to blend in?" Thor asked, peeking down at his tattered shirt and patched pants.

Arthur gave him a long, slow once-over, then did the same to himself and the survivor. "Hmm. We look like a homeless bounty hunting club that just crawled out of a garbage heap."

"Thanks."

"No offense, but I wouldn't believe you were biotech executives even if you were holding stock options and riding a hover limo."

Thor sighed. "So that plan's dead too?"

Arthur considered. "It's... on life support. Look, if we go rooftop-to-rooftop fast enough, we might beat the Trauma Team's spread. Worst case, I distract them, and you run."

"Worst case, you die."

Arthur lit a cigarette. "I die fabulously."

Before they could say more, the elevator pinged and opened.

"Get down!" Arthur hissed, dragging both Thor and the survivor behind the front desk counter just as a massive metal storm ripped through the lobby. High-caliber bullets riddled the air, chipping marble and shattering glass.

Heavy footsteps followed, slow and methodical.

"They're here..." the survivor whispered.

"No kidding," Arthur muttered.

Overhead, the roof vibrated slightly—likely the Trauma Team's AV landing hard, smashing through a few poor saps' cars. If there were people in them? Too bad. The Trauma Team billed clients for the damages anyway.

Arthur peeked over the counter, eyes narrowing.

From the shattered entrance emerged the familiar shape of a Trauma Team operative. Full armor, snow-white helmet, green-trimmed uniform, and a military-grade Yinglong SMG. He scanned the room with cold efficiency.

"New plan," Arthur whispered. "You two stay here. I'll handle the shooting part."

"Wait, you against them?" Thor hissed. "You said you didn't want to risk us!"

"I'm not risking you. I'm risking me. It's different."

"You said the mission isn't worth this!" Thor reminded him.

Arthur grunted. "It's not. But leaving this mess unfinished and letting the Trauma Team drag our corpses out like bad luggage? That's not worth it either."

He crouched, rolled his shoulders, and flexed his fingers. The mantis blades clicked free, humming with sharp intent.

Thor grabbed his sleeve. "You're not going full hero mode, are you?"

Arthur smirked. "Please. I'm not a hero. I'm just a pissed-off middle manager with a grudge and a few cool tricks."

With that, he ducked around the counter, slipping into a nearby hallway. The sound of footsteps—his and the Trauma Team's—echoed in tandem.

Back at the front desk, Thor and the survivor exchanged glances.

"This is crazy," the survivor whispered.

Thor just nodded grimly. "Welcome to Night City."

From the hallway, Arthur's voice echoed faintly: "If you hear gunshots, don't panic. If you don't hear gunshots... then really panic."

A pause. Then the sound of suppressed gunfire—quick, surgical bursts.

The Trauma Team had officially entered the scene.

Arthur g

rinned.

Time to see if the platinum package came with a body bag.

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