Lucy stood frozen, unsure what to say. Beside her were two individuals—each insane in their own special way—casually discussing their shared madness as if it were a business plan.
A bar for mbers of the Terrorist Mobile Team? That idea alone was enough to give any Night City local a heart attack. These people were sanctioned cyberpsychos—walking weapons granted immunity by the city's most feared enforcent unit. Killing one wouldn't bring justice; it would summon airstrikes.
lissa's attention shifted to Lucy. Her eyes scanned the netrunner with a gleam of curiosity and mischief, like a shark evaluating a new toy. After a tense beat, she finally spoke.
"Well, your little girlfriend's quite the beauty. I wouldn't mind if the three of us... you know, had a little fun soti."
Lucy's face flushed crimson. She froze, her mind locking up under the weight of sheer disbelief. Was this woman serious? She couldn't even begin to form a reply.
Arthur sighed and took a long drag from his cigarette, frowning. "I've told you before, lissa—bisexuality is a condition. Didn't your doctor prescribe dication for that?"
lissa rolled her eyes, smoke coiling from her lips like a slow snarl. "For the last ti, Arthur, it's not a disease. Maybe if you read a book instead of lurking in alleys, you'd be more evolved. And anyway, you're the only man I've ever loved. Shouldn't you feel special? You're benefiting from my affection."
Arthur scratched his head. He looked like a man about to drop the dumbest coback Night City had ever heard. Then, his face lit up.
"You know what? That's actually a solid point. Yeah, I don't have a coback. Carry on—keep doing your thing."
Before lissa could respond, Lucy broke from her trance and punched Arthur hard in the back of the head.
"What the hell are you saying?!" she yelled. "You're making everything worse! Flirting? Now? We're knee-deep in a massacre and you're out here acting like it's a bad rom-com!"
The chaos around them had mostly died down. The remaining Voodoo Boys were either dead or retreating. Even their top-tier netrunners knew better than to ss with the MaxTac unit unless they had a death wish—or a sponsor from Arasaka.
lissa turned away from the ss, watching her team clean up. Then she turned back to Lucy, a dreamy gleam in her eye.
"You don't see it?" she asked with unnerving sincerity. "The bullets, the gore, the fear—it's a ballet of violence. A raw, beautiful dance of survival. This is real art. I get high just watching it."
Arthur gave her a sideways glance. Great, she's even worse than before, he thought. Whatever quack doctor signed off on her release from therapy deserved to be shot. Maybe twice.
Lucy's face had gone pale, her posture stiff. She'd heard stories about the instability of MaxTac mbers, but hearing lissa talk like that made those stories feel ta.
"You're completely insane," Lucy muttered, looking away.
lissa didn't seem to mind. She turned back to Arthur and smirked.
"Rember the old days? You used to take to shows like this. Said they were the pinnacle of urban culture."
Arthur groaned. "That was a long ti ago. I'm reford. These days, I'd rather go watch a curated braindance at the Ritz Bar."
lissa pouted, then brightened again when he added, "Okay, fine, it's artistic. But your squad could use more finesse. Less blood spray, more... precision."
That childish bounce returned to her step, and Arthur ntally braced himself. For a second, he saw the girl she used to be—before she'd lost her mind to bullets and bloodlust.
He shook it off. No ti for nostalgia. lissa was a walking hazard now.
Just then, one of her bloodied officers approached.
"Mission complete. Escort or extraction?"
lissa hesitated, casting a look at Arthur. Then she sighed and said, "Extraction."
Before leaving, she turned to him with a grin. "Don't forget to call. Take too long, and I might just co knocking—blades out."
Arthur watched her board the hovering transport, a cigarette dangling from his lips. At last, relative peace.
His peace didn't last long. His phone buzzed, and a familiar screech burst through the receiver.
"Arthur, you piece of s**t! Are you seriously flirting with that MaxTac psycho?!"
Arthur didn't even flinch. "Maman, please. Don't be dramatic. You've dated worse. Besides, everyone knows Night City relationships expire faster than street food."
A long pause. Then, Maman's voice returned, quieter now. "What do you want?"
Arthur kicked open the rusted doors of his "factory"—a concrete dump filled with broken crates and the scent of mildew.
"First, I'm opening a business here in Pacifica. I need workers. Clean records only. Can you help?"
"You're serious?"
"Do I sound like I'm joking?"
"...Fine. I'll send you so nas."
"Second, this place is a landfill. Send soone to clean it. I think I even saw one of your aunt's old towels here."
"You f**ker," Maman hissed. "Say another word, and I'll bury you under that towel. What else?"
"Lastly, I need Placid to butcher three kilos of free-range chicken. I'm making soup."
"...I hope you get audited by Militech," Maman muttered before slamming the line shut.
Arthur chuckled. Life in Night City might be hell, but it was his kind of hell.
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