Arthur's warning didn't seem to register with either Saul or the Red Ocher survivor. Their eyes remained fixed on Joanne. The tension in the air was thick, their hatred barely restrained.
Joanne, for her part, took a slow, steady breath—so subtle that only Arthur noticed the shift.
Success.
That one word echoed in her mind like a victory bell. The moment she reached the terminal, she could activate the hotel's silent alarm, triggering a full lockdown. The guards would rush in within minutes, well-armed and unmerciful. These three intruders? They were clearly mercs or wanderers—no heavy weapons, no backup, and no hope.
A bunch of wild dogs from the outskirts of Night City, barking loud and biting nothing.
Joanne's thoughts burned with vindication. Fools, she sneered internally. Didn't even frisk me for implants or override access... pathetic.
She wore no visible expression. That, too, was part of her training. Corporate dogs like her were specialists in smiling through chaos. She wore neutrality like a second skin. Even now, she projected helplessness and resignation, playing the part of the remorseful executive.
Arthur watched her quietly, one hand resting on his hip, the other tapping a cigarette out of its box. He said nothing, just observed.
Saul couldn't take the tension any longer. He shoved Joanne forward. "Quit stalling. Move faster!"
Joanne stumbled theatrically, then began her approach to the desk terminal. The survivor trailed closely behind her, gun raised and aimed squarely at the back of her head. His hands trembled, but his grip held firm. One false move, and he'd blow her brains across the foliage.
Joanne's steps were cautious. Calculated.
Just a few more seconds.
Her mind raced as her feet closed the distance. She imagined hacking Arthur's limbs off. Blowing Saul's head open. Feeding the survivor's body to the biotech lab's failed test subjects.
They were all going to die. All of them.
She reached the desk, fingers trembling as she powered up the interface. Arthur said nothing—he just leaned against the wall, watching her like a wolf waiting to pounce.
Joanne opened the system menu and navigated with practiced ease. As she reached the emergency protocols tab, her lips curled into a smile.
Now.
Without warning, she spun in her seat and screamed: "You're all going to die!"
She slammed her fingers onto the keyboard—two decisive keystrokes meant to trigger the panic alarm, deploy security bots, and lock down every exit.
The moment stretched like elastic.
Nothing happened.
No alarm. No lockdown. No reinforcements.
Just silence.
Joanne blinked. Her triumphant grin faded into confusion.
Then dread.
She turned, ever so slowly, to find Arthur still lounging against the wall, puffing casually on his cigarette. Saul's jaw dropped in confusion. The survivor just looked stunned.
Arthur pushed off the wall and walked up to the desk, stopping just a meter from Joanne. His voice was soft but carried weight.
"Let me tell you a story."
Joanne's heart pounded. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her plan had failed, and now this merc was telling her a bedtime tale?
"In the old world," Arthur began, "there was a winter—a real winter, not like the heat-rot crap we've got today. A farmer came home from working his field and found a snake freezing to death by the side of the road."
Joanne's eyes darted to the exit. No hope there.
"The snake was dying," Arthur continued. "Could barely move. So, the farmer—being a decent guy—picked it up, tucked it into his coat, and warmed it against his chest. Wanted to save it."
He paused, took another drag.
Saul interjected, "Let me guess—once the snake warmed up, it bit the farmer?"
Arthur turned his head, slightly amused. "Wrong story."
Saul blinked. "What?"
Arthur flicked his cigarette ash toward Joanne. "That's what everyone thinks. But in my version, the snake wasn't a snake."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"The heat from the farmer's body thawed it out, softened its crust... and the stink hit like a freight truck."
Joanne's eyes widened in horror.
"Because it wasn't a snake," Arthur said with a grin. "It was a frozen, sun-baked, festering piece of shit."
Joanne's breath caught. Saul's mouth opened, but no words came out. Even the survivor had to stifle a surprised laugh.
Arthur took one last drag, flicked the butt directly at Joanne's blouse, and added with a smirk, "That's the moral. Sometimes the things you think are worth saving? Just turn out to be shit."
He turned to Saul. "Let's go. I'm done with her."
Saul hesitated, stunned into silence. But the message had landed.
As Arthur and Saul stepped toward the exit, the survivor remained behind, staring at Joanne. She was trembling now—not in false fear or manipulation, but in genuine terror.
He stepped forward slowly, gun still in hand.
"You were supposed to make things better," he said. "You said our tribe would be remembered... that we'd be part of something great."
Joanne opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"You turned us into experiments," he whispered.
He raised the pistol.
Joanne's eyes widened.
"Goodbye... no, wait," the survivor said. "Not goodbye."
He pulled the trigger.
"Good riddance, stinking shit."
BANG!
Her body hit the floor, blood soaking into the lush synthetic carpet beneath the desk.
Arthur didn't even flinch. He just pushed open the door, glanced at Saul, and muttered, "Let's go before cleanup arrives."
Saul nodded solemnly and followed.
As they walked back down the corridor, Arthur m
uttered to himself, "Never trust a frozen turd pretending to be a snake."
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