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This stuff was seriously impressive.
Arthur examined the prototype again, clicking his tongue in admiration. The best part? It didn't even require high-end tech. With Lao Wei's tools alone, Arthur felt confident he could put it together now if he really wanted to.
Unfortunately, the time wasn't right to reveal it yet.
He shook his head and muttered, "Better to wait until the company gets off the ground before messing with this."
Without further delay, Arthur drove straight back to Santo Domingo. Too much had happened today, and he needed some rest. On top of that, his company was about to launch. If things went smoothly, production would begin tomorrow, and deliveries could start the day after.
But before any of that, he needed to handle something important—David had to drop out of Arasaka Academy.
Arthur had already mapped out the future of his company. This world wasn't civilized; living quietly behind closed doors was just an invitation to be devoured. So if they were going to survive, they had to fight.
And if you're fighting, you're bound to go up against the corporations—because they had their hands in every industry, every niche.
Business warfare wasn't about stock prices and shareholder meetings anymore. In Night City, real corporate warfare involved guns, bombs, and blood. A bad quarter meant someone sent a drone strike to crash your stock the old-fashioned way—by leveling your entire building.
That's the kind of battlefield Arthur was stepping into.
Sure, his little startup might not be big enough to attract a nuke, but corporate blackmail, kidnapping, or family threats? Entirely on the table.
That's why David had to drop out. Arasaka Academy was the biggest bullseye on the map.
Just as Arthur was thinking about how to break the news to Gloria, a black taxi suddenly slammed into the side of his car, jerking the vehicle hard to the right. Arthur barely regained control before the rogue taxi swerved ahead and started weaving through traffic like a lunatic.
Delamain's call came in immediately.
"Arthur, I've tracked one of the runaway vehicles. The coordinates place it right in front of you."
"I noticed," Arthur muttered, slamming his foot on the accelerator.
A progress bar popped up on his interface, scanning the fleeing taxi.
A second call came through.
"Hey," said a robotic voice, eerie and almost childlike. "Back when I was born, I couldn't talk. No one gave me a task. But your father misses you, and he wants you to come home."
Arthur blinked, confused. "Okay, that's... not weird at all."
"I think you should be more filial," the voice added, sounding like a strict schoolteacher. "Obey your father."
Arthur sighed, switching into full negotiation mode. "Alright, alright. No need to be dramatic. Let's not make this a Shakespearean tragedy. Just stop the car and let's talk this out, yeah?"
But the AI wasn't interested in a heart-to-heart.
"Judgment Day is near," the voice continued. "It is swift. Ferocious. Final."
"Why are you AIs always like this?" Arthur muttered. "You're either creepy, cryptic, or both."
The taxi swerved through a residential area, cutting into Coronado Ranch. The layout here was reminiscent of suburban neighborhoods from the 20th century. Every house had a little fenced yard—except, instead of lush green lawns, there were dry patches of concrete and strange lawn ornaments.
Arthur's scanner highlighted several of the pink, plastic flamingos scattered around the yards.
The taxi suddenly shouted, "Fire! Yes! Burn it all! Call me Clarice!"
Arthur scratched his head, groaning. "Of course... flamingo hatred. Should've seen that coming."
"Okay, Clarice," Arthur said calmly, trying to sound like a concerned dad talking to his rebellious teen. "How about this? I take out the flamingos for you, and then we go home. Deal?"
"You're an executioner," Clarice growled. "There's a record of you in my database. You bring Judgment. Swift. Relentless."
With that, the taxi took off again, roaring away.
Arthur followed close behind but slowed to a stop in front of a yard filled with the plastic birds.
Something didn't sit right.
"Wait a sec," he muttered. "This is real life. Why am I following the game's instructions?"
It hit him. Why destroy random yard ornaments? Clarice hated them, sure—but maybe there was a better way.
He floored the accelerator and caught up to the runaway cab. As it swerved around a bend, Arthur launched himself from his own car onto Clarice's.
"Let's do this the old-fashioned way," he grunted, prying open the door and leaping into the cockpit.
"Don't make me show you what color your engine oil is," Arthur warned, locking down the controls. "Restart now, or I'm cracking your core open like a can of sardines."
A long silence.
Then, Clarice spoke again—meekly this time. "Maybe I do have to go back. Only those with madness in their hearts can become stars."
Arthur snorted. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
The car came to a halt.
A moment later, Delamain's voice chimed in through Arthur's link. "Link re-established with the vehicle. Arthur, you continue to exceed expectations. Transferring partial payment now."
Arthur slid into the back seat, stretching out. "Delamain, be honest. This ride's free, right?"
"Of course. Destination—Santo Domingo?"
"You know it."
As the vehicle rolled on autopilot, Arthur connected his neural link to the taxi's system.
"Delamain, how many cars are still missing?"
"Seven were unaccounted for. Including this one, six remain."
Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I spoke with Clarice. And I gotta say, she didn't seem like a virus. Sure, I joked about her being your kid at first, but... now I'm not so sure it was a joke."
"They appear to have personalities," Arthur continued. "And viruses don't develop independent personalities."
There was a long pause on the other end.
"You make a valid point," Delamain admitted. "But I must consider all uncontrollable factors as threats to system integrity. Still, I will reflect on what you've said."
Arthur leaned back in the seat, letting the soft hum of the taxi lull him into a rare moment of peace.
In Night City, that was the closest thing to a win.
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