The plan was set, and the two wasted no time before putting it into motion.
But just before departure, a call came through Arthur's neural link.
It was Wakako Okada—likely with a job for him.
Arthur answered, ready to refuse, but after hearing the details, he swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
"A businessman's daughter has been kidnapped by the Scavengers at one of their hideouts. Well, not truly wealthy—just a mid-level corporate executive.
The poor father scraped together 100,000 eddies and came to me, desperate to get his daughter back.
I thought about it. This sort of work requires someone steady, and you're the right fit. That's why I'm asking you.
One hundred thousand eddies is all he can manage. Spend it however you like. All he wants is to see his daughter alive."
Arthur listened carefully, then something occurred to him.
"You said… where exactly are they holding her?"
"In a Ripperdoc clinic in Kabuki. Funny, isn't it? In this damned city, nine out of ten clinics are run by Scavengers."
The old woman's voice was as calm as ever, as though she weren't talking about a life hanging in the balance.
Though Arthur already had his suspicions, he pressed her for the exact address.
"I know this breaks protocol, but for certain reasons, I need the girl's precise location before I decide whether to take the job."
Silence followed. After a long pause, Wakako's aged voice returned.
"We haven't known each other long, but strangely enough, I'm willing to give you a bit of my scarce trust.
Here's the address."
Arthur cross-referenced the data from his neural link with the intel stored in his chip.
Sure enough, the clinic appeared on the list of pickup points.
"I'll take the job, ma'am."
Without hesitation, Arthur confirmed. Satisfied, Wakako ended the call.
Almost immediately, 100,000 eddies were wired to Arthur's account. He split 50,000 with Jackie on the spot, and they prepared to move.
"Jackie, Wakako gave me a rescue Gig. The target is one of those supply hubs.
We'll use the Gig as cover to stir up trouble, and no one will suspect a thing."
After a quick explanation, the two set off for the Ripperdoc clinic.
With the Gig as cover, the whole plan fit together perfectly.
After all, half the merc jobs in Night City involved pulling people out of Scavenger hands.
With that excuse, the Slaughterhouse would never suspect a thing—it happened far too often.
...
Leaving the clinic, Jackie hopped eagerly onto his beloved motorcycle, patting the rear seat with a grin.
"Hurry up, Arthur."
Arthur glanced at him. Jackie's massive frame nearly swallowed the entire bike.
"Cut it out, Jackie. I've got a surprise for you too."
A flash of light crossed his eyes, and soon a vehicle wobbled into view in the distance.
It was an old Mahir Supron FS3. The model name didn't quite capture it, but its nickname did—the Old Toaster.
This one was something else entirely. Its cheap plastic and fabric shell had rotted away, leaving flimsy metal panels exposed.
From the outside, it looked roomy enough to carry plenty, but appearances were deceiving.
Its engine coughed like an old man in the middle of the night—any moment it seemed ready to spit out pure alcohol.
"This is…"
Jackie stared in disbelief. The Supron looked like it had just been dug out of a grave.
"What's the point? It's falling apart."
"It runs. Stop whining and drive." Arthur urged impatiently.
"How about we split up and meet there instead?" Jackie suggested reluctantly.
What a joke. Why ride this heap of junk when he had a gleaming new ARCH Nazaré? The world had lost its mind.
"No way!" Arthur's voice was firm.
"Why not? I could wait for you nearby," Jackie countered.
"You want a reason? Simple. I can't drive."
That left Jackie with no choice but to climb behind the wheel. Arthur's logic was undeniable.
They headed north toward Kabuki.
Inside, the vehicle rattled and groaned with every bump until Jackie couldn't hold back anymore. He shot Arthur a resentful look.
"Where the hell did you find this thing? It's not going to fall apart halfway, is it?"
"Relax. You could push it to a hundred miles per hour if you wanted.
This beauty cost me 1,700 eddies."
Arthur leaned back in the passenger seat just as the rearview mirror on his side dropped loose.
Jackie glanced over and saw it was only a loose bracket. Arthur gave it a firm twist, and the mirror snapped back into place.
"See? Don't just look at its flaws. It's got its perks. At least it doesn't break down often."
...
After a rough ride, they finally reached Kabuki.
Like Westbrook's Japantown, Kabuki played the same role—but while Japantown thrived in wealthy Westbrook, Kabuki sprawled in the slums of Watson.
Because of that, Kabuki was filthy, chaotic, and stank of rot.
Watson itself had always been a contradiction—once glorious, now synonymous with poverty. Kabuki embodied that contradiction even more.
At its center rose tall, elegant buildings blending Eastern classical and modern designs.
But beneath them squatted makeshift tin shacks, sprouting like pus-filled boils along their foundations.
Arthur parked the van casually at the roadside. Another hidden perk—nobody gave it a second glance.
Off the main road, Kabuki descended into pure chaos. Narrow alleys were littered with bodies sprawled across the ground.
These addicts had long since stopped living, their souls eaten away.
The gangs let them loose to scrape together money however they could. In the end, all of it flowed back into gang pockets.
And when the addicts were near death, they were sold to Scavengers. Worth little, but scraps were still scraps—and it saved the gangs from cleaning up the streets.
As they neared the clinic, Arthur leaned toward Jackie and whispered,
"This time we keep it quiet. No unnecessary noise."
Their true target was the Slaughterhouse, and they couldn't afford to draw its attention.
They entered through an unfinished building, descending bare stairs until they emerged into a vast underground space.
At the far end stood an iron door, a red camera light blinking above it.
As they approached, the door swung open, and a group of figures spilled out.
"What kind of rats are these, sniffing around and stumbling into our place?"
The leader was a scrawny dwarf of a man. His entire upper face had been replaced with cyberware, twin mechanical eyes glowing red.
"Why don't we gut them right now? Save these little cuties from pissing themselves. We don't want to be the ones changing their diapers."
The man beside him sneered, and the group erupted in laughter, distorted by synthetic tones.
Most of them had undergone heavy exposed cybermods. Missing flesh was patched with grimy machinery and tangled tubing, some parts still fused with raw tissue.
In the dim light, they looked like ghouls howling with laughter.
Arthur remained calm. He'd seen too much, killed too many, to be shaken by a few cybernetic lunatics.
"I don't know what animal chewed your skin off, but since you can still talk, we can have a civil discussion.
I hear you've got a girl named Jessica. Her father's willing to pay.
Why not make a deal? You grab people for money anyway. Why not turn a profit without the mess?"
"Jessica? Never heard of her. Once the pigs come to us, we only tag them by numbers.
Want to do business? Then come inside, see if your little pig is still around.
Fair's fair. We can't sell what we don't have, can we?"
The dwarf grinned wide. In place of a tongue, a writhing metal tentacle twisted inside his mouth.
He stepped aside, gesturing mockingly.
"So… please, come in.
Oh, and leave your weapons outside!"
...
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