Conversation · Cuno
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"You heard Cuno -- Cuno wasn't even in Martinaise. Cuno wasn't in Revachol." He puffs himself up. "Cuno wasn't regional."
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The city's too large for him to have left. But he wasn't here either... So where was he?
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"Mesque, or... or I don't know. Some other place... Night City! Cuno was in fucking Night City."
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There is no Night City anywhere. That sounds like the name of a city in some pulp science fiction novel.
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"Cuno gives this info out on a need-to-know basis. And you don't need to know." He draws snot up his nose. "Cuno didn't smoke the gimp, if that's what you meant."
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"Why you gotta be riding Cuno's ass? You haven't been where Cuno's been. You haven't been in Cuno's head."
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"It's not fucking lame! Cuno's building Cuno's city -- Night City, Rage City, the City of Rage. That's it. And it's not lame!"
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"That's the name of Cuno's city, bitch! Get the fuck off Cuno's back. This shit ain't about that."
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What the hell is it about then? A city of toys? No, with this kid, it's probably made of cigarette butts. Or maybe sand and melting snow?
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This is a minor discovery. Don't let this Night City business clog up your mind. Proceed with your investigation. If it's really important, it will come up later.
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It's impossible to deduce what it is about, at least for the moment. If it's important, it'll come up later. Focus on the case.
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"Fucking Mesque, or I don't know. Some other place... Night City! Cuno was in fucking Night City."
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"Where's the rest of his armour? Besides his cuirass. I got that."
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"That fuck-gimp had one thing majorly wrong with him -- he's a fucking mutant."
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"Do you remember how he looked?! Fucking growth hormone shit. He's a giant. The armour's too big for any man."
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He drills his temples with his fingers in some strange, aggressive gesture. "Cuno doesn't give a shit about that freak armour. Cuno threw that shit away."
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Oh, come on. He's just pretending that he doesn't care because he's too small for the armour.
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- He drills his temples with his fingers in some strange, aggressive gesture. "Cuno doesn't give a shit about that freak armour. Cuno threw that shit away."
- He drills his temples with his fingers in some strange, aggressive gesture. "Cuno doesn't give a shit about that freak armour. Cuno threw that shit away."
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"Yeah, that shit means nothing to Cuno," he repeats. "Cuno doesn't give a shit about material shit. Cuno's a fucking monk!"
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"You wanna fuck on someone 'bout that armour? Go fuck the moustached Union fuck -- the jolly troubadour shit at the gates."
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"Cuno tried to get the helmet on. It was too big." He performs a kick-off on the imaginary helmet.
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"Get the fuck out of here, tryin'a fuck on me with that midget shit? Cuno's twelve! He's huge!" He squints at you.
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"What are you... fucking eighty? When Cuno's eighty, Cuno can fit four of you in Cuno! Fuck outta here!"
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"Yeah, Cock-in-Boots. You know that jolly Union cow fucker? Came around talking about cows or some shit. Came around pretendin' like he cares about cows."
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Yes, you met him at the gates. The one with the boots and the jolly smile.
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"Yeah, he's the one you wanna talk to. He's fucking crazy about that armour shit. Coming here, pretending like he likes cows, tryin'a catch a peep at Cuno's armour."
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- "So yeah, he's the one you wanna talk to. He's fucking crazy about that armour shit. Coming here, pretending like he likes cows, tryin'a catch a peep at Cuno's armour... Go to the gates -- ask him yourself."
- "Yeah, he's the one you wanna talk to. He's fucking crazy about that armour shit. Coming here, pretending like he likes cows, tryin'a catch a peep at Cuno's armour."
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"Yeah, Cuno's doing charity today. Cuno Day. Cuno feels sorry for you two loser-pigs. Cuno's doing pity now."
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Still, seems suspicious... He may have it in for that guy. Or you may be paranoid. That is also a possibility, sire.
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"Yeah, Cuno's doing charity today. Cuno Day. Cuno feels sorry for you, loser-pig. Cuno's doing pity now."