The NCPD operator quickly slammed down the phone, grabbed the incident report, and sprinted straight for the director's office.
"Director! We have a situation you might want to handle personally!"
The director, a completely bald man with visible stress lines, looked up tiredly.
He scratched his gleaming scalp — a clear sign he was at least trying to do his job, a rare thing among Night City's brass.
In a city where gunfire was background noise, hair loss wasn't just common — it was practically mandatory.
He lazily picked up the file, scanned it, then blinked, confused.
"...You're telling me... there's someone actually paying taxes in Taipingzhou?"
The operator nodded solemnly.
"And now," he continued, "he's under attack by multiple cyberpsychos. He wants protection."
The director stared at him blankly for a moment.
Then, slowly, methodically, he scratched the back of his head — almost yanking out the last three hairs still hanging on.
"...Are you kidding me? Cyberpsychos attacking a taxpayer in broad daylight?"
"Yes, Director."
The director slammed the file down.
"Damn it! We can't ignore this! Send the Terrorist Mobile Team over there right now!"
"Uh—yes, Director!" The operator hesitated, blinking. "But...sir... it's Taipingzhou..."
"And?!" the director barked.
The operator had no choice but to nod, but inside he was screaming.
Since when did anyone in NCPD care about taxpayers?
Since when did anyone in NCPD do their damn jobs?
Normally, their policy was: hear gunfire, drink coffee faster.
As he turned to leave, the director suddenly called out:
"Wait!"
The operator stopped mid-step.
"Make sure they handle the taxpayer too. Quietly."
The operator swallowed hard.
Ah. There it is.
NCPD wasn't protecting anyone.
They were just cleaning up problems.
Two bullets, one tax refund saved.
"Yes, sir..." he said stiffly, and left to deliver the kill order.
Meanwhile, back in Taipingzhou, Arthur was still hiding behind his borrowed Sword in the Stone, casually firing a few shots over the hood for show.
Lucy sat beside him, cigarette trembling between her lips.
"You..." she muttered, "you actually called the NCPD?"
Arthur reloaded his pistol with casual grace and fired another two shots toward the distant muzzle flashes.
"Of course," he said matter-of-factly.
"I pay taxes. Isn't it normal to call the police when there's a problem?"
Lucy was so stunned she couldn't even formulate a proper insult.
The logic was — technically — correct.
But in Night City, calling the police was like asking a shark for swimming lessons.
It just wasn't done.
"Relax," Arthur said, grinning.
"I even have an old acquaintance there. She'll definitely come help."
Lucy stared at him, completely torn between punching him and running away screaming.
Arthur's words always sounded half-truthful, half-crazy — and somehow, both.
"You're insane," Lucy said flatly.
Arthur shrugged.
"And if being sane means dying broke in this dump, I'd rather stay insane."
"Bang bang bang!"
More gunfire ripped through the air.
Arthur calmly stood up, activated his time-delay prosthetic enhancement, and neatly shot three Voodoo Boys in the legs from 100 meters away.
Blood sprayed in artistic arcs across the ruined street.
Then he calmly crouched back down, switched off his enhancement, and dusted himself off.
Lucy stared at him like he had grown another head.
"You could... actually win this fight," she said in disbelief.
Arthur shrugged again.
"Sure. But why bother? Let someone else do the heavy lifting."
He smiled mischievously.
"Besides, if I go on a massacre, the city'll just slap a 'cyberpsycho' sticker on my ass and send Melissa and her goons after me."
Lucy sighed, half exhausted, half resigned.
Great.
Her fate now depended on the mood of an insane capitalist cyberpunk.
At that moment, a booming voice rang out from down the street:
"Arthur! You damn bastard! Come out and surrender now!
Otherwise, I'll shove your head up your own ass!"
Arthur didn't even look up.
He knew exactly who it was.
Placid.
A hulking, roided-out brute.
One of the few Voodoo Boys who thought biceps mattered more than hacking skills.
Arthur tapped his cigarette against the car door and muttered:
"Placide... the overgrown meathead. Still alive, huh? Figures."
He raised his voice and shouted back:
"Placid! I heard you're selling chicken legs these days!
Told you back then — with a physique like a delayed-action butcher, that's the perfect career path!"
The Voodoo Boys around Placid snickered.
The big man's face turned purple with rage.
Arthur grinned wickedly and continued:
"By the way, after this is over, save me two kilos, alright?
Been too long since I had real meat!"
Placid's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked audibly.
"You reinforcements aren't coming, Arthur!" he roared.
"You just got back to Night City! Who the hell would help you now?
You gonna cry to the NCPD?"
All the Voodoo Boys around him burst out laughing.
The NCPD?
Coming to Taipingzhou?
In their dreams!
They laughed so hard a few of them had to lean against walls to catch their breath.
Lucy, meanwhile, was dead serious.
She tugged on Arthur's sleeve.
"...Are they wrong?" she whispered.
Arthur chuckled, flicked his cigarette away, and winked.
"Wrong? Oh, they're about to find out just how wrong they are."
He cracked his knuckles and smiled with all the casual arrogance of a man who truly believed calling the cops was a legitimate survival plan in Night City.