Arthur floored the gas and sped them past the security checkpoint, heading straight toward the villas nestled on the mountain slope.
Although the game made the North Oak villa area seem small—only a handful of mansions—in reality, it was vast.
Plenty of these sprawling homes were occupied, but just as many stood empty, silent trophies of corporate empires.
Even Hanako Arasaka owned a villa here, though she rarely stayed in it.
If you were reckless enough, you could sneak inside and nap in the same bed Hanako once used...
Arthur had the guts for many things. Falling into a rich woman's arms? Maybe later.
In the car, Jack finally exhaled, face pale from the tension.
He glared at Arthur.
"This was the worst plan ever," Jack growled. "I mean it. Lao Wei was right—you really are a total lunatic."
Arthur, one hand lazily spinning the steering wheel, shrugged and smiled at the scenery passing by.
"Doesn't matter if it's crazy," he said. "It worked, didn't it?"
Jack clenched his teeth, looking out the window at the passing luxury villas.
Finally, grudgingly, he nodded.
Crazy or not, Arthur's plan was ridiculously effective.
First, they got through the checkpoint without firing a shot, purely by running their mouths.
Second, they had plausible deniability—the captain of the checkpoint wouldn't dare admit they ever passed through.
If something happened later, there'd be no surveillance footage, no witnesses willing to talk.
In a neighborhood like North Oak, you didn't install cameras.
What if you accidentally recorded a rich exec cheating on his mistress—or murdering a bodyguard?
The companies would rather risk a robbery than catch evidence they couldn't make disappear.
Instead, private security relied on smart bots and patrolling drones—silent observers whose footage stayed locked away unless someone paid a hefty bribe.
Jack stretched and started digging under the passenger seat.
Hidden beneath the floor panel was a stash of equipment: silenced pistols, signal jammers, hacking spikes—all tools for a clean job.
But when Jack rummaged around, confusion flickered across his face.
"Where's my change of clothes?"
He scratched his head. He was still wearing the cursed pink dress Arthur forced on him—and the fabric riding up his thighs was not helping his mood.
Arthur chuckled.
"I tossed your clothes in the trunk," he said casually. "You don't need to change."
Jack's expression darkened. "What the hell? I'm not walking around like this!"
Arthur kept his eyes on the road, voice steady.
"Look, we're in already. We'll be in and out in minutes. That dress is a perfect disguise.
You look like some boosted-up Animal Gang groupie.
Nobody will think twice, even if we show up on a drone scan."
Jack scowled, tugging at the hem of his dress in frustration.
After a long, painful silence, he muttered, "...Fine.
But after this, I'm going to Misty's and getting my soul cleansed."
Arthur smiled.
"Good man."
They rolled to a stop a few streets down from their target.
Arthur scanned the area—no drones overhead, no patrolling robots nearby.
Good.
He steered the car off the main road, hiding it in a patch of manicured bushes that cost more per square meter than the average apartment downtown.
Arthur killed the engine, opened the door, and slung his silenced pistol over his back.
Crouching low, he waved Jack to follow.
Jack grumbled but joined him, casting suspicious glances at the pristine, rich-person grass underfoot.
"Bro, seriously," Jack whispered, "even if someone threw me like a football, I'd be the one doing the throwing.
You? You got no meat on you."
Arthur ignored the jab, vaulted the low wall around Michael's estate, and crouched behind a flowerbed.
When Jack clumsily tumbled over behind him, Arthur turned serious.
"Before we start," Arthur whispered, "ground rules."
Jack nodded, crouching in the bushes beside him.
"First," Arthur said, counting on his fingers, "we're here for the money, not for heroics.
Michael probably has a platinum Trauma Team contract. If he gets hurt too badly, the team will come crashing down on us.
We're talking combat medics with assault rifles and full armor."
Jack's mouth tightened.
"Second," Arthur continued, "we keep it quiet. No explosions, no shootouts. Stealth only."
Jack grinned cockily.
"Easy. We sneak in, stick a gun in Michael's mouth, make him transfer the cash, knock him out, and ghost outta here."
Arthur scratched the back of his head.
That did sound a little too smooth...
But hey, it was a small-time mission. They weren't storming Arasaka Tower or anything.
"Good enough," Arthur said.
"Alright, let's move."
Arthur boosted himself over a second wall and dropped into Michael's courtyard, gun sweeping in tight arcs.
No alarms. No drones.
He gave the signal.
Jack followed, clumsily hopping the wall—and nearly flashing the entire block when his skirt caught the breeze.
Crouched together in the bushes, Jack tugged furiously at the dress.
"Damn thing's breezy," he hissed.
"I swear if my nuts see daylight one more time—"
Arthur elbowed him lightly.
"Focus," he whispered. "Something feels... off."
Jack stopped fidgeting.
Looking around, they realized it simultaneously:
This place wasn't abandoned.
There were fresh footprints in the gravel.
Soft light glowed from a window on the second floor.
And faintly—very faintly—they could hear... music.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't what they expected at all.
[End of Chapter 57: Stop Changing Clothes!]