The umbrella company's base in the Taipingzhou District was, in reality, little more than a run-down factory building. Its large sign, printed in bold block letters, hung crookedly above a rusted-out door—more like a hollow declaration than a legitimate business name. The outside was flanked with half-collapsed garbage bags stacked like makeshift barricades. If the workers hadn't taken it upon themselves to clean the area up recently, the factory's entrance would still resemble a landfill.
Inside the office, Arthur sat at his desk, scratching his head so furiously it looked like he might draw blood. Though things had technically been going smoothly—smooth to the point it was suspicious—it didn't feel that way.
It felt like the calm right before a storm. The kind where Yorinobu Arasaka choked out his old man in a high-rise penthouse, only to start an all-out corporate war ten minutes later.
Arthur slammed a document down on the desk, his expression one of utter disbelief.
"Damn it! Why do we still have so much stock in the warehouse?! We're selling like crazy in Little Chinatown! I should be rolling in cash, not counting coins to buy more raw materials!"
He reached for the warm beer at his elbow and took a long swig. Across the room, Gloria, dressed in her usual sleek office attire, sighed and came over to stand behind him. She began massaging his shoulders, only to realize that his cybernetic body made it about as effective as squeezing a metal pipe. Frustrated, she gave him a sharp smack on the back of the head instead.
"Sell it slow," she said with a smirk. "It'll move eventually. What's the panic?"
Arthur groaned. "You don't get it. I built this business on a low-inventory model. Agile supply chain, just-in-time production. We were supposed to be lean and flexible!"
He gestured wildly to the pile of sales forecasts and spreadsheets scattered across the desk.
"This isn't a ship anymore—it's a goddamn barge! If demand shifts even a little, we'll sink under our own weight!"
Gloria raised an eyebrow. "You're really overthinking this. The numbers aren't adding up because your workers are insane."
Arthur blinked. "What?"
"They're working too hard."
Arthur stared at her.
"Seriously," she continued. "They feel guilty. You cut their hours from sixteen to twelve, added weekends, and gave them overtime pay. Now they're overcompensating."
She pulled up a chart on her datapad and handed it to Arthur. "They're producing sixteen hours' worth of output in twelve hours. And on eight-hour days, they're still putting out twelve."
Arthur's eye twitched. "These people are poisoned! What is wrong with them? They're not rolling up their sleeves, they're rolling up the entire damn factory!"
He slumped into his chair. "Why the hell are they so motivated? This is Night City! Factory workers here are supposed to hate their jobs, drink themselves to death on weekends, and occasionally pull a gun on their foreman!"
Gloria laughed, pulling her hair into a bun. "I guess no one told them. Or maybe they just really like you."
Arthur groaned louder.
"I reduced their hours! I gave them benefits! Now they're working even harder! That's not productivity, that's a cult!"
"We could always raise prices or slow production," Gloria offered helpfully.
Arthur shook his head. "Can't. If we raise prices, the market collapses. If we slow production, they'll start working off the clock just to keep up. I swear, these workers would unionize just to demand more work."
"Sounds like you've built something magical," Gloria said with a grin.
Arthur wasn't so sure. "No, this is a problem. We're gonna hit a ceiling in a few days. I need to talk to Kangtao about buying out the patent before these lunatics fill the warehouse to the brim."
"Then go," Gloria said, waving him off. "I'll handle things here."
Arthur grabbed his keys and waved to David, who'd been lounging near the door.
"Come on, kid. Time to earn your keep."
—
By the time Arthur and David reached the corporate towers in downtown Night City, the skyline was alight with its usual glare—neon signs, digital ads, and a holographic goldfish swimming lazily through the air like a koi lost in a dream.
The streets were bustling. Corporate drones with gray faces sipped overpriced coffee, their suits too crisp and smiles too forced. The contrast with Taipingzhou couldn't have been starker.
Arthur looked up at Kangtao's building, a massive monolith of glass and steel. The company had its hands in everything from consumer cybernetics to advanced weaponry, and Arthur knew that if he wanted to scale Umbrella to something more than a basement dream, this deal needed to happen.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his contact at Kangtao.
—
Meanwhile, back at the Umbrella Company's "headquarters," also known as The Shack, life was just as strange.
In a high-rise apartment not far from Taipingzhou, a former factory worker named Harry was walking up the stairs with a plastic bag of steamed buns and soymilk.
A familiar voice called out from behind him.
"Harry?"
Harry turned and smiled. "Morning, Joseph."
Joseph was his neighbor, recently laid off and still job hunting.
"Didn't your new job start last week?" Joseph asked, surprised. "Why aren't you working?"
"It's Saturday," Harry replied with a grin. "We have weekends off."
Joseph looked at him like he'd grown another head. "You... have weekends?"
"Yup. Two full days. No work. And we get overtime pay during the week, too."
Joseph blinked. "You're kidding."
"I'm not," Harry said, enjoying the disbelief on his friend's face. "It's the Umbrella Company. Brand new outfit, but they treat people right."
Joseph looked like he was about to cry. "Do they need anyone else?"
Harry laughed. "Let me check with my boss. But be warned—if you offer to work for less than everyone else, he'll toss you out on your ass. Guy hates people without principles."
—
Back in the office, Gloria stared at Arthur's desk, now covered in post-it notes scribbled with formulas, product orders, and scattered crumbs from half-eaten instant noodles.
She smiled to herself.
"He complains like a grandpa," she muttered, "but deep down, he loves it."
Because the truth was, Arthur had built something real. Something strong.
And maybe, just maybe, something dangerous. Because in Night City, a company that treated workers like people wasn't just rare—it was revolutionary.
And revolutions had a habit of turning heads. Especially the
kind covered in chrome.
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