After getting out of the car, Jackie slipped into Misty's Esoterica, while Arthur pushed through the back door and stepped into Vik's clinic.
"Looks like... you haven't forgotten this old friend of yours. What brings you here?"
The same dim lighting hung in the room. Vik sat at his desk, giving Arthur a once-over as he came in. Only after confirming he wasn't injured did Vik speak with a smile.
"Just seeing if your hands aren't too shaky yet, old man. Honestly... Misty deserves the credit. Aside from her, who else would keep you company and listen to your endless chatter?"
Arthur came closer and casually dropped into a seat.
"Ha! She's my best tenant... and assistant. A good girl, no doubt about that.
So... you've been taking it easy all this time? Looks like you've finally figured out how to live."
Compared to the manager earlier, Vik's smile was far more reassuring. Arthur shook his head and replied, "Quite the opposite. Jackie and I just finished some business, so I stopped by on the way... Things are about to get busy. Oh, right—we're dealing with a guy named Dexter DeShawn. You've been in Night City forever. Heard of him?"
"DeShawn... Black guy, real heavyset, right?"
Vik's deep, magnetic voice always carried a storyteller's weight. When Arthur nodded, he went on.
"A few years back, this Dexter was pretty famous. Pulled off some big, flashy jobs... People say he's easy to deal with, but I wouldn't be so sure."
Arthur nodded again in agreement. "Good thing it's just business. Doesn't matter whether he's easy to deal with or not..."
Arthur hadn't planned to stay long, but Vik sent him off first. "Go handle your business. Come see this old codger again when you've got time... Though, truth be told, I'm not that old. Just past fifty. These days, there are folks running around at two hundred with chrome keeping them alive."
Arthur stood up without argument, but he didn't leave without a jab, laughing as he said, "Still, you live like an old man. You don't see many people in Night City this laid-back."
...
Back in the car, it was around eight in the evening—the start of Night City's nightlife.
Sitting at the wheel, Arthur's stubbled face twitched slightly before he placed a call.
Beep—
Beep—
Beep—
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, staring at the comms window. The default black avatar displayed the name—Meredith Stout.
He rubbed his nose—it really was itching.
After what felt like forever, the damn comms finally connected.
On the other side, the woman still wore her brilliant golden hair—at least that was one thing they shared.
"I figured you'd avoid me for life. What's this? You're calling me?"
She was in work clothes, clearly still at the office. Though she tried to smooth them out, lines on her forehead were still visible.
Arthur raised his hand slightly, glanced at her, then said, "Heard things have been rough on your end lately. Well... I mean... That bot, the one they call 'Flathead,' stolen from Militech, I—"
"How do you know about that?!"
Her sharp voice cut him off instantly. Meredith forced herself to calm down, then, almost as if deciding there was no point, pressed urgently, "Where did you hear about that thing? I'm losing my mind here."
"Uh... If you want answers, don't interrupt! Here's the deal—it's in the Maelstrom gang's hands now. I picked up a gig that needs it. Figured I'd ask you while I'm at it..."
Arthur's tone hardened a little at last, though it quickly softened again.
"So..."
Meredith glanced around casually, then stood up. Through the comms window, Arthur saw her move offscreen before shouting, "That's it for today! Off the clock! You useless bastards can crawl back to your holes."
That clearly wasn't meant for Arthur.
Moments later, she returned to the screen.
"Come to my place. We need to talk in detail—or Militech will have me sinking in a river."
...
Switching cars had its perks—at least it saved time when things were urgent.
Meredith's apartment. Arthur hadn't been there many times, but he moved with practiced familiarity.
The biometric lock accepted him, and the door slid open, revealing a familiar interior.
Meredith sat at the bar by the window. Beyond the huge glass wall loomed the megacorp towers dominating Corporate Plaza. Their self-promotion was as over-the-top as ever—from the holographic projections covering the square to the light-strips vanishing into the sky.
She still wore her dark blue uniform, clearly having just rushed back from the office.
At the sound behind her, Meredith didn't turn around. Instead, she poured herself a drink and stared blankly out at the view.
"Seems you adjusted quick. At least you're not snapping anymore."
Arthur took the seat beside her, looking in no rush.
"Fine! We don't have time to waste. Tell me—who has it?"
Meredith slammed her glass onto the counter, her tone sharp.
"Maelstrom. Got it from a fixer—he was trying to buy it off them, but things went south.
So... looks like I'll have to go myself."
Hearing that, Meredith froze, lost in thought.
The apartment fell silent, save for the sound of Arthur swirling his drink.
After a long silence, she cursed under her breath before saying, "So that's it... Damn it, I've treated you well, and you dare play me?! Fine. Fine..."
Muttering to herself, Meredith forced her anger down and looked at him. "Take the bot. That doesn't change anything. But those Maelstrom bastards are mine. Need me to help?"
"No need! They're just a bunch of Maelstrom psychos.
What, you want them alive?"
Arthur asked, slightly puzzled, though he had no interest in Militech's twisted politics.
"Alive... dead... doesn't matter! But I want them whole!"
The words came out like venom.
She drained her glass in one gulp, then lunged at him like a lioness.
Damn it. Emotions always had a way of causing trouble.
On the bar counter, the liquor rippled in its glass...
...
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