Chapter 64: Let Me Choose For You! Crazy?

In Arthur's view, the world of Cyberpunk was already a walking corpse.

It was only a matter of time before it collapsed completely.

AI Crisis?

Self-aware AIs lurking in the dark, screaming "AI will never be slaves!"

Food Crisis?

Acid rain choking what little remained of the crops.

Virus Crisis?

Outbreaks mutating faster than any corporate lab could control.

And those were just a few examples off the top of his head.

Honestly, Arthur didn't think humanity would make it to 2100.

At this rate, Night City would probably implode by the time he hit retirement age.

He glanced at the timer ticking down inside his prosthetic eye.

Two minutes.

Time was up.

Arthur turned his head slowly and stared at Michael, who lay twitching on the floor, not quite dead but definitely not alive either.

Advanced prosthetic optics could detect even the subtlest micro-movements.

Arthur saw it clearly: Michael was still conscious.

Barely.

"Michael," Arthur said calmly, "the time's up.

So... what's your answer?"

Michael's mouth opened and closed helplessly, like a drowning man gasping for air.

Slurred words dripped out, incoherent babble about "money" and "hope" and "dreams."

It was clear.

He was too scared to choose.

Arthur couldn't help but click his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at you," Arthur said mockingly.

"You're like a college student still trying to fill in exam answers while the final bell's already ringing."

He cracked his neck and grinned wickedly.

"Since you clearly can't make a decision, let me do it for you."

Without hesitation, Arthur flicked open his comms and dialed Lucy.

Hack the bastard's brain — if he wouldn't cooperate, they'd just rip the info straight from his skull.

Sure, he could've called T-Bug...

But T-Bug charged a fat fee.

Lucy?

Lucy could be persuaded to help for free — well, almost free.

Arthur figured their "friendship" was still strong enough.

He was smiling smugly at his own cleverness when suddenly—

Michael's body twitched violently.

Drool leaked from the corners of his mouth.

His pupils jittered, darting around like marbles in a jar.

Words slurred out of his mouth — broken, senseless murmurs.

"No... my last...

Can't... be taken...

I will... turn it around...!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

Shit.

He's losing it.

Arthur barely dodged as Michael's gorilla-sized fist smashed the ground where Arthur had just been standing.

BOOM!

The floor cracked, concrete splintering under the sheer force.

In Night City, if you had money, you could implant whatever the hell you wanted.

Gorilla arms, reflex boosters, fortified bone structures — all of it was just a click and a few thousand eddies away.

Arthur cursed under his breath.

Michael had snapped.

Full-blown cyberpsychosis.

And now?

He was nothing but a dangerous, brain-dead weapon.

"Jack!" Arthur shouted as he ducked behind an overturned workbench.

"Give me a thumbs up!"

Jack, standing nearby in his ridiculous pink dress, blinked in confusion.

"What the hell, brother? He's gone nuts!

You want me to high-five you while he turns me into roadkill?!"

Arthur didn't answer.

He was already rummaging through the scattered chemical reagents, mixing potions like a mad scientist at a street fair.

Jack, meanwhile, found himself locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse — dodging Michael's wild, berserk swings.

Arthur was cool as ice, precisely combining chemical after chemical, droppers clicking, liquids hissing.

Even as Jack grunted, weaving and barely ducking the punches, Arthur stayed calm.

Precision. Steadiness. Efficiency.

All the marks of a full-level prosthetic doctor.

Even if it meant mixing up elephant tranquilizers while your teammate got punched through a wall.

Jack, seeing Arthur so relaxed, almost cried.

"Brother, hurry up!

I'm about to get flattened over here!!"

Arthur gave a casual wave.

"Don't worry. Just shake a little more. Almost ready."

Meanwhile, Jack dodged a punch that exploded a concrete pillar behind him.

He gritted his teeth and pulled his twin pistols — but he still hesitated.

If they shot Michael now, the trauma team would swoop in, alarms would blare, and half of Night City would be after them.

Gotta be silent. Gotta be clean.

He glanced over again and nearly lost it.

Arthur was literally whistling while swirling a test tube filled with a glowing green liquid.

Finally, Arthur's eyes lit up.

The potion was done — a vibrant fluorescent green, looking suspiciously radioactive but promising salvation.

"No rush," Arthur said with a grin, tucking the vial between his fingers.

Jack, meanwhile, had just narrowly avoided becoming a permanent stain on the floor.

"Arthur! IF YOU DON'T HURRY, I'M GONNA—"

Too late.

Arthur was already moving.

Neural acceleration: ON.

In Jack's eyes, Arthur blinked out of existence — and reappeared behind Michael like a phantom.

In one smooth motion, Arthur jammed the vial into Michael's mouth and squeezed.

Michael gagged, thrashed once, twice—

Then slumped.

The monstrous power drained from his body instantly.

He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Arthur checked his pulse.

Alive.

Sedated.

Perfect.

"Nice work," Jack panted, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"I thought I was gonna end up a bloodstain."

Arthur smiled and dusted his hands off.

"Relax. This way he won't remember anything."

"If they bring in investigators later, they'll just find a drooling vegetable.

No witnesses.

No snitches."

Arthur pulled out his comms again, ready to call Lucy.

But before he could—

A weird, giddy laugh echoed from the floor.

They both turned.

Michael, flat on his back, was grinning like an idiot.

Drooling, babbling nonsense.

Eyes locked dreamily on Jack.

"Girl... heheh... beautiful flower girl..."

Arthur nearly dropped his gun.

He looked at Michael.

Then at Jack — still standing there in a tight pink dress, looking utterly miserable.

Arthur's face twisted into a devilish smirk.

"Well, Jack," he said, slapping him on the back.

"Didn't know you had such... appeal."

Jack's face turned an even deeper shade of red than his dress.

He raised a trembling fist, ready to send Michael straight to hell—

but Arthur grabbed his wrist just in time.

"Easy, easy! Don't kill the cash cow!"

Jack growled.

"I swear, Arthur, if you tell anyone about this—"

Arthur just laughed, shouldering Jack and dragging Michael's limp body toward the exit.

"Don't worry, brother."

He winked.

"Your secret's safe with me...

Tequila Jack."

[End of Chapter 64: Let Me Choose For You! Crazy?]