Rita left quickly, leaving Arthur alone in the room with Judy, who was still lazily staring at the monitor.
Without even looking at him, she said nonchalantly,
"So, you're Susie's mistress, right?"
Arthur opened his mouth to say something but instantly froze, feeling like a rooster at a street market getting its neck grabbed.
Suddenly, he hated Night City's "say it straight" attitude.
"I'm just an old customer of the bar, okay?!" Arthur said indignantly.
"Don't go around spreading nonsense about mistresses. I have a wife and kid, thank you very much."
"Eh? A serious person?" Judy spun her chair around casually and grinned at him.
"What a pity. There aren't any serious people in Night City.
Among the people partying out there, I'd say 80% are married or have kids."
Arthur casually pulled over a chair and sat down.
He sighed and got down to business.
"Today, I had a little... medical consultation with an old guy.
Turns out, he had a Mewtwo recording device strapped to him.
Now, considering he's a cyberpsycho, I figured his daily life must be, uh... colorful."
Arthur leaned back.
"I thought maybe I'd take a look at his vibrant life.
And I bet a lot of the city's... toilets would be very interested too."
"I want you to edit it—make sure I don't miss anything valuable.
If I can sell it, maybe I can cover his medical bills.
You know how cyberpsycho treatment costs go—higher than the garbage mountains outside the city."
The "toilets" Arthur mentioned referred to the pleasure-chasing lunatics of Night City—
gangsters like the Maelstrom crew, who'd shove anything into their brains just for a buzz,
even if it meant boiling their own grey matter into soup.
Judy snorted, clearly amused.
Originally, she thought this would be another annoying trivial job.
But now...
A real cyberpsycho's Mewtwo data?
Now that's interesting.
In Night City, cyberpsychos were legally supposed to be captured and shipped straight to labs for "research" purposes.
Whether they made it alive to those labs was... another matter.
Most ended up ventilated full of bullets before a lab could even sniff them.
"Alright," Judy said, nodding.
"Sounds interesting. Plug in and send it over."
She pointed at a nearby device.
Arthur got up, pulled the data cable from his wrist, and connected it.
The data transfer was quick.
As soon as it was done, Arthur wiped the original from his own memory bank—
He wasn't about to let a cyberpsycho brain-virus infect his good looks and charming attitude.
He made a mental note to visit Victor later for a good antivirus sweep.
Better safe than sorry.
Meanwhile, Judy had already imported the Mewtwo data and was syncing it to her rig.
She slipped the Mewtwo headset onto her head, and instantly went still.
Arthur leaned back in the chair, quietly smoking, waiting.
He wasn't worried.
He was a Night City veteran.
He knew how Mewtwo worked.
A brief technical explanation:
In the world of Cyberpunk, almost everyone has a brain-computer interface and a neural processor.
These are directly wired to the central nervous system, used to control cyberware and implants.
Every thought, every sensation—everything routes through the processor.
Likewise, all incoming sensations—touch, heat, pain—get routed back to the brain.
One genius in 2007 had a crazy idea:
What if you record all that input?
Then play it back into someone else's processor?
You could literally make someone else feel another person's life.
Thus, the Mewtwo technology was born.
By 2077, it had become insanely advanced.
Mewtwo wasn't a movie you watched.
It was a memory you lived.
A few minutes later, Judy yanked off the Mewtwo headset with a visible shudder.
Her face twisted like she had just bitten into something cooked by a school cafeteria lady—
the kind of mystery meat that could still move.
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
That's weird.
Judy was a pro.
She had seen it all—
blood, guts, messed-up dark fantasies.
What could possibly rattle her?
"How was it?" Arthur asked cautiously.
Judy didn't speak immediately.
Instead, she grabbed a cigarette, stuck it between her lips with shaking fingers, and lit it.
She inhaled deeply like her life depended on it.
Only after exhaling a long stream of smoke did she finally speak.
"Arthur! Where the hell did you get that data from?" she cursed.
"At least 90% of the footage was your b*****d brother waving around his 'Little Steel Cannon' that's way bigger than mine—just pissing all over the place!"
"If there weren't a few scenes of actual killing and useful items in there, I swear I'd have shot you already."
Arthur scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
Can you blame me?
How was he supposed to know his patient brother spent his entire Mewtwo recording showing off his, uh... equipment?
Of course, Judy wasn't really angry.
Deep down, she was trembling not because of the "urination saga,"
but because of what she'd seen in those Mewtwo combat scenes.
Arthur's "fellow patient" had terrifying strength.
Insane reaction speeds, ridiculous durability.
Even the best cyberpsychos Judy had heard about didn't move like that.
And the worst part?
There were signs that Arthur himself had gone toe-to-toe with that monster... and won easily.
Judy sat there silently for a long moment, absorbing the reality.
If Arthur ever lost control—
forget about calling the NCPD or the MaxTac squads—
You'd better pray to whatever god was still listening,
because no one was surviving that.
In Night City, only one species had true freedom:
Cockroaches.
Because even after nuclear war, cyberpsychosis, and corporate collapse—
cockroaches still thrived.
And if Arthur ever snapped...
praying to be a cockroach might just be your best bet.