Soon after, Arthur Vale and Bain arrived at Puff Bar.
Arthur sat down quietly and continued eating the food Bain had brought. The meat was still warm, steam rising under the neon lights. He drank from a glass Bain had mixed himself, the liquid glowing faint blue in the dim room.
Bain stood there without touching his plate.
Arthur glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Eat. Why are you just standing there? It's not fun eating alone."
Bain forced a smile and scratched the back of his neck.
"Brother Arthur… you eat that. It's seventy percent real meat from the slaughterhouse. Costs 120 eurodollars per pound. I'll stick with the ten percent synthetic stuff."
Arthur stopped chewing.
He understood immediately.
"Our funds… fine. Just tell me. How much do we have left?"
Bain hesitated.
"These ten days weren't great. After covering drinks for guests and paying… other fees… we've got 762 eurodollars left."
Arthur slowly put down his fork.
"Seven hundred? We have over twenty mouths to feed." His eyes narrowed slightly. "As the leader of Destiny Church, Master Bain, what exactly is your plan?"
Bain's shoulders slumped.
"I… I don't know how to make money."
Arthur leaned back, tapping the metal table lightly with one finger. His eyes closed as he thought.
Night City's unemployment rate was above thirty percent. Gangs controlled streets. Corporations controlled everything else. If you weren't working for a megacorp, you were surviving off scraps—or joining a gang.
There were only a few real paths forward.
First: turn Bain's group into mercenaries and find fixers for contracts.
Second: develop Puff Bar properly. Learn from successful underground clubs. Sell rare drinks, illegal braindances, maybe even experimental stimulants.
Third: become a middleman themselves—build a network, take a cut from others.
Anything else was fantasy. Corporations didn't share profit with nobodies.
And Puff Bar sat in the River Valley District—territory of the 6th Street Gang. Every month they would demand a "security management fee." No negotiation.
Suddenly Bain spoke again, staring at his cybernetic hands.
"Arthur… 6th Street is hosting a boxing match soon. Prize is five thousand eurodollars. Maybe I should try."
Arthur opened his eyes and shook his head.
He knew the cybernetics he had personally assembled into Bain's body. They were built for lethal efficiency, not sports entertainment. In a regulated ring fight, Bain would be restricted.
And restriction meant death.
"No. Fighting for show won't work," Arthur said calmly. "We grow in multiple directions. Make the bar famous. Take contracts. Build a merc team."
He paused.
"And soon, we're going to pay a visit to the Scavengers."
Bain's eyes sharpened.
Arthur continued, "Tell the others. Not everyone wants to live with blood on their hands. Anyone who wants out can leave. No hard feelings. Those who stay… stay because they choose to."
Bain studied him. Arthur felt different lately. More focused. Colder. Clearer.
After a moment, Bain nodded.
"I understand."
Arthur almost expected resistance. Instead, Bain simply accepted it.
Bain laughed softly. "A man who hesitates won't survive in Night City."
---
That night, when Bain announced they would strike the Scavengers' stronghold directly, fear spread across the group of twenty-three.
The Scavengers were not street punks. They harvested cyberware from living bodies.
Within minutes, fifteen people chose to leave.
Arthur watched them go without expression.
Eight remained.
To his surprise, two of them were women—both quiet, both armed.
Arthur nodded slightly.
Previously, not everyone had been issued firearms. Weapons were expensive. But now, with fewer people, every remaining member received one.
Yes, attacking the Scavengers while nearly broke was risky. But they had no fame, no reputation. Taking small contracts through fixers would take months.
They needed impact.
And removing Scavengers from the city wasn't exactly a crime. It was… public service.
The moon hid behind thick clouds. The sky was empty. No stars.
A breeze passed through the alley.
Bain stepped forward, crushing a metal can beneath his boot. The sound echoed sharply.
Arthur stayed slightly behind the formation.
He had no intention of leading from the front.
He was still flesh and blood.
This operation belonged to Bain.
Arthur carried an assault rifle—balanced, accurate, capable of strong suppressive fire. Not flashy, but reliable.
What they lacked was a netrunner.
Without a hacker, going in blind was dangerous.
And then—
A notification flashed across Arthur's neural interface.
Hi~
Need remote support from a pretty hacker girl? Affordable service, only €800.
Arthur didn't hesitate.
[Deal.]
[Sending info now.]
On a nearby rooftop, a girl with a sharp black bob haircut pressed her fingers lightly against her temples. Thin cybernetic whisker tattoos curved across her cheeks. One deep-blue prosthetic eye glowed faintly.
Her vision dissolved into streams of green data.
Within seconds she breached local networks.
Images of the Scavengers' hideout uploaded to Arthur's interface.
One minute later, the full data package arrived.
Arthur transferred 800 eurodollars immediately.
He added a message:
"Add me. Name's Arthur. You can call me Vale. If you're free later, stop by Puff Bar. First drink's on me."
The reply came fast.
[Didn't expect someone decent in Night City, Dr. Vale…]
Arthur smirked slightly.
Interesting. She had already pulled his background data.
But there would be time to talk later.
He opened the images.
The hideout was an abandoned warehouse.
He ignored obvious details and focused on anomalies.
Three deep footprints on a sofa.
The television's motherboard showing overheating warnings.
Scattered tire marks inside the building.
Dozens of empty bottles across the floor.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"They're having a party…"
That meant lowered alertness.
Noise.
Alcohol.
Possibly braindance stimulation.
Opportunity.
He marked entrances and blind spots quickly.
Then—
A system notification appeared in his interface.
[You have triggered a special mission: Revenge of Destiny Church.]
[Objective: Eliminate all Scavengers in the stronghold.]
[Reward: Talent – Cyber Pioneer.]
[Flesh is weak. Machines ascend. Join Project Origin.]
Arthur's breathing slowed.
He didn't know who—or what—was behind the message.
But he understood one thing.
This night would change everything.
He switched to team channel.
"Targets distracted. Likely intoxicated. Two entrances. Bain, lead strike through the loading dock. I'll provide fire support from the east window."
Bain replied instantly.
"Understood."
The eight of them moved.
No shouting.
No speeches.
Just quiet footsteps in the dark.
As they approached, music vibrated faintly from inside the warehouse. Laughter echoed. A bottle shattered.
Arthur positioned himself near a broken window and activated optical zoom.
Inside, Scavengers were dancing, shouting, half their weapons thrown onto tables.
Cybernetic limbs piled in crates nearby.
Human limbs too.
Arthur felt no hesitation.
"Now," he whispered.
The first shot shattered the window.
Glass exploded inward.
Bain and the others stormed through the loading entrance simultaneously.
Gunfire filled the warehouse.
Screams replaced music.
One Scavenger reached for a pistol—Arthur's second burst dropped him instantly.
Another attempted to activate combat implants—Bain crushed his throat before he could react.
Chaos consumed the room.
Drunk reflexes were slow reflexes.
Within thirty seconds, organized resistance collapsed.
But two Scavengers tried to flee through the back corridor.
Arthur shifted position and cut them down before they reached the exit.
Silence returned.
Smoke drifted.
The music system crackled and died.
Bain stood in the center of the warehouse, breathing hard, blood splattered across his jacket.
"All clear," he said.
Arthur entered slowly.
Crates of stolen cyberware lined the walls.
Half-disassembled bodies lay in surgical chairs.
He felt cold anger rise—but kept his face calm.
"Collect anything valuable. Destroy the rest."
One of the women stepped forward quietly.
"What about survivors?"
Arthur looked at her.
"There are none."
No one argued.
As the team gathered salvageable equipment, Arthur's neural interface pulsed again.
[Mission Complete.]
[Talent Unlocked: Cyber Pioneer.]
[Cybernetic compatibility increased. Technological adaptation speed enhanced.]
Arthur felt a strange sensation—like invisible threads weaving into his nervous system.
Not pain.
Evolution.
He exhaled slowly.
Tonight they gained more than money.
They gained reputation.
And something else.
Something deeper.
As they exited the burning warehouse—flames beginning to spread from spilled alcohol—Arthur glanced back once.
The Scavengers' stronghold burned behind them.
Above, the clouds finally shifted.
For a brief moment, moonlight touched Night City.
Arthur adjusted his coat.
"Let's go home," he said quietly.
Puff Bar would soon be more than a struggling tavern.
It would become a name.
And this was only the beginning.