Arthur was about to say something more when suddenly his eyes lit up—the old captain's call was coming in.
"My dear sailor, I have a job for you now. I wonder if you're willing to take it?"
The moment he picked up, the old captain got straight to the point.
"I'm so idle right now that I'm almost rusty. It'd be great to have some work. By the way, I happen to need a lot of workers soon. I don't dare use the locals from Pacifica," Arthur replied easily.
It wasn't that Arthur had any racial bias. Night City was a place tolerant enough to accept anything — humans, robots, hybrids. Race wasn't the line in the sand. It was all about whether you had money.
No, the real issue was that the locals in Pacifica were... interconnected. Blood ties, old grudges, family obligations. Even if you weren't in a gang yourself, you could bet your cousin, uncle, or brother-in-law was.
If Arthur hired Pacifica workers, it was inevitable they'd start covering for each other, forming cliques, and sooner or later stealing chips right out from under him. In Night City, a missing chip was like a stolen wallet—money gone, opportunity lost.
Arthur intended to break that cycle from the start: hire outsiders, spread them out among departments, and make them watch each other.
"You're just in luck," the old captain said brightly. "These fine gentlemen are going to need someone with your strong sense of justice to stand up for them."
Arthur grimaced.
Whenever he heard the words 'justice' and 'Night City' in the same sentence, he got a headache.
The last time he "stood up for justice," he ended up being hunted across half the Badlands by Militech and Biotechnica.
He wasn't keen to repeat that experience.
"This better not involve Arasaka again," Arthur muttered under his breath.
The old captain laughed. "Relax. It's a simple case of wage theft. Michael—the owner of a factory in Charter Hill, Westbrook—has been withholding wages for half a year now. And the workers just found out he plans to sell the factory to Militech to wipe his hands clean."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. Now that was dirty even by Night City standards.
"And Militech," the old captain continued, "isn't the kind of company that back-pays your missing wages. They'll just roll the place into their war machine and fire whoever they feel like."
"So you're asking me to..." Arthur said cautiously.
"Stand up for justice. Remind Michael of his obligations. Maybe rearrange his memory a little if needed. Details are in the attachment," the captain finished, then hung up.
Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully.
A little righteous violence, a little money... this sounded like a win-win.
He suddenly remembered — he hadn't signed in with the system today.
A soft chime echoed in his mind:
[Ding~ Congratulations! You've gained Full-Level Prosthetic Doctor Experience!]
Arthur's head buzzed.
A rush of new knowledge flooded in — nerve integration techniques, anti-rejection therapies, cyberware optimization protocols.
In seconds, he understood things that took professional ripperdocs decades to master.
"Two blessings in one day," Arthur chuckled to himself.
Next to him, Maine was nursing a beer with a scowl. When he noticed Arthur hang up the call, he grunted, "Old captain again? Probably another job that pays with good feelings instead of eddies."
Arthur grinned and stood up, patting Jack on the shoulder. "Better feelings than a bullet in the brain, Maine. At least the old captain doesn't send you into meat grinders like Faraday."
As he moved to leave, Arthur glanced at Maine's arm and frowned.
"By the way," he said casually, "you seriously need to replace that arm. The model's ancient, barely compatible with your system anymore. It's a ticking time bomb."
Maine waved him off, but Arthur pressed:
"If you keep running it like this, not even my suppressor chip will save you."
Later that evening, Arthur and Jack roared down the neon-lit streets on Jack's motorcycle. The city's filth, glamour, and rot rolled past them like a dream.
"I'll take you along for a real job tomorrow," Arthur shouted over the wind.
"I'll introduce you to a reliable fixer too. Someone better than Faraday."
Jack's face lit up. "Really? Thanks, hermano! I really need a big job! I wanna get into the Afterlife someday. That's where all the legends start, right?"
Arthur smirked.
"Sure, sure. First thing you'll need is a big mushroom cloud over Arasaka Tower."
Jack nearly swerved the bike.
"Chingado! What?!"
Arthur laughed. "I'm saying, slow down. You're still green. You haven't even crossed the street yet and you're dreaming about climbing skyscrapers."
Jack was quiet for a moment, then asked seriously:
"Why'd you think I want to get into the Afterlife so bad?"
Arthur glanced at him sideways. "You tell me."
Jack's hands tightened on the handlebars.
"I just..." He hesitated. "I need a shot, hermano. A real shot.
I left Valentino because I thought... hell, maybe I could be more than a street rat."
He laughed bitterly. "Thought I could be something better. Thought I could earn some real eddies, get a place, help my mama live a good life for once."
"But here I am. Still scraping. Still nobody."
Arthur didn't speak for a moment.
He knew that feeling all too well.
That ugly, gnawing sense that no matter what you did, you were stuck at the bottom. Forever an ant in a world full of giants.
Finally, Arthur said, half joking:
"Hey, Jack. You know when I was a kid, I used to wonder where all the turds went after you flushed 'em?"
Jack blinked. "What the hell, man?"
Arthur shrugged. "Serious question. I asked my ma once.
She said they go into the sewers. And I thought, what then? Where do they go after that?"
"And?"
Arthur smiled grimly.
"Turns out, they just float around down there forever. Getting churned up, broken down, until they're just part of the muck."
He tapped the side of his head.
"That's Night City, hermano. That's what we are to the corps.
Little turds floating in the muck."
Jack was silent.
"But you know what?" Arthur said, voice hardening. "Even in the sewer, you can still fight. Still claw your way up.
Maybe not all the way to the sun, but at least somewhere you can breathe."
Jack nodded slowly, his expression serious.
"You're right, hermano," he said finally. "We fight."
Arthur chuckled.
"That's the spirit, Jack.
Now let's go make some trouble."
The two of them roared into the night, neon lights flashing against their visors, the city sprawling endlessly ahead.
Tomorrow, they'd stand for justice.
Tonight, they lived.
[End of Chapter 49]