"Arthur! You were the one who stole my brother's car?!"
"You actually robbed our Sixth Street Gang of supplies? Are you insane? Kneel under the stars and stripes and apologize you traitorous bastard!"
Arthur Scott had barely stepped out of the garage—more of a hidden base than an actual shop—when he was greeted by a shouting match.
A group of heavily armed men stood in formation outside. Most wore body armor, bandoliers, and old camouflage gear. But the effect was ruined by their tacky tattoos, unlit cigars, and the reckless, twitchy energy of street punks.
These were members of the Sixth Street Gang—a group originally formed by war veterans to protect their neighborhoods after the war. Back then, they stood for order.
But as Arthur knew too well, heroes didn't stay heroes in Night City. These days, Sixth Street wasn't so different from any other gang—just with better slogans and worse fashion sense.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. Camouflage, mohawks, aviators, and zero trigger discipline? You're not soldiers. You're LARPing with real bullets.
Just then, Lucy sprinted out from the garage behind him, pistol in hand and eyes wide.
She froze.
"Can I just say I was passing by?" she offered quickly, voice high with panic. "I have nothing to do with him."
Sixth Street didn't even glance at her.
Their ringleader—a red-faced man practically foaming with rage—jabbed a finger at Arthur.
"You son of a b*tch! You took my car! And then you went and picked up a girl with it?!"
Arthur gave an exaggerated sigh. "I borrowed the car. The guy even topped off the fuel tank like a gentleman. Honestly, I thought we were bonding."
Before the man could explode again, Arthur grabbed Lucy and pulled her back into the garage.
Bullets rang out behind them. Traditional, clunky rounds—gunpowder-based, not smart-linked caseless ones.
Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Seriously? It's 2076 and they're still using black powder?"
Lucy ducked beside him, shooting him a glare. "How do you always end up pissing off psychos?"
Arthur handed her a pistol. "Here. Use something that doesn't sound like a cap gun."
Lucy inspected the weapon and raised a brow. "What about you?"
Arthur grinned, slammed a fist into the ground—and with a dull crack, a hidden floor panel slid open. He pulled out a sealed black case.
Lucy's eyes widened. "You had a stash box under the garage floor? All this time?"
He popped the lid and revealed a long, gleaming RPG.
"Built it myself," Arthur said with pride. "Trustworthy as an old friend."
Lucy rolled her eyes. "That thing's older than my browser history. You sure it won't blow up on you?"
Arthur ignored her. He loaded it, his enhanced reflexes kicking in. Time slowed, his breath steadied. He took aim.
BOOM.
The rocket screamed out and detonated against a Sixth Street van, flipping it like a toy. Screams echoed, followed by a second explosion from the fuel cell.
Lucy's hair fluttered in the shockwave.
Arthur exhaled, lighting another cigarette off the still-warm RPG casing.
"See? Some things age like whiskey."
Lucy tossed the pistol back at him. "You're an idiot."
Before Arthur could reply, Maine stormed into the garage, eyes glowing red, jaw clenched tight. His frame trembled—either from rage or cyberpsychosis onset.
Arthur considered calling Trauma Team.
But then Maine saw what was left of the wreckage.
"My car! You destroyed it! It's not even paid off yet!"
Arthur scratched his nose. "To be fair, I only aimed at the ones trying to kill me."
"You used my car as a backstop!"
Lucy slipped away while Maine shouted, dragging on a cigarette and watching Arthur quietly.
"Uncle," she said dryly, "we'll talk later."
"You're not going anywhere!" Maine lunged—but Arthur was already gone.
In a blur, Arthur appeared just outside the smoke-filled street, waving as if he'd just wrapped up a poker night.
He disappeared into the Night City haze like a ghost.
---
Lucy stood at the edge of the garage, puffing her cigarette slowly.
"He doesn't act like someone in his forties," she muttered. "He's got the energy of a teenager and the impulse control of a drunk raccoon."
Maine groaned, still hugging the remnants of his car like a grieving widow.
"That guy... his personality is pure chaos. I followed him once because I thought he had Morgan Blackhand vibes." He paused, gritting his teeth. "Next thing I know, I'm sleeping under broken scaffolding and eating expired combat rations."
Dorio strolled out, whiskey bottle in hand.
"Unreliable or not, Arthur's the kind of guy who doesn't abandon his crew," she said with a sigh. "He might vanish for years, but when it matters, he shows up. Helps out. No strings."
Lucy blew out a puff of smoke. "Sounds like the kind of fool who doesn't survive in Night City."
Dorio gave a crooked smile. "And yet, he's still here."
They all stood in silence a moment, staring at the smoke curling into the air. Somewhere in the distance, Sixth Street's backup sirens howled.
Lucy shook her head. "He's gonna drag us all into something big, isn't he?"
Maine rubbed his temples. "Yup."
---
Elsewhere in Night City...
Arthur landed atop a rusty fire escape, watching the city blink beneath him.
A new job had just pinged his system. The pay was high. The risks higher.
He grinned to himself.
"Let's see who wants to play."
And with that, he vanished into the neon night.
---
More madness and chrome to come.
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