Interdimensional Scientist, Starting from Cyberpunk

[TN:Change Golden kid to Golden Child, last chapter has been changed to reflect this change]

Leo had never heard of this so-called "Golden Children" nonsense. It sounded like just another bottom-tier urban legend floating around the streets.

But in Night City, urban horror stories are often rooted in reality, like Arasaka's Soulkiller. So, he decided to hear Bryce out.

In 2076, Europe is a land obsessed with class. Ironically, in such a hyper-technological era, the word "nobility" has become even more powerful.

One of the big players — Britain — had a lot to do with this shift. After the Corporate Wars and an economic collapse, the UK experienced a major fragmentation, followed by plagues and societal unrest.

To crush the chaos, a brutal agency called the Martial Authority Bureau was formed. It wiped out the rebellion with total force and transformed the police into a militarized surveillance arm of the state.

The crackdown was so extreme it bordered on 110% control — not just physically, but mentally. Media manipulation, thought crimes, propaganda — even voicing dissent could get you "handled."

And that went for the Royal Family too. King Charles was executed without due cause.

Of course, media spin turned it into a "heroic cleansing of feudalism," celebrating the Bureau for removing the monarchy's "last cancerous remnants."

But in truth, the Royal Family had surviving heirs overseas. MI6 hunted them down but failed — and the Bureau never realized it.

By 2016, the underground resistance found out. The Royal Standard flew once more, and the people of the UK, long crushed under martial rule, rose again.

They overthrew the Bureau, reinstated the monarchy, and crowned Queen Victoria II in Westminster Abbey.

She knighted supportive corporations and former Bureau officials who had defected, passed sweeping privatization acts, and rebuilt the nation into the modern British Empire.

The Martial Authority Bureau vanished, and in its place rose a new nobility, alongside the restored old one.

To the public, this union of "old money" and "new corpos" was how the people finally defeated tyranny.

Bryce, as a network watchdog for the Corps, knew the full story — and it made his skin crawl.

"In short," he said, "the old nobles were the landowners and dynasties. The new nobles were the megacorps. They married each other, combined bloodlines, assets, and influence. Out came the rulers of this new Gilded Age: the so-called Golden Children."

Then he lowered his voice, brows furrowed.

"But there's another version of the story — the darker one. The one no one likes to talk about."

"The rebellion only succeeded because the same companies and elites that backed the Bureau pulled their support at the last second. The so-called 'heroes' who saved the people were the same ones who caused the suffering in the first place."

"They just rebranded. Took off the uniform and put on a crown. Now they're adored nobles. But their hands are just as soaked in blood."

The high-ranking decision-makers betrayed the Bureau to save themselves. The ones who died? Just grunts and foot soldiers.

These execs became new royals — Golden Children.

"Sounds like a conspiracy theory," Leo muttered. "So why are you telling me this?"

He pointed at the wall — outside this room were high-grade signal disruptors. Not enough to shut Bryce's gear down outright, but enough to forge activity logs, tricking his corp into thinking he was still interrogating Lucas.

This kind of spoofing tech took elite-level cyberware and deep surveillance knowledge — lucky for Leo, he had it all. His Raven Micronode chip was top-tier, his drives reverse-engineered from the Watchdogs, and his gear came from the Wormhook Gang's black vault.

Bryce paused and said grimly:

"We're banned from talking about this stuff inside the agency. But off the record? Everyone knows the rumors. They want everything. They're not just playing the game. They're trying to own the damn board."

"You lose a company war, you lose cash, rep, or your life. They lose a company, that's it."

He turned to Leo again.

"In Europe, you can't even joke about these people. The public loves them. Worships them."

Leo scratched his head. "That counts as criticism? Sounds wild."

"What if someone talked trash about them like folks do about that slimeball Mayor Ryan?"

"You can say it in private. But if you post it online..."—Bryce made a slicing motion across his throat—"They'll come for you. I've done it myself."

Of course, the charges are never labeled "talking smack about Golden Children." The law is cleaner than that.

"At first, I thought I was just hunting elite criminals. Took a while before I saw the pattern."

He glanced down at the shredded corpse of the sniper, face clouded.

"This guy was tough. I really wonder why he took that hit. Guess I'll never find out."

Was the Golden Child real? Bryce didn't even know. But if he was... why did this man kill him and his son?

Did it matter? They were all dead now.

Leo looked down at the corpse, too. In another life, maybe they could've shared a drink.

"Wait," Leo asked, "If the Golden Child is just a myth, how do you know that's who he killed?"

"We Watchdogs get special access. Intelligence perks." Bryce tapped his temple. "Plus a bit of logic and paranoia."

"Did you know Royal Enfield, Heckler & Koch, Beretta, and Rheinmetall are all part of the same corporate group?"

"That group produces twice as many weapons as Militech and Arasaka combined — and no one knows it."

"I can't confirm the myth. But if it's true... I've seen a few Golden Children myself."

"And because of that, I got locked in therapy for three years."

"How'd you get out?"

"I asked for reassignment to Blackwall maintenance in Night City. Why do you think I'm always flaming those Voodoo dumbasses?"

"So... you didn't get out."

Bryce walked to the wall and stared at a graffiti-covered spot: a Sixth Street tag, colored like the American flag. Below it:

"2nd Amendment — Defend Your Rights!"

But what if people stopped defending? What if they bowed, handed over everything?

Bryce sighed, then slammed his fist against his head.

"Got a cig?"

Leo didn't smoke, but this was an old Sixth Street safehouse, and sure enough, there was a half-pack in a drawer.

"Lucky day. Just make sure your logs don't sync up weird. You've got encryption, right?"

He tossed Bryce the pack. The flame flickered on his face. No longer tired — just... empty.

Leo could tell. That look hid something deeper.

Bryce took a long drag.

"Before I came here, I thought this city was a shithole. Just wanted to escape all the brainwashing and monitoring back home."

"But... it's not all bad."

"Give me 20 seconds to finish this."

He only needed one drag. One pull, and the cigarette burned down to the butt — and with it, whatever anger or confusion he had.

"Sometimes I think I've adjusted to life here. Not sure which is worse — this mess, or the Voodoo Boys."

"But at least taking them down stabilizes the Blackwall. Feels like my work means something here. I think I like it."

Leo grinned.

"Didn't think you were the idealist type."

"You know there's a saying in Night City: No one leaves unless they're zipped in a body bag."

"Welcome to the city. You're one of us now."

Bryce blinked, surprised.

"Funny. Ryan told me to pass that same line to you someday. Guess it's official."

"Now, let's move on to the second thing."