Arthur Vale tightened his grip on the Tsutomu pseudo-weapon.
The name sounded terrifying—"golden immortal great weapon of mass destruction"—but in reality, it was little more than a heavy, flashy metal tool. Still, it was the only thing he had when he woke up in this world. That alone made it priceless.
Right now, Arthur was crouching behind a dented street trash can in a narrow alley, staring at the madness in front of him with wide, confused eyes.
A gang fight had erupted without warning.
Metal pipes clashed. A cheap pistol fired wildly. Someone screamed. Someone laughed.
In the middle of it all stood a blonde punk youth, holding his ground against three attackers. He fought like someone who had nothing to lose.
The blonde suddenly reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of white powder, and threw it forward. The dust exploded into the air.
"The simple folk of Night City… I bloody love this city!"
Arthur quietly slid two steps backward.
He had no intention of becoming part of the scenery when blood started flying.
The fight had already turned into a chaotic melee. As an ordinary man with average reflexes and no combat training, Arthur knew better than to play hero.
A cool breeze brushed his face.
Above him, neon lights shimmered in pink and blue waves across cracked concrete and rusted steel. Night City looked beautiful from a distance. Up close, it smelled like oil, sweat, and gunpowder.
Arthur waited.
Then—
Sirens.
The sharp wail of approaching patrol vehicles echoed through the street.
The punks froze. Thirty seconds later, they scattered like roaches under bright light.
Even the blonde youth, while retreating, grabbed an empty soda bottle and hurled it back for good measure.
"Clang!"
Silence returned.
Arthur slowly stood up. His legs tingled from squatting too long. He shook them lightly, then picked up his Tsutomu pseudo-weapon.
He had survived his first witnessed gang fight in Night City.
He should leave.
Immediately.
At that exact moment—
A cold mechanical hand gripped his shoulder.
Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin.
He turned his head slowly.
An officer from the Night City Police Department stood behind him, face unreadable beneath augmented optics.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Arthur swallowed.
"We suspect you were involved in gang violence. Put down the weapon and raise your hands. Any resistance will be treated as assault."
Arthur looked down at the so-called weapon in his hand.
He slowly raised both arms.
"Officer… have you ever seen someone use this in a gang fight?"
The officer nodded seriously.
"Yes. Especially the violent ones."
Arthur: "…"
---
The Longest Night
He was detained.
No interrogation.
No explanation.
Just processed and thrown into a holding cell.
Arthur sat on a metal bench and stared at the wall for hours.
He had transmigrated into Night City—a world from Cyberpunk 2077—and before he even found food, he had already experienced police custody.
This city wastes no time.
The next morning, when he approached the desk—mostly to ask about breakfast—he was shoved out the main entrance.
Case closed.
No apology.
No compensation.
Arthur stood outside, sunlight reflecting off glass towers in the distance.
His stomach growled loudly.
He needed food.
He needed information.
He needed a plan.
He took two steps forward.
Then he saw them.
A group of men across the street were waving at him.
Smiling.
Friendly.
Arthur felt his spine tighten.
In Night City, strangers did not wave like that without reason.
They started walking toward him.
And leading them—
The blonde youth from last night.
The same one who fought three people alone.
Arthur immediately considered running back into the NCPD building.
Too late.
A hand gripped his shoulder again.
Was shoulder-grabbing the official greeting of this city?
"Hooking arms is popular now?" Arthur asked stiffly.
The blonde blinked.
"Brother Arthur, what are you saying?"
Brother?
Arthur kept his expression neutral.
"You need something?" he asked calmly, glancing meaningfully toward the NCPD entrance behind him.
The message was clear: Are you sure you want trouble right here?
The blonde looked offended.
"Brother Arthur! Yesterday our Destiny Church benefited so much from your morale! We never fell behind because of you!"
Arthur froze internally.
Destiny Church?
Morale boost?
He said nothing.
"We couldn't stop the NCPD from taking you," the blonde continued. "But you can't pretend not to know us!"
Arthur's mind began connecting pieces.
So he wasn't arrested randomly.
He was associated with them.
Worse—
"Brother Arthur," the blonde said proudly, "you are the current leader of our Destiny Church."
Arthur nearly lost balance.
Leader?
Of what sounded dangerously close to a gang?
If someone told him next that he personally founded this organization, he might faint.
He rubbed his temple.
"Let's eat first," Arthur said evenly. "And remind me your name. The NCPD interrogation last night scrambled my head."
The blonde clenched his fists.
"They dared to interrogate you brutally? Those bastards! When I get stronger, I'll avenge you!"
Arthur forced patience.
"Name."
"I'm Bain. Bane Gestalt. Just call me Bain!"
At least that was straightforward.
Bain leaned closer.
"Brother Arthur, everything we have today is thanks to you. When we get back, the brothers are waiting for you to inspect their cyberware."
Arthur's heartbeat skipped.
Cyberware?
Inspect?
Repair?
His face remained calm, but inside—
I don't know how to repair cyberware.
"And after that," Bain added excitedly, "we should celebrate! Maybe find some girls for you to relax. You look pale."
Arthur stared at the sky.
He thinks I'm unwell and suggests that? This guy's brain must be overheating.
But the information was valuable.
From Bain's tone, Arthur understood something critical.
He wasn't just a random gang member.
He was important.
Respected.
Technically skilled.
Which meant—
He was likely a ripperdoc.
A cyberware specialist.
Someone who installed and repaired implants.
That explained their trust.
That explained the "Brother Arthur."
There was just one problem.
He had no idea how to fix cyberware.
None.
Zero.
Not even theory.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
Night City hummed around him—engines roaring, advertisements shouting, neon signs flickering promises of pleasure and power.
This was a city where the weak were consumed.
Where ignorance was fatal.
Where hesitation meant death.
He had already been arrested once.
He had already been declared a gang leader.
Now he was expected to perform high-risk technical surgery on augmented humans.
Arthur forced a faint smile.
"Lead the way, Bain."
If this was his identity in Night City—
He would adapt.
He would observe.
He would survive.
Because in this city, survival wasn't about strength.
It was about learning faster than everyone else.
Under the neon glow, Arthur Vale stepped forward for the first time as the so-called leader of the Destiny Church.
And deep down, he understood one thing clearly—
Welcome to Night City. The city doesn't care if you're ready.