Arthur parked the car outside a modest little building lit with flickering red neon: Turbo Bar.
The place wasn't glamorous—not like Afterlife, or the velvet-coated Ritz Bar where the city's elite came to trade rumors and contracts under dim lights. No, Turbo Bar was honest. Gritty. A haven for those who just wanted to drink without having to dodge a corporate assassin, or worry whether the guy on the next stool was a cyberpsycho seconds from melting down.
It was the kind of place Mann loved.
Arthur stepped out of the car, cracked his back with a loud pop, and gave a familiar nod to the bartender through the glass.
"Two dozen beers. Bring it outside."
The barkeep grunted acknowledgment and got to work.
Arthur, Jack, and V settled into a battered metal table outside, under a flickering LED sign. The sounds of Night City echoed around them—hovercars whirring overhead, distant gunfire like thunder, neon casting colors on tired concrete.
Arthur pulled a beer free from the pack, popped it, and stared out over the street. There was no Pyrrha dancing on the alley corner like before—no energy or movement at all, really.
Pyrrha had been folded into his crew recently, working off her debts. Right now, he'd sent her out past the city border to track down some highly specialized industrial-grade equipment. The kind of tools no black market in Night City would carry. You had to visit those janky "manufacturing showrooms" yourself, the kind where salespeople still handed out physical catalogs and you signed forms with actual pens.
"Arthur," V said, tilting her bottle toward him. "That spine on your back. What is it? Where the hell did you even get it?"
Arthur took a long pull from his beer before answering. "Honestly? Ripped it straight off Adam Hammer's freighter. The plug-in frame's my own design. I've been refining it for years."
He gestured behind him casually, like he was pointing out a scratch on an old bike.
"I also just started a company, actually. First product goes live tomorrow. Sales projections look good."
Jack spat out his beer.
V blinked, lips parting. "...Sorry. Did you just say you started a company?"
Arthur nodded casually, lighting a cigarette. "Yeah. Umbrella Company. You'll be hearing about it soon."
Jack looked at V with wide eyes, as if seeing Arthur for the first time. "You sure this guy's a mercenary fossil? Not some corpo deep-cover prodigy with a midlife crisis?"
V leaned back, processing the info. "You... built that plug-in architecture? Yourself?"
"I did." Arthur exhaled smoke. "Mann helped with some heavy lifting. Pyrrha's out getting production-grade components. I've been cobbling together the rest from whatever I could salvage, buy, or—uh—liberate from Arasaka."
Jack clapped a hand to his forehead. "You could've gotten hired by any big corp with that brain, man! Why run gigs?"
Arthur gave him a crooked smile. "Because corps don't let you breathe. I'd rather build something for myself—even if I'm building it from scrap."
He reached for another beer and took a swig. "Besides, once the money starts flowing in, I'll have enough capital to build the intel infrastructure I need. That's the real play."
V leaned forward. "Wait, what do you mean? Intel infrastructure?"
"I mean exactly that. I want my own spiderweb," Arthur said. "I don't want to rely on black market data anymore. Every time I buy intel from those smugglers, my information gets sold to someone else two hours later. Even asking the price of something puts you on someone's radar."
"So you're looking for... what? Internal operatives?" V asked, brow raised.
Arthur gave her a small smirk. "That brings me to my next question."
He took a deep breath and stubbed out his cigarette. "V. You ever thought about leaving the corporate mess behind for good? Join my company. Help build something real. You've got the skills. You've got the instinct. And I know damn well you hate the suits breathing down your neck."
V didn't answer at first. She swirled the beer in her hand, watching the bubbles rise through the amber liquid.
"I just crawled out of Arasaka's snake pit," she said finally. "I've got no job. No apartment. Half my implants are locked. And you're offering me... what? A key to another cage?"
Arthur shook his head. "I'm offering you a clean slate. You'd help set the rules. No monitoring implants. No work logs. No paranoia. Just... real work. Real stakes."
V stared at him for a long moment.
Jack, for once, said nothing. Just watched with quiet curiosity.
"I appreciate the offer," V said slowly. "But I think I need to figure out who I am outside of the company first. I've been a dog with a leash for too long. Give me some time."
Arthur didn't push. He just gave a slow nod.
"Fair enough. When you're ready, the door's open."
They drank in silence for a bit. The Turbo Bar's neon buzzed and crackled overhead.
V eventually broke the quiet. "You really think people will buy your chips?"
Arthur leaned back in his chair, tilting it on two legs.
"I know they will."
"How?" Jack asked.
"Because they work."
Arthur flicked the stub of his cigarette into a cracked drain nearby, then pulled his coat tighter. "Night City is hungry. For freedom. For tools. For power. Everyone wants a leg up. I'm just handing them the ladder."
V laughed under her breath. "That ladder leads to hell."
Arthur smirked. "Yeah. But at least this time, you get to climb it your way."
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