Jack clutched his head in disbelief, as if he'd just heard something filthy and blasphemous.
If it were up to him, he would've dropped this mission right then and there.
Arthur kept driving steadily, and just as they were about to leave the dance-and-drama district, a motorcycle pulled up alongside them again.
It was the same Tiger Claw punk Arthur had encountered earlier in Kabuki.
"Hey, brother, we meet again!" the young man called out.
"Taking your son on a date?"
Arthur turned and looked over — yup, it was that same kid.
"Yeah," Arthur said, grinning, "The kid's never seen the world. Thought I'd take him out to Westbrook to see some plants."
The Tiger Claw kid was stunned.
He'd heard of people going to love hotels for dates.
He'd heard of people driving out to Pacifica to see the ocean.
But taking someone to Westbrook to look at trees?
That was a new one.
Still, it sounded... oddly affordable.
Maybe he'd give it a try sometime.
He gave Arthur a big thumbs-up through the window.
This guy's really something, the punk thought.
All these idiots spending fortunes at hotels and beaches, while this genius just drives his date to admire the scenery for free.
Humans and dogs might be close — but the difference between humans and humans is enormous.
The Tiger Claw kid slowed down a little more and drifted to the back window.
Curious, he wanted to get a look at Arthur's "girlfriend."
At that moment, Jack was trying to discreetly crack the window open, trying to ventilate the car and, maybe, air out some of his dignity.
The kid took a look inside — and immediately swerved hard to one side.
Good thing he had decent reflexes, or he might've crashed into a light pole.
After straightening out his bike, the kid rode up alongside Arthur's front window again, looking visibly shaken.
"Brother," he said solemnly, "your taste... is really unique.
In fact, I'm willing to call you the best."
Arthur chuckled awkwardly, scratching his nose.
"Everyone's got their own preferences. I just... like 'em strong."
The kid gave a complicated nod, saluted Arthur with two fingers, and then throttled his motorcycle hard, speeding away into the distance — as if he needed to escape the conversation to survive.
Inside the car, Jack was too far gone to care.
His brain was still stuck replaying the bombshell about Kerry Eurodyne.
The kid's judgmental comment didn't even register.
Arthur smiled to himself and said nothing.
Sometimes, people just wanted to believe in someone.
Once you idolized someone, you'd excuse everything about them — no matter how absurd.
Hell, there were even people who genuinely believed fairies didn't poop.
Ridiculous.
Even in 2076, people like Hanako Arasaka had to take a shit.
The cityscape around them began to shift.
The skyscrapers and neon alleys started thinning out.
In their place were patches of green — something rare in Night City.
It was a sobering reminder:
All this greenery was only possible thanks to endless bags of fertilizer made from the blood, sweat, and bones of countless nobodies.
Arthur kept driving, heading uphill.
This place, North Oak, used to be the largest refugee camp in Night City — back when people were still clinging to survival after the Fourth Corporate War.
But humans are crueler than disasters.
When the corporations got tired of the eyesore, they sent in private armies to "cleanse" the area.
Officially, it was "anti-crime operations."
In reality, if you didn't leave voluntarily, you were labeled a criminal — and shot.
Of course, to be fair, the place was violent.
Compared to the old North Oak, even today's Badlands looked like a kindergarten.
Arthur slowly navigated a roundabout, climbing toward the luxury villa zone on the hilltop.
The streets here were eerily quiet.
Even in a city as crowded as Night City, few cars passed through.
And every vehicle that did was absurdly expensive.
Arthur saw at least three Sword of the Stone sedans in the span of five minutes.
Even the air smelled different here —
The smell of money.
Literal money, too.
Maintaining this mountain's greenery cost as much as Night City's entire annual tax intake.
Without corporate-controlled ecological tech, it would've been impossible to grow anything here.
Radiation, pollution, acid rain — take your pick.
Arthur gazed out the window, then glanced back at Jack slouched miserably in the back seat.
"Cheer up," Arthur said with a smirk.
"You look like you're about to cry.
At this rate, you wouldn't even qualify for working on Twist Street."
Jack groaned.
"You say that like I'm actually gonna be working the street corners."
Still, he smacked his cheeks, trying to psych himself up.
Arthur slowed the car even more as they neared the checkpoint.
Up ahead, NCPD officers and private security were waving cars to stop.
Arthur glanced at Jack's reflection in the rearview mirror and frowned.
"You look awful," Arthur said.
"You're supposed to be excited, damn it.
You're about to meet Uncle Kerry — act like it!"
Arthur's tone was half-joking, half-scolding, like some seasoned pimp coaching a nervous girl before her first customer.
Jack nearly choked on his own spit.
He hadn't signed up for this!
He was here to fight for justice, not sell himself!
Still, Jack sighed, gritted his teeth, and dug around under the seat.
He pulled out a small injector, filled with an off-the-shelf stimulant.
Arthur tossed it to him casually.
"Here. It'll help you perk up.
It won't save your life, but it'll at least make you look alive."
Jack grumbled but took the shot.
This mission was already costing him his dignity.
Might as well see it through.