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Jack suddenly imagined Arthur's mother's perspective, and his fists clenched tightly in frustration. If he had a son like Arthur, he'd give him a hard slap to teach him what questions should and should not be asked.
Arthur, however, continued nonchalantly. "Eventually, my mother got so impatient with me asking, she told me that all the dirty things got washed down the sewers into the Pacific Ocean."
Jack's patience was wearing thin as Arthur rambled. "Listen, Jack. At the time, I thought my Xiang evaporated with the seawater, floated into the air, turned into rain, and fell back to Earth."
Jack groaned internally. They were supposed to be discussing serious matters, yet Arthur was talking nonsense about waste and its cycle.
"Hey, Arthur, can we stop talking about your crap?" Jack snapped, unable to hold back any longer.
Arthur, unfazed, pressed on. "But, Jack, think about it! I realized back then—if my crap can leave this hell, then so can I!"
Jack was stunned into silence. After a long pause, as their motorcycle approached the towering skyscrapers of Santo Domingo, Jack finally broke out in laughter, his voice echoing exaggeratedly. "Arthur, you're a genius! Your mother should kiss you for this. Forget being a cyberpunk—you should be a philosopher!"
He grinned, throwing his arms out dramatically. "Yes! If your crap can leave this hellhole, then we can too!"
The next day came quickly. Arthur stepped outside and found Jack waiting for him. Jack held out a container of fried noodles and tossed it to him. Arthur caught it, eyeing the food with a frown.
"Can't you find a better stall and get real food?" Arthur muttered as he opened the box.
Jack shrugged. "I think it's decent—better than the fried noodles my mom used to make."
Arthur stuffed the noodles into his mouth, chewing lazily despite the scowl on his face. "That's a pretty sad story," he said dryly, finishing the meal in a few bites.
Taking a sip from a bottle of sparkling water he grabbed from Jack's car, Arthur shifted gears. "Alright, today's mission is straightforward—it's all about chivalry."
Jack's eyes lit up. "Chivalry? I like the sound of that!"
Arthur chuckled at Jack's enthusiasm. Jack was too pure for Night City, where its residents were far from noble. They weren't indifferent, per se—just numb. Most were more like machines driven by money than actual humans.
Arthur explained, "There's a factory owner named Michael. This guy—who deserves to be hung from a streetlamp—hasn't paid his workers their wages. Word is, he's planning to sell the factory to Militech and shut it down."
Jack clenched his fists in anger, tossing his empty lunch box to the ground. "Why are there so many scumbags like this in Night City?"
Arthur shrugged. "That's why we're here—to stop the workers from celebrating Michael's deal with Militech. We need to find the guy in charge of the factory, get him to hand over the money, and ensure the workers are paid."
"The workers are even willing to give us 10% of their wages as a reward."
Arthur's tone grew serious. "But we need to move fast. If Militech steps in, we'll have to back off. Just the two of us can't take on Militech directly."
Jack nodded, understanding the danger. Arthur continued, "This isn't a typical mercenary gig. If Militech shows up, it'll lead to a direct confrontation. They'll have every excuse to bring in heavy forces."
Arthur glanced at Jack. "Even if I could take down 1,000 Militech soldiers, I wouldn't stand a chance against 10,000. And they have war machines—stuff you can't find on the black market, like battle-ready robots."
Jack grimaced at the thought. Arthur smirked. "You wouldn't want them to start showing off their 'big mushrooms.'"
"Big mushrooms?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
Arthur clarified, "You know, the nuclear warheads. Militech's got access to that kind of firepower. By the way, the one Johnny Silverhand used? That was Militech tech too."
Arthur chuckled at the memory. "I could probably make my own big mushroom if I had the right equipment. But first, I'd need to build the equipment, and then I'd need to dig up a ton of minerals."
Jack interrupted, wiping his mouth. "I know a girl who can help us get info on this factory guy. She's got connections."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is she reliable? You don't strike me as the kind of guy who knows informants."
Jack grinned. "What can I say? If someone from Arasaka's counterintelligence department needs info on Militech, they know how to get it."
Arthur's interest piqued. "Arasaka, huh? She's with the company?"
Jack nodded. "She's sold her soul to Arasaka for now, but I believe she'll see the light eventually."
Arthur sighed. He suspected the girl Jack mentioned was V. If Jack didn't have a lead, Arthur planned to reach out to Regina. Regina, a middleman in the Watson District, had been a reliable contact in the past.
Regina had an interesting history—once an independent journalist for FTF Radio, she left after the station was bought by media giant 54 News. She'd turned to a new medium: selling information.
She built a vast network of contacts, from corporate elites to mercenaries, gang members, and even the homeless. To them, Regina hadn't changed—she was still the same fighter, still the same girl from the streets.
The only difference was that while she used to buy gossip and sell news, she now sold both. Arthur figured she'd be happy to help with a mission like this—maybe even provide a little extra motivation to slap Michael where it hurt.
Jack interrupted Arthur's thoughts. "So, what do you think?"
Arthur shrugged. "Alright, let's meet your contact. But if she's a dead end, I'm calling Regina."
Jack grinned. "Don't worry, you'll see. She's got the info we need."
Arthur had his doubts, but if there was even a chance Jack's lead could get them closer to fixing the situation, it was worth a shot.
After all, Night City wasn't known for second chances—or happy endings.
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