I had too many ideas on how Armstrong would view the Cyberpunk universe and this is one of many random dialogues and actions I had for him.
Just pushing this out here.
Chapter 1:
David Martinez walked aimlessly through the morning sunlight of Night City, his mother's worn EMT jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. The weight of it, both physical and emotional, pressed down on him. The call from Arasaka Academy still rang in his ears—expelled for attacking a student, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered now. With rent overdue, no job, and no family left… His eyes glazed over as he trudged along the cracked pavement, passing soulless buildings and the occasional flicker of neon.
It wasn't until a voice called out that he snapped to attention.
"Now that's something you don't see every day, especially on someone your age."
David stopped, his gaze narrowing at the bulky man before him. The stranger had a roundish head, with sharp gray eyes behind thin glasses. His slicked-back black hair, peppered with white, gave him an air of experience. The dark suit and polished shoes screamed corpo. But it wasn't just the suit that set David on edge—it was the man's knowing stare, locked onto the implant on the back of his neck. He'd spotted it, the Sandevistan.
"What are you talking about?" David muttered, trying to keep his tone even.
"The Sandevistan," the man said with a slight smile, adjusting his glasses. "Military grade from what I've heard. Expensive. I wonder... where did a kid like you get that kind of tech?"
David's muscles tensed instinctively. He knew the implant was a magnet for attention, but this? This guy looked like someone who could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. And in this part of the city, where corpos rarely ventured, his presence felt all the more menacing.
"This? I got it from..." David's voice trailed off, and in an instant, he activated the Sandevistan.
Everything slowed down. The world around him became a blur of muted colors as David bolted, his feet pounding the pavement with a desperate speed. He turned sharply into a nearby alleyway, hoping to lose the man in the maze of Night City's backstreets. He glanced over his shoulder—empty. His pulse began to steady, relief trickling in.
Then, out of nowhere, the man blurred into view, effortlessly cutting ahead and blocking the alleyway.
David let out a gasp as he stumbled, skidding across the concrete. How the hell had this guy moved faster than his Sandevistan?
"Impressive speed," the man remarked, stepping forward and casting a long shadow over David. "But not fast enough. Is this really the cutting-edge experimental tech of the future? Back in my day, we had better toys."
David's eyes widened. His day? What was this guy talking about? But before he could process, his back hit the cold brick wall behind him. He was cornered. Outrun. Trapped. Still, if the man wanted a fight, David wasn't going to just roll over.
"Hey, back off! I don't have any problem with you!" David shouted, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
The man didn't even acknowledge his words, snorting dismissively as he kept advancing. David felt his pulse spike, and without thinking, he reactivated his Sandevistan. Time slowed again, and in one fluid motion, David threw a punch, aiming directly for the man's gut.
His fist connected—hard—but instead of the satisfying impact of flesh giving way, it felt like punching solid iron. Pain shot through David's knuckles, then up his arm, the shock of it snapping him out of the Sandevistan's effects. Before he could react, the man's enormous hand clamped around his wrist, the pressure enough to make his joints scream in protest. He had him, like a fly in a web.
"You've got spirit, kid. I like that."
With a casual motion, the man lifted David off the ground like a ragdoll. For a brief, terrifying moment, David dangled in the air, his feet kicking at nothing. Then, with a laugh, the man set him back on his feet, brushing the dirt from David's jacket as if they were old friends.
"Hahaha! You'll need more than a gilded, so-called military implant to survive in my world," the man continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. "But I can tell—you've got potential."
David winced as the man's hand gripped his shoulder, hard enough to remind him who was in control, but not enough to harm. The man stared down at him, as if sizing him up. Then, with a wide, almost predatory grin, he leaned down so that his face was level with David's.
"The name's Armstrong. Steven Armstrong. Former Senator of Colorado." His tone shifted, becoming smoother, almost... enticing. "Down on your luck, huh? No family? No future? This city chewed you up, spit you out. Hell, I know that empty look—deep down, you hate the corporations that run this place. You hate this broken world, don't you?"
"Uhh…" David blinked, his brain spinning. Was this guy serious? He barely noticed when Armstrong's grip loosened, the man's hand moving to pull something from his suit jacket.
"Wanna see this world burned down? Rebuilt into something... better?" Armstrong asked in a low voice.
David, still dazed from the encounter, nodded before he could stop himself. "Yeah...?"
Armstrong's grin widened like a jackal's. "Good answer, kid."
"Oof!"
With a heavy, celebratory pat on the back that nearly knocked the wind out of him, Armstrong shoved something into David's hand—a business card. David glanced at it, blinking in confusion.
The golden letters read: Steven Armstrong, CEO of World Marshal Inc.
"Welcome aboard!" Armstrong declared with a booming laugh. "Consider yourself hired! CEO material right there."
David's vision blurred for a second from the force of the pat, his mind trying to catch up with the insanity unfolding in front of him. He looked down at the card again, then back up at Armstrong, bewildered.
"Huh?"
The boy is unlucky, I mean, lucky, to be recruited by Armstrong himself.