"Who the hell are you!"
"Are you looking for death!"
In the alley, several thugs shouted angrily.
In front of them, Mike's hand was crushed like noodles in the grip of the tall man, unable to move.
"I'm talking to you!
Let go of my hand if you don't want to get shot... Ah!!!"
Mike twisted his head, seeing Arnold causing the trouble.
He was furious, yelling curses and demanding the man release his hand, but before he could rant for two seconds, there was a loud crack.
His angry face twisted up, shrinking into a ball as his screams echoed through the street.
Arnold's hand, like a hawk's talon, squeezed tight.
Mike's forearm was snapped like a chocolate bar, bending into a horrifying angle.
"Damn it, he's serious!"
Dealing with life and death daily, the thugs had some sensitivity.
Seeing Arnold, in the strange protective suit, immediately resort to violence without talking much, they were both shocked and enraged.
They pulled out their guns, intending to shoot the meddlesome Monstrous Figure into a sieve.
"Go die!"
Mike, the thug leader, wailed as he fell.
Seven or eight pistols were pointed at Arnold's head, ready to pull the trigger, but Arnold moved faster than their fingers.
Swift as lightning, Arnold's bowl-sized fist plunged deep into one thug's abdomen.
His intestines twisted into a knot, and the immense pain made his eyes bulge.
With a retch, he vomited up his dinner mixed with stomach acid.
Without stopping, Arnold brought up a vicious gust of wind, turning to deliver a sweeping kick.
His log-like leg was heavy and powerful, instantly knocking two or three thugs to the ground, scattering the pistols they had just drawn.
When he stood still again, only the howling thugs remained on the ground.
"No, don't move, or I'll shoot, I really will shoot."
The last thug held up his pistol, trembling as he aimed at Arnold, his eyes full of panic.
Arnold looked at him, his gaze icy cold.
Clap.
The thug blinked in confusion.
When he came to his senses, the gun in his hand was gone.
Looking up, he saw Arnold opening his raised hand, and the crushed pistol clattered to the ground.
"Shit, a ghost!"
The thug screamed and turned to run.
The thugs lying on the ground were terrified by Arnold's display.
Enduring the pain, several of them helped pull each other up and ran away, afraid Arnold would smash their heads in the next second.
As expected of her creation.
Watching the fleeing thugs, Berry, controlling Arnold, felt extremely smug.
This level of strength was almost comparable to V's abilities in the mid-game.
And this was just a combat unit she managed to build despite her scarce resources, which the System only rated as [Rare Grade].
If she ever became wealthy and built a few [Legendary Grade] combat units, that would be incredible.
Wouldn't she instantly stand at the peak of Night City?
She would kill every person like Adam Smasher who came her way.
Full of joy, Berry controlled Arnold and prepared to leave.
But before walking away, she glanced over and saw something strange.
It was the young man who had just been bullied by the thugs.
He had crawled up, blood still streaming from his nose and mouth, but he refused to leave, watching Arnold with his swollen eyes.
Shouldn't someone who had just been rescued run home? Or go find a doctor?
Arnold stopped, his gaze cold as he looked at the young man.
The silence was intensely oppressive.
"...Thank you for saving me, but I can't leave..."
Seeing Arnold halt, the young man guessed it was because of him.
Covering his nose, he explained, "They went to find their gang boss, Lauren.
They'll come back, and they know where I live.
If I run away, Lauren will skin my family alive."
Looking at the young man's weak eyes, Berry was speechless.
She never expected this to be the reason.
Was it cowardice? Or incompetence?
That he couldn't even accept being rescued without worrying about potential retaliation?
Maybe it was all of those things, but Berry felt it was mostly helplessness, numbness, and endless compromise with a hellish life born of desperation.
Although she thought all this internally, Arnold's external expression remained stiff and serious, without the slightest change.
Arnold moved.
He kicked up a pistol with his foot, picked it up, and threw it to the young man.
The young man awkwardly hugged the received gun, looking up at Arnold, unsure what the silent giant meant.
Was he telling him to fight back with the gun, or telling this poor wretch to just end his own life?
But Arnold offered no explanation, simply turning to leave.
"Wait!" The young man quickly spoke up, and Arnold's departing footsteps stopped.
"Um, thank you, and also, your clothes are ripped." The young man's voice trailed off.
Arnold looked down.
Sure enough, the protective suit he had casually thrown on in the repair bay had a large tear running from the armpit down to the thigh, exposing most of his clean white buttocks to the air.
In the silence, the atmosphere became somewhat comical.
Taking off the upper half and tying the two sleeves tightly around his waist, Arnold resumed walking.
A man can go shirtless, but he absolutely cannot expose his rear end.
This was Berry's final bottom line, as a big man.
However, since she had gone this far, she might as well finish the job.
It wasn't pity for the young man, but Berry wouldn't feel satisfied unless she resolved the matter completely.
Following the footprints of the fleeing thugs, Arnold walked back to the street.
The street was still deserted, with only a Homeless man warming himself by a trash can fire.
The hurried footprints led all the way across the street to a bar flashing with neon lights.
As Arnold approached, the dull thump of disco music faintly reached him.
This was a familiar location: the famous Lizzy Bar, territory of the Moxes.
Under the massive Lizzy Bar sign across the street, and in front of the entrance, were two punk girls with baseball bats and hair tied in buns.
Everything was just like in the game.
She hadn't actually been to Lizzy Bar in reality.
In the few months she had been in Night City, besides Wolf Bar and a few other taverns she had visited with V and Jackie, Berry had never been to a nightclub-style bar like this.
The reason was melodramatic: her appearance was simply too eye-catching.
Clean and beautiful, with no visible cyberware, she was a symbol of a rich family.
Only wealthy, traditional families would allow their children to endure the inconveniences of life without installing any cyberware, because money could solve all their problems.
An ignorant, rich girl who stumbled into a nightclub—a girl whose eyes practically screamed "large stacks of cash"—that was how nightclub hunters assessed Berry, making them eager to make a move.
She could hardly remember how many women at Wolf Bar had tried to coax her into going to a hotel, ranging from street punks to corporate white-collar sisters.
Of course, they usually ended up being thrown out onto the street by V and Jackie.
If her own usual haunt was like that, Berry was afraid that if she went to another nightclub, she would be drunk and hauled away by some malicious older sister in less than half an hour.
Why only women? Because Berry had genuine male aesthetics, only women had the potential to trick her into bed.
Now, however, it was convenient to drop by, drag out those thugs, and knock the teeth out of their boss.
Maybe she could also find Arnold a new outfit, since buying one at the supermarket cost money, and getting something ready-made was preferable.
Arnold took large strides toward Lizzy Bar.