"By the way... that thing..." Gloria's voice cut through the domestic stillness like a whisper of dread.
She stood up abruptly, eyes darting around the room as panic crept into her expression. Her yellow coat lay draped on the back of a chair, forgotten in the rush. Arthur watched her curiously, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned back on the old couch.
"Relax," Arthur said coolly, a smirk playing on his lips. "The Sandevistan you found? Already dealt with. You really thought I wouldn't take care of that?"
Gloria paused mid-step. "You touched it?"
Arthur rolled his neck with a light sigh. "Please. The thing was a walking red flag. Mann's still using garbage like this? He never learns. No caution. No backup failsafes. Same as always."
Gloria stared at him, the coat now hanging limply from her hand.
Arthur continued, his voice losing the humor as he explained.
"This wasn't just a cheap implant someone snagged off a corpse. This Sandevistan's a prototype—corporate lab grade. You don't find this kind of gear on the street unless someone wants it to be found."
Gloria's eyes widened.
Arthur nodded grimly. "Here's how it goes. Corps run tests on legal volunteers—sick people, broke kids, desperate cases. But that pool's tiny. So they toss out rogue prototypes. Let them fall into the wild. When the tech causes someone to cyberpsych out, word gets around—'a powerful relic is up for grabs.' Mercs dive in. Scavs claw each other apart. And when they all die?"
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"The corps send in clean-up crews to 'recover lost assets.' Win-win for them. Real test data. Zero liability."
David, sitting at the table, shivered. The cold steel in his father's voice unnerved him more than the content of the story.
Arthur had spoken like he knew the system firsthand. Like he'd been part of it.
Gloria, however, exhaled slowly and smiled faintly. "I forgot. You're here now."
Her voice dropped into a whisper as she settled back in her chair. "When the time comes... you'll teach Maine a lesson, won't you?"
Arthur's smirk returned, though this one held something darker beneath. "Of course."
Maine. A legend in his own right—but a reckless one. Arthur had brought him into the fold back in the day, mentored him, even shielded him. But time changed people. Maine had gone from disciplined operator to borderline maniac.
Gloria gave Arthur a worried glance. "And you? Are you sure there's nothing wrong with your body? After everything you've been through—"
"I'm fine," Arthur cut in. "Better than ever. No rejection, no tremors. Ever since I 'died,' everything's been stable. Hell, I'd even say I feel... enhanced."
He smirked again, tapping the side of his temple. "I could take Adam Smasher in a fair fight. Probably."
Gloria raised an eyebrow. "And if it wasn't fair?"
Arthur's grin widened. "Even better odds."
Still unconvinced but tired of arguing, she sighed and watched him chew on a piece of synthetic "beef bread." The food looked appetizing—its aroma enhanced through chemical trickery—but Gloria knew better.
Arthur did too. He chewed thoughtfully and muttered, "I miss real food. The Voodoo Boys might still have access to live poultry. Might raid 'em later and get us a proper dinner."
David raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna steal a chicken?"
Arthur shrugged. "For you? Absolutely."
---
Finishing his meal, Arthur stood and grabbed the small crate containing the prototype Sandevistan. Its sleek black casing hummed faintly, like it was alive.
"I've gotta deliver this to Maine."
Before he could head out, David shot up from his chair, arm raised like a student desperate to answer a question.
"Take me with you!"
Arthur paused, staring at the boy.
From across the room came the sound of Gloria slamming her palm on the table. The dishes rattled ominously.
"Sit. Down."
David flinched.
"Review your schoolwork," Gloria ordered. "You want your father to give you a complete childhood?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. She casually reached for Arthur's belt, lifting it in warning.
David's bravado disappeared instantly. "Homework it is."
Arthur watched the exchange, bemused. "Passing down trauma through generations. Nice touch."
"Don't tempt me," Gloria snapped.
Arthur chuckled and headed to the door. But before he could leave, Gloria stepped up and began fussing with his collar, smoothing the wrinkles in his coat.
"You always look like you just climbed out of a junkyard," she muttered, brushing off imaginary dust.
Arthur froze.
The gesture was simple, domestic—but it hit harder than any punch. It felt warm. Real. For a moment, the street merc in him disappeared, replaced by the man who'd once dreamed of something more.
"One day," Arthur murmured, his voice unusually soft, "I'll get us out of here. Somewhere big. Clean. With a roof high enough to actually—study."
Gloria didn't catch the joke. Or maybe she pretended not to. She just kept fixing his collar.
Arthur grinned, kissed her cheek, then turned and left.
---
The sun was beginning to sink beneath the chrome skyline as Arthur stepped out. After a quick exchange with a Sixth Street "acquaintance"—which involved some light threats and heavy sarcasm—he drove off in a borrowed vehicle.
Santo Domingo passed by in a blur of rusted neon and scorched pavement. The city never changed. Just shifted slightly to hide its rot.
His thoughts drifted to Maine. The man had once been precise. Calculated. Now he was all firepower and poor judgment. Too much chrome. Too little restraint.
Arthur's neural interface buzzed. An incoming call.
He glanced at the ID—and smiled.
"Arthur Scott. I was wondering when you'd crawl out of the trash heap and dial me."
A voice on the other end replied, cold and familiar.
"Don't get cocky, Scott. I've got a job for you—a big one."
Arthur's grin widened. "You've got my attention."
---
Back home, David leaned against the window, watching the taillights of the car vanish into Night City's evening haze.
Gloria sat at the table, one hand resting on her cup of rehydrated coffee. Her gaze was distant.
"Your dad..." she murmured, almost to herself. "He's something else."
David didn't respond at first.
Eventually, he nodded.
"Yeah. He really is."
For all the chaos he brought, all the complications—Arthur had brought something else too.
He'd brought back hope.
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