To be honest, finding a cyberpsycho in a place as massive as Watson North District wasn't easy.
But Arthur, with his deep "experience" as a former cyberpsycho himself, understood a few key things:
Generally speaking, there were two types of cyberpsychos — the full-blown crazy and the half-crazy.
The full-blown types were the worst.
They went on killing sprees, unable to stop until they were taken down by a bullet or a team of heavily armed Trauma personnel.
There was no saving those.
Luckily, there was the second kind: the relatively normal crazies.
As long as you didn't poke them, they'd either stand around like furniture or quietly mutter to themselves.
Arthur silently thanked Regina for being a reliable middleman.
Her hacker team had pinpointed the target's location with precision.
Arthur had just parked when he spotted the man: a bald old-timer standing on top of a rusted shipping container.
He wore a trench coat that looked like it had seen a hundred years of programming wars, and in his hands...
A ridiculous custom-made, super-invincible cyclone spiral steel cannon.
Arthur squinted at him.
Before Arthur could even get a word out, a low mumbling floated from the old man's cracked lips.
Pedestrians shuffled by, taking no notice — just another day in Night City, where seeing a guy drooling with a howitzer didn't even make you blink.
Arthur casually walked over, cigarette dangling from his lips, and hopped up onto the container with a single leap.
Landing next to the old guy, Arthur wrinkled his nose against the powerful stench coming off him.
"Brother, not gonna lie, hygiene is important even for cyberpsychos," Arthur said, exhaling a puff of smoke to mask the smell.
"You and I are clearly destined to meet. How about I book you a full VIP package at the Footwashing City? Full-service spa day? Clean up this stink?"
The old man didn't respond.
He just clutched his super invincible whirlwind cannon tighter, mumbling unintelligibly.
Arthur sighed.
"Listen, bro, I'm serious. A girl's fallen for you — blind in one eye, sure, and she sometimes mistakes people for target dummies, but she's got a hot figure and a sweet voice.
Don't miss out!"
The old man drooled a little more but didn't react.
Meanwhile, people on the street were finally starting to stare up at Arthur and the crazy scene atop the container.
Arthur waved them off impatiently.
"What are you gawking at?! Haven't you ever seen a cyberpsycho before?
Keep staring and this guy's liable to launch a missile at this whole block — then see who's laughing!"
The crowd grumbled but turned away, not wanting to get involved.
But not everyone was so smart.
A young punk, wearing dark rock leathers and gang tattoos — a Uzumaki Gang kid — swaggered out from the crowd.
"Hey, Uncle," he called up mockingly, "where's that one-eyed, big-assed beauty you were talking about?
Why waste her on that old fossil? Hook me up instead!"
Laughter rippled through the street.
Arthur's mouth twitched.
Sure, why not, kid? Let's add you to the body count.
Meanwhile, the old man's pupils, dull and drooping moments ago, suddenly spiked like a hospital EKG.
The electrochemical chaos had begun.
Arthur casually patted the old guy's shoulder and called down to the kid:
"You're screwed now.
My brother here? He's pissed.
And he wants to show you what his little steel cannon can really do."
The Uzumaki kid laughed so hard he nearly dropped his cigarette.
This crazy, shirtless old man?
Beat him?
Good joke.
Besides, he wasn't alone — a few more Uzumaki gangers edged closer, ready to back their guy up.
Arthur glanced at them:
Patchwork junk-mods, ancient prosthetics, half of them barely holding together.
Perfect bait.
The old man's EKG-like pupils pulsed faster and faster.
Arthur, sensing the imminent chaos, simply hopped down from the container and leaned against a wall.
He lit another cigarette.
Took a slow drag.
Blew out the smoke.
"Listen, kid," Arthur said lazily, pointing at the punk. "Convince my brother there you're worthy, and that one-eyed beauty? She's all yours.
Hell, I'll even treat you to a night on Twisted Street if you want."
The Uzumaki kid howled with laughter.
Today was his lucky day!
Get a girl for free?
And a trip to Twisted Street?!
He grinned, cracking his knuckles, and swaggered toward the container.
Behind him, his gang buddies chuckled, already picturing the old man pissing himself in terror.
Arthur just flicked the ash from his cigarette, eyes half-lidded.
Idiots.