Maine immediately understood what Arthur meant.
After a brief silence, Maine took a deep breath, then clenched his fists and said solemnly, "I can't stop. I have to become a big name. I have to leave my mark on this city."
Arthur inhaled deeply from his cigarette, the embers glowing in the dim warehouse light.
He flicked the butt onto the grimy floor and stomped it out under his boot.
The sharp sound of metal on concrete echoed through the near-empty space.
In the half-lit gloom, Arthur's gaze locked onto Maine's. A look that cut straight through the bullshit.
Even though the memories belonged to the original owner of this body, Arthur felt it deep in his bones — the camaraderie, the tragedy, the stubbornness of the dreamers who tried to conquer Night City.
He had lived it too.
He knew this city didn't crown kings — it devoured them.
"Fame," Arthur said, his voice low, "is just another way to die anonymously."
"But if I told you this Sandevistan you're about to install is just another corpo lab experiment... that by installing it, you're volunteering to be a f***ing lab rat... what would you say then?"
Arthur's words were steady, without a hint of mockery. He pulled another cigarette from his pack, lit it with a small flick of flame, and waited.
Maine's face twisted in fury.
He growled low in his throat, then — boom! — he punched the steel table beside him. The thick stainless surface buckled inward like it was made of tin foil.
"F**k!" Maine roared. "Those corpo dogs... always pulling the same goddamn tricks!"
Arthur said nothing, just exhaled a lazy puff of smoke and watched.
He knew Maine was smart enough to piece it together without being spoon-fed.
Corpo companies throwing bait into the streets wasn't anything new. Leak an experimental prototype. Spread rumors. Let desperate mercs tear each other apart trying to grab it.
The survivor becomes an unwitting test subject.
The corpo gets priceless data.
The merc gets an early grave.
It was a dance Night City had been doing long before Arthur ever showed up — and it would keep dancing long after he was gone.
At least Maine still had enough sense not to immediately jam the thing into his spine.
Just then, the metallic rattle of a rolling shutter sounded from outside. Heavy boots thudded against the ground.
The door creaked open.
A group filed into the warehouse, and Arthur instantly recognized the first one in.
A woman built like a bouncer's nightmare, muscles rippling under her tank top. She had a scar running down the side of her face and a permanent don't-f**k-with-me glare.
Dorio.
She stopped mid-step when she spotted Arthur slouched lazily at the table, cigarette hanging from his lips.
"Oh? Didn't expect guests tonight," Dorio said, raising an eyebrow.
Clearly, she didn't recognize him immediately — no surprise. Ten years changed a lot.
Arthur grinned and leaned back in his chair.
"Dorio," he said casually, "your chest muscles are looking even bigger than last time. Careful, girl, you might just punch Maine to death by accident."
For a second, Dorio froze.
Then, her eyes widened.
"Arthur?! You son of a bitch, you're not dead?! God must be sick of your face!"
She crossed the room in two strides and socked him in the chest — hard enough to send a normal man sprawling.
Arthur barely flinched, grinning as Dorio grabbed a bottle, poured herself a shot, clinked glasses with him, and downed it in one gulp.
Meanwhile, Maine watched with an expression like he'd just stepped on a rake.
His face twisted into pure betrayal.
Arthur shot him a smirk that only made it worse.
He wasn't interested in Dorio like that, but teasing Maine was just too easy.
After Dorio sat down beside him, Maine begrudgingly cleared his throat and introduced the rest of the team.
"This here's our gunner — Rebecca. Next to her's Pilar, mech expert. The one chewing gum and ignoring you is Kiwi, netrunner. And... that's Lucy."
Each nodded or grunted in Arthur's direction, their faces cautious but curious.
Arthur knew the drill.
In Night City, trust had to be earned, not handed out like candy.
He downed the rest of his whiskey, stood up, and stretched.
"Good team," he said with a grin. "You've grown, Maine."
Arthur glanced at his holo-terminal, checking the time. "I got business. Gotta pick up a ride and handle a few things."
He waved casually. "We'll catch up later. Don't be a stranger."
As he turned to leave, he passed Lucy — the quiet girl with iridescent white hair that shimmered under the dirty warehouse lights.
Arthur couldn't resist.
He reached out and ruffled Lucy's head gently.
The room went dead silent.
Lucy froze. Completely frozen like a BD stuck on a glitch.
Arthur only grinned wider.
"Feels nice," he said lazily.
Dorio burst out laughing, while Maine clutched his head and groaned like he was watching a trainwreck he couldn't stop.
"You bastard," Maine muttered. "Picking on the new blood, huh? You're worse than ever."
Ignoring him, Arthur's gaze slid over to Rebecca — the tiny green-haired firecracker cleaning her pink pistols.
When Arthur took a step toward her, hand reaching out...
Click. Click.
Rebecca whipped both pistols up and pointed them directly at Arthur's forehead.
"One more step, ahole," she said sweetly. "I'll turn your face into f*ing Swiss cheese."
Arthur chuckled, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Kids these days," he sighed dramatically. "No respect. Back in my day, you could pat a kid's head without getting ventilated."
Still grinning, he backed toward the door.
"You've raised 'em tough, Maine."
He opened the door, stepped out, and let it slam behind him with a satisfying clang.
Inside, Lucy blinked like she'd just rebooted.
Slowly, she pulled her pistol, flipped it once, and marched after him.
Kiwi finally looked up from her seat and said lazily, "Should we stop her?"
Maine shrugged, lighting a cigarette of his own.
"Doubt she'll actually shoot him," Maine muttered. "Arthur's got a way with kids. Always has."
Dorio leaned back in her chair, one arm resting across the seatback.
"Yeah," she agreed with a chuckle. "He's a bastard, but... he's a good bastard."
Maine sighed and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.
"And thank God," he muttered, "he doesn't touch my head anymore."
He flinched slightly, remembering the old days — Arthur giving him noogies like he was a damn kid.
"You used to let him," Dorio teased.
"Bullshit!" Maine snapped. "I was young! Confused!"
The whole crew burst into laughter, and for a moment — in that rusty, crumbling warehouse — the heavy weight of Night City lifted, just a little.
Outside, under the smog-choked stars, Arthur walked away whistling, hands in his pockets, a rainbow-haired girl stalking after him with a pistol and a confused scowl.
Business was waiting.
And Arthur Martinez was just getting started.