The gunshots rang out abruptly, and Arthur wanted exactly this effect. The thugs didn't even draw their weapons before Arthur and Jackie took care of them.
It didn't escalate into a gunfight, and no damage was done to Jessica's father's home. As for the bloodstains on the floor, they just needed to be cleaned up.
"Alright, problem solved. This is after-sales service."
He spread his hands.
Arthur explained to the father and daughter, who were staring at him in shock.
"NCPD won't make trouble for you.
Just say these guys broke into your house and were robbers trying to extort money.
You're a corporate employee, after all, so your word is quite trustworthy."
"No, that's not it. I mean, they aren't Tyger Claws. This is a group of independent mercenaries."
Arthur looked strangely at the terrified men on the ground, somewhat confused as to why they claimed to be from the Tyger Claws.
Perhaps they were trying to leverage the Tyger Claws' influence in Westbrook, hoping to borrow their prestige.
"Then there's even less of a problem. You don't have to worry about retaliation.
On another note, where did you find these bastards? Wakako shouldn't have people who disregard rules like this under her."
Arthur asked casually, not looking at Jessica's father, and busying himself with his own task.
He pushed the bullets one by one into the cylinder, and with a light flick of his thumb, the entire cylinder rotated.
He knocked his hands together, and the cylinder clicked back into place with a crisp sound. Arthur then re-holstered the gun at his waist.
This would alleviate the man's pressure. It was clear that he had been mentally and physically exhausted over the past three days, pushed to his limits.
"An intermediary who works all over, I think his name is Faraday.
I haven't met him, but he contacted me and said he had concrete information that could help me."
Jackie added from behind.
"I've heard of him. He's from Heywood.
His reputation isn't great; the information he provides is always distorted, and sometimes he even screws over his own people.
Many long-time street operators don't bother with him.
So this guy likes to trick newcomers."
Arthur was noncommittal. With so many fixers in Night City, what kind of people weren't there?
Ignoring all that, he bid them farewell.
"Our commission ends here.
Oh, and your daughter is indeed very brave."
The two left Charter Hill. In the car, Arthur looked at the rather "civilized" environment there and sighed.
"This place looks really nice, but if I had to choose, I'd still prefer to live in a skyscraper in Chinatown."
Arthur had always thought that as a child who grew up in the Badlands, he disliked prosperity and cities.
But after less than a month in Night City, he surprisingly thrived.
Perhaps it was because of his friends. Although he had been betrayed before, he still dared to place his trust in others.
As soon as they arrived in Chinatown, Jackie suggested going home to see his mom.
However, seeing his eager expression as he got on his brand new Nazare, Arthur deduced that he was probably just going for a joyride.
On another note, Arthur's car was still parked on the side of the road in Kabukicho; he needed to find time to retrieve it.
Walking into the clinic alone, Arthur saw the 'Nekomata' he had acquired.
It was neatly arranged on an empty table, with the wires connecting its components now tidily aligned on the smart module.
Viktor had even oiled it, and a heavy metallic sheen shimmered on its dark black barrel.
Viktor spotted Arthur entering and, seeing his gaze fall on the gun, smiled and said,
"As you can see, this gun is completely refurbished, and you've really found a treasure.
It was probably custom-made for some important figure. Compared to a standard Nekomata, its barrel material significantly surpasses ordinary materials in hardness, metal toughness, and other aspects.
I haven't seen this material before; it seems to use Tsunami's unique atomic density technology."
Although Arthur didn't understand what Viktor was saying, it didn't stop him from understanding one thing—this gun was incredibly powerful.
With joy, Arthur stepped forward, grabbing the grip with one hand and hugging the barrel with the other, to lift the nearly two-meter-long behemoth.
The gun was abnormally heavy; it could only be set up in advance in an ambush location.
Seeing Arthur struggle to pick up the gun, Viktor also showed a helpless expression.
"Although its performance is excellent, this guy also has a very high density. Its weight is even close to that of an equal volume of gold."
Holding the gun, Arthur steadied himself and replied with difficulty,
"It's fine, I already knew that."
At that black market gun shop, Arthur had already noticed the gun's unusual weight.
But that didn't matter; when using a sniper rifle, rapid movement is rarely required.
"How about it, give it a name."
Viktor suggested from the side.
It was indeed time to name this gun. Arthur felt the weight in his arms, and a name surfaced.
"It's so heavy, how about calling it 'Goliath'?"
"That's a good name, heavy and full of power."
Bending down to place Goliath back on the table, Arthur recounted the information he had obtained this time.
"A blue substance, lodged in people's brains, like a blue jellyfish clinging to the hippocampus, spreading throughout the entire brain."
As he re-described the scene, Arthur still felt some lingering fear, especially thinking that those things might also be in his own head.
Viktor patted Arthur's shoulder and said,
"Don't worry, when I treated you, I examined your brain, and there were no blue jellyfish in there."
This reassurance was very convincing, but Arthur had already laid down on the clinic's operating chair, beckoning Viktor over.
"Check it again, Viktor, just to be safe."
Seeing this, Viktor reluctantly walked over and dragged a circular instrument over Arthur's head.
"Then let's see if there are any changes in your brain."
This scan was quick and simple; Arthur just needed to sit there.
Soon, the display in front of Viktor showed Arthur's brain scan results.
"See? The images are normal; there's nothing wrong with your brain."
Viktor pointed at the screen in front of him, speaking to Arthur in a relaxed manner.
Indeed, there was nothing wrong with the images; everything seemed normal in the red and black pictures.
After a careful examination, Arthur suddenly spoke.
"What are those black parts?"
Viktor replied,
"The folds of the cerebral cortex. The red parts are the gyri, and the black parts are the sulci."
"But what are those irregular protrusions on the edges of the sulci, like tiny burrs?
Is it due to the instrument?"
Arthur's persistent questioning made Viktor sit up, his relaxed expression turning serious.
As his eyes got closer to the screen, Viktor also noticed some abnormalities.
On the edges of several dark black sulci, there were some tiny, fuzz-like black lines.
This was certainly not due to the equipment; his equipment was top-notch and would not have such issues.
Viktor quickly operated on the terminal in front of him, searching for images from the previous examination. Fortunately, it hadn't been long, and he quickly found the target.
Carefully comparing the differences between the two images, Viktor finally found an anomaly in the old photo this time.
Although the shadows of the sulci were all black, their color was still slightly different; it was a shadow darker than black.
Seeing Viktor's change, it seemed that his brain indeed had a problem.
"Tell me again what you saw in the lab, in more detail."
Listening quietly to Arthur's words, Viktor imagined the scene in his mind and pressed on.
"Did these blue lines penetrate that unfortunate person's brain?"
"Yes, those lines even seemed to emerge from within, with some areas emitting a blue glow."
He looked at the monitor in front of him with a solemn expression, as well as the black fuzz so tiny that even he, as a doctor, had subconsciously overlooked it.
"Currently, we can only roughly deduce that the drugs in your body are different from the things in that laboratory, but the effects of these things on you are still unknown.
You should now carefully review your memories and see if there are any inconsistencies."
Listening to Viktor's words, Arthur muttered inwardly,
"Inconsistent memories? There's nothing inconsistent.
His situation can no longer be summarized as merely 'inconsistent' since he's literally a different person."
Shrugging, Arthur shook his head to indicate no.