"By the way, that thing..."
Gloria suddenly straightened up, her expression tense, as if remembering something important.
She scrambled to her feet, frantically patting the pockets of her yellow coat that had been tossed aside.
Arthur leaned back lazily, watching her with a half-smile.
"I already took care of it," he said casually. "That Sandevistan you snatched off that cyberpsycho? I pulled it out last night. Honestly, Mann still dares to install junk like that... Still the same idiot he's always been."
Gloria paused, blinking at Arthur in disbelief.
Hearing Arthur's relaxed tone, David shrank back in his chair, sensing the faint but unmistakable madness hidden beneath his father's easygoing smile.
Generally speaking, Sandevistan prosthetics weren't dangerous.
After all, they were mass-produced by the corps — standard-issue for high-ranking soldiers and certain Terrorist Mobile Units.
But this Sandevistan was different.
Arthur could tell at a glance: it wasn't a clean-market product.
No, this was a company experimental model — a dirty trick straight from some megacorp's black labs.
That's how the corps played the game:
First, they'd legally recruit a few volunteers — the old, the sick, the desperate.
Problem was, real volunteers were never enough.
So they'd engineer "accidents" inside their labs — maybe a cyberpsycho outbreak — and leak rumors into the mercenary circles:
"A revolutionary prototype prosthetic has gone missing..."
Cue a bloodbath. Cyberpunks would fight tooth and nail for the prize, thinking they were grabbing power.
In reality, they were unpaid lab rats.
The experimental tech was unstable, usually killing the user within a year or two.
And when the subject finally died, the company would quietly reclaim the hardware — along with a mountain of real-world data.
A perfect, blood-soaked feedback loop.
As the old saying went:
"Like touching an electric wire — absolutely no way to win."
David, catching the glint in Arthur's eyes, immediately lowered his head.
He didn't know the full story, but instinct told him: Don't ask. Just keep your mouth shut.
Meanwhile, Gloria, realizing her man had taken care of the Sandevistan problem, slumped back into her chair in visible relief.
For the first time in years, she remembered — she wasn't alone anymore.
She had someone she could rely on.
Someone who wasn't just another empty promise in Night City.
Gloria stared at Arthur for a moment, worry flickering in her gaze.
"Are you really okay?" she asked, voice soft. "No rejection? No... side effects?"
Arthur laughed lightly, reaching up to tap the side of his head.
"Since I came back from the dead, my body's been better than ever. No tremors, no blackouts, no rejection.
Honestly, I feel like I could knock Adam Smasher on his ass if I wanted to."
A bold claim — maybe even ridiculous.
But the way Arthur said it, calm and certain, made it hard to doubt.
Sometimes, white lies were necessary.
Especially when the truth would only bring more worry.
"You just rest at home," Arthur added, tossing another synthetic bread into his mouth.
"I'll handle things.
Once we make some real money, we're moving outta this garbage heap.
This building's a goddamn trash can."
Gloria smiled faintly, picking at her breakfast.
Even synthetic bread tasted a little sweeter when eaten with hope.
Meanwhile, Arthur chewed thoughtfully.
The so-called "real bread" tasted exactly like plastic.
The aroma was synthetic, pumped directly into your brain by your taste receptors.
Food in Night City was a masterclass in industrial deceit.
Still... Arthur couldn't help dreaming about real food.
Real meat. Real eggs.
If he remembered right, the Voodoo Boys kept actual chickens somewhere deep in Pacifica.
Maybe it was time to pay them a visit.
"I'm heading out," Arthur said after swallowing the last of his synthetic breakfast.
"Need to drop that Sandevistan off with Maine."
Before Gloria could object, David jumped up from his chair, raising his hand like a schoolboy.
"I wanna go too!" he blurted.
Arthur shot him a flat look.
Before he could say anything, Gloria slammed her palm down on the table with a loud bang.
"Sit. Down," she growled.
David froze, halfway between sitting and standing, like a deer caught in headlights.
"If you don't behave," Gloria warned, her voice like thunder rumbling through the cramped apartment,
"your dad's gonna give you a complete childhood!"
Arthur blinked.
Then he noticed Gloria lifting the hem of his windbreaker, exposing his old leather belt.
Arthur touched his chin thoughtfully.
Complete childhood... with a belt?
He hadn't thought about it before, but now that the seed was planted... maybe discipline had its merits.
He smirked evilly at David, who immediately shrank back into his chair and buried himself in his textbook.
Good boy.
Arthur threw on his jacket, tucked a pistol into the holster under his arm, and grabbed the small black box containing the salvaged Sandevistan.
Before leaving, Gloria straightened his collar, smoothing out the wrinkles like a doting wife.
Arthur's heart thudded in his chest.
Goddamn, I really scored the jackpot with her.
If the apartment weren't so tiny, Arthur would have dragged her back to bed right then and there.
Later, he promised himself.
After I earn enough eddies for a real house.
Arthur borrowed a car from a "neighbor" — a burly guy from the Sixth Street Gang who looked too friendly for his own good.
After a brief "discussion" (involving one broken side mirror and a few creative insults), Arthur got the keys.
Night City manners at their finest.
Sliding behind the wheel, Arthur gunned the engine and headed toward a dusty corner of Santo Domingo.
In the blurred memories inherited from the original Arthur, Mann had once been a kid he pulled into the cyberpunk life.
A rookie, desperate to make a name for himself.
Arthur smirked.
Time to see if the little idiot had grown any smarter.
Halfway there, Arthur's terminal buzzed.
A call request popped up.
Arthur glanced at the display — and his smirk widened.
It was an old number he hadn't seen in years.
Without hesitation, he accepted.