After taking on a few more jobs, both big and small, Arthur finally had some breathing room.
He'd been spending most of his time near the Northside Industrial District, searching for the original host's father. But when he followed the memories back to that damned house, he found it long abandoned.
The original host's mental state had been fragile for a long time. He was a recluse, shutting himself away in a dark little room, completely cut off from the world.
Because of that, Arthur's inherited memories held very few useful clues.
He wasn't looking for the man out of hatred, but the unknown drug still lingering in his body was a threat he couldn't ignore. He needed answers.
Luckily, more than half a month had passed, and Arthur's condition was steadily improving.
Now he sat at the table in his studio apartment. In front of him, a half-smoked cigar rested across the rim of a glass of clear liquor, thin wisps of smoke rising into the air.
The food of this era was still nearly inedible, but liquor and tobacco had made real progress.
Just as he was enjoying his quiet moment of relaxation, a ding... ding... echoed in his head.
An incoming call—Vik.
"Vik, what's up?"
"Got a job for you. A young guy needs some help. Come over."
"A young guy you know? Now I'm interested."
"Haha, just come. I don't have many friends these days. You two should meet."
Arthur hung up, knocked back the whiskey, pulled on his coat, tipped his gambler's hat low, and headed for Vik's clinic.
The sky was darkening, but that only meant Night City was waking up. In the distance, great pillars of light pierced the clouds, glowing with the brilliance only the megacorps could afford.
Watson didn't have the dazzling displays of the southern districts, but its streets were far from quiet. Shadows, voices, and noise blended into a constant, chaotic hum.
Vik's clinic, though, never cared about day or night.
When Arthur stepped inside, he immediately spotted Vik's back. The ripperdoc sat at the edge of the operating chair, facing away from the door.
Hearing the entrance open, Vik turned his head. When he saw Arthur, a smile spread across his face as he walked over.
"Not a bad look—like an old cowboy. Just ignore that baby face of yours."
Arthur noticed a huge figure wedged into the operating chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"So, this is your new friend."
Several mechanical arms hovered around the man's shoulder—he was clearly injured.
"Jackie Welles, a big guy from Heywood. Met him at the boxing gym."
Vik introduced him, then turned to explain Arthur's situation.
"This one's Arthur Morgan—the unlucky bastard who escaped the Scavs."
Jackie's small eyes narrowed on Arthur from his broad, heavyset face.
"Hola. Hey there, brother. Don't let me sitting here fool you—I can handle myself."
Arthur studied him in return. His round face gave him a kind, approachable look. His forehead was shaved in a circular patch, and at the back he wore a tied-up bun. Odd, but not bad.
"Jackie, right? Vik says you've got trouble and need a hand."
Jackie lifted his good arm, pointing at his injured shoulder with a wry smile.
"Yeah, got set up. Took a hit here. Asked Vik to find me someone reliable."
His voice suited his frame—low, heavy, and rough.
"What kind of job? I've got time for a score."
Arthur leaned against the wall, curious.
"It's a big one. Payout's over three hundred grand—we split it fifty-fifty."
Arthur frowned. Three hundred grand was serious money—and a scam was always a risk.
Instead of voicing it, he glanced at Vik.
Their eyes met. Vik smiled, walked over, and patted Arthur's shoulder.
"The job's your business, not mine. But you're both my friends. Tonight, you're treating me to a proper meal. Get to know each other."
Vik hadn't said it outright, but Arthur understood—
Jackie was trustworthy. Whether Jackie himself was being conned was another matter.
The mechanical arms retracted. Jackie heaved himself out of the cramped chair.
He instinctively tried to lift his shoulder, but hissed and let it fall—the pain was real.
"Duele... damn, that hurts. Vik, you said I'd heal fast."
Jackie's exaggerated grimace made Vik chuckle.
"Fast doesn't mean instant. Come on, let's grab a place to eat."
Watson had plenty of small joints, and as an old-timer, Vik quickly found a decent one.
"Food and drinks—talk business while you're at it. That's how brothers bond. A couple drinks, and nothing stays unsaid."
Vik led the way inside, picking a quiet corner.
The three sat down.
The food had that plasticky taste of synthetic meat, but with enough drinks, who cared?
Between bites, talk turned back to the gig.
"Heywood. My turf. The Padre there set it up."
That old man was ruthless, but he always looked out for his own. The risks were always made clear.
Padre. Vik had given Arthur his contact info before, but Arthur had never reached out.
"I gotta ask—who's putting up so much cash that we still walk away with three hundred grand?"
Arthur swallowed his bite and asked.
"Company business. You know how it is.
The suits upstairs spend all day picking fights—one side strikes, the other hits back later. So they keep their own dogs on the side."
"What, one of the company's dogs bit another?"
Arthur asked.
Jackie brightened, eager to explain.
"Exactly. Word is, the Tyger Claws working under Arasaka's boys grabbed something from Biotechnica and planned to smuggle it to Arasaka.
Biotechnica caught wind and wants it back. But without proof, they turned to the Tyger Claws' sworn enemy—Padre's crew."
"So Biotechnica drops three hundred grand, hires you guys to hit Arasaka. That's a bargain."
Vik chimed in.
"Not quite. We're only dealing with Tyger Claws' foot soldiers. Arasaka won't show their hand—Biotechnica's not someone you mess with."
Jackie downed his glass in one gulp.
"When's it happening? Count me in. Time to pay off what I owe Vik."
Arthur's words made Vik chuckle. He gave him a light punch on the shoulder.
"Don't dump this on me. Just stay alive. Forget about the money.
Not even Arasaka's worth more than a friend."
On that, they all agreed. Friends were priceless.
They clinked glasses, grinning at each other before bursting into laughter.
"To brothers, to friendship, to friends."
The words stumbled unevenly, but the meaning was the same.
Jackie wiped his mouth, then clapped Arthur hard on the shoulder.
"Bro,tienes apetito por mí (you're my kind of guy). Tomorrow we move—time to claim our three hundred grand."
Arthur was already starting to like him. He grinned, giving Jackie a friendly pat in return.
"No problem. With your size, I'll be curious to see you in action.
And what's with that bird talk you throw in sometimes? I can't make sense of it."
Jackie's smile never left his face. His cheeks flushed with drink, giving him a strangely endearing look.
"Old tongue—Spanish. Don't blame me, but without slipping in a few words, I can't even talk right."
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser