The Ritz Bar hit like a punch to the senses. Loud music pulsed through the floorboards, thudding in Arthur's ribs like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights danced across peeling walls. The air was thick with synthetic perfume, cigarette smoke, and the musk of desperation. And somewhere in that noise and grime, business thrived.
Arthur scanned the room as he walked in.
Dancers twirled in glowing wire mesh on raised platforms. Patrons packed booths and neon-lit corners, laughing, arguing, or quietly cutting backdoor deals. Above the bar, a holo-display looped a braindance trailer: "Real Death – Feel It Like It's Yours".
He rolled his eyes. "Subtle as ever."
A familiar voice rose over the music. "About time you showed up."
He turned—and there she was.
Judy Alvarez leaned against the far booth, arms folded, tattoos peeking from under her half-zipped jumpsuit. Her eyes were still those neon-glow optics—tech and soul combined into something unblinking and unnerving.
Arthur grinned. "Still drinking synth whiskey in a tech pit like this? I expected more."
Judy smirked. "Still pretending to be charming in a city that hates you? I expected less."
They hugged briefly—tight, fast, no sentimentality. Night City didn't allow for lingering.
Arthur slid into the booth opposite her and dropped a drive on the table. "Got something for you. Fresh BD footage. First-person cyberpsycho rampage. Raw. Untouched. Full session clocked at twenty-four minutes before I shut him down."
Judy raised a brow. "You serious?"
He nodded.
She took the drive and plugged it into her deck without another word. Her fingers danced across her interface as she decrypted the files. Arthur sipped the cheap whiskey she'd poured for him, watching her scan frame after frame.
Minutes passed.
Then Judy leaned back. "This isn't corpo-staged. This is real. He kills seven before you even step in."
"Eight," Arthur corrected. "One guy bled out under a vending machine."
She muttered something under her breath. "This is gonna sell. Street net, deep loop, even legit trauma research firms—people are starving for unfiltered BD again."
"I want a cut," Arthur said. "Twenty percent. No watermarking. Keep my name out of the metadata."
Judy nodded, her business face on. "You got it. Assuming this doesn't get you blacklisted. Or killed."
Arthur shrugged. "Already happened. MaxTac's breathing down my neck. I'm one mistake away from getting 'accidentally' shot in a back alley."
"Speaking of," Judy said, sipping her drink. "You brought them here?"
"Who?"
"MaxTac. You. The BD. That psycho. You've stirred the nest. Word's already out."
Arthur tilted his head. "Out how?"
She flicked her wrist. A hologram bloomed above the table—a redacted message, timestamped two hours ago.
[Arasaka Internal Relay]
Subject: Recovery Priority – Watson Incident
Target: Unlicensed Recovery Agent (Arthur Scott?)
Asset: BD Footage + Cyberpsycho Body
Priority: High
Arthur's smile faded. "They flagged me already?"
Judy nodded. "Not just flagged. You're now a data node. They'll ping everything you access, everyone you talk to. They want their asset back."
He downed his drink in one gulp.
"I knew stealing the psycho was dumb," he muttered.
"You still have the body?" Judy asked.
Arthur smirked. "Let's just say he's resting comfortably under Mira's buzzsaws."
"Jesus." Judy sat back. "You're lucky you're still breathing."
A silence fell. The music shifted to something slower, more hypnotic—probably to push more drinks.
Then Arthur said, "Judy. I need a backup plan. Not just to run—but to hit back."
Judy's expression changed. "What kind of hit?"
"The kind they don't forget. I want to make Arasaka bleed a little. Take something from them."
Judy hesitated. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "I need something they can't hide. Something that'll make them wish they never put me on a list."
She thought for a moment, then reached under the table and pulled out another drive.
"I've got a contact. Ex-netrunner from Pacifica. He's sitting on a shard from a Blackwall leak. Pure pre-crash data. They'll kill to cover it."
Arthur blinked. "You offering me an old net ghost?"
"I'm offering you a ghost Arasaka wants erased."
He took the drive and slid it into his jacket. "I owe you."
"You always did," Judy said. "Now make it worth it."
He stood up, pushing away from the table. "Where's the netrunner?"
"I'll text you the address," she replied. "Arthur—be careful. You're playing a game they never lose."
Arthur adjusted his coat and looked over the bar, the dancers, the flickering lights of sex and death.
"Then maybe it's time they finally did."
He walked out of the Ritz, the city glowing like a liar's smile around him.
---