More than an hour later, Arthur finally finished his bottle of wine and stumbled out of the Wild Wolf Bar with William trailing behind, a little tipsy.
Not that Arthur had to be drunk.
With his minimal prosthetic modifications — brain chip, a few augmentations — his body processed alcohol like it was mineral water.
But in a place like Night City?
Everyone wanted to get drunk now and then.
It wasn't about the booze.
It was about numbing the screaming chaos outside.
Arthur glanced at the coordinates the priest had sent him, popping them open in his optics.
He chuckled grimly.
"Of course. Lijing District. Where else?"
As he'd explained before, Heywood was a land of extremes.
North Heywood, near the Civic Center? Skyscrapers, clean parks, shimmering chrome, and rich corpos too bored to notice the world crumbling around them.
But Lijing District?
Different story.
Lijing was where the dreams of Night City went to rot.
A massive slum swallowing half of Heywood, a place where the dirt dreamed of being clean one day.
Graffiti and half-collapsed buildings defined the skyline.
Arthur snorted.
Over 80% of the violence in Heywood came from here.
Officially, it wasn't labeled a combat zone.
Unofficially, even the gangs tread lightly at night.
Still, none of this worried Arthur.
This was his element.
The locals might be violent, desperate, and armed, but they weren't stupid.
It only took one quick scan to know Arthur wasn't a guy you messed with.
His cybernetic profile would light up anyone's scanner like a Christmas tree.
He didn't even need to say anything.
If you saw a heavily modified solo strolling through your block — mantis blades tucked under his coat, muscles rippling under cheap synth-leather — you crossed the street.
And if you were really smart?
You hid in the nearest dumpster until he was gone.
Even in this rat nest, Arthur didn't hear a single challenge.
The local thugs kept their heads down, trying to pretend he didn't exist.
It was almost peaceful.
If you ignored the smell.
Unfortunately, no one warned William.
The kid was fidgety, constantly looking around like a cockroach caught stealing bread from a kitchen.
"Hey, Arthur," William whispered nervously, keeping his hands hidden inside his coat, "are you really sure we can do this alone? You didn't even bring a gun!"
Arthur just grinned.
He knew exactly what was hidden under William's oversized windbreaker.
Probably a DB-2 Satara — a double-barreled electromagnetic shotgun.
A cheap, brutal street gun from Rostovic.
Affordable Firepower at its finest.
In Night City, cheap firepower was everywhere.
Arasaka? Kang Tao? Militech?
Those were for the rich corpo kids.
For the rest of the rats in the gutter, there was Affordable Firepower Inc.
Need a gun? Find a vending machine.
Insert coins.
Out pops a semi-legal disposable pistol.
Sure, it might explode in your hand 60% of the time.
Sure, it might misfire and blow your kneecap off.
But it was cheap, fast, and sometimes — just sometimes — it killed the other guy first.
Good enough.
Arthur glanced at William's bulging coat and snorted.
"With that popgun," Arthur said casually, "you might blow yourself into meat paste faster than you shoot anyone else."
William bristled.
"At least it's better than having nothing! You don't even look armed!"
Arthur's grin widened.
Kid didn't get it.
He was armed — head to toe.
Some of the best weapons were invisible until it was too late.
They slipped down a narrow alley, the walls around them scarred with graffiti, old bloodstains, and half-burned posters of long-forgotten pop stars.
Arthur glanced around.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
He turned to William.
"Stay here," he said firmly.
"Don't move. Don't breathe too loud. Don't even think about doing something stupid."
William opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur was already moving.
Lijing District wasn't just poor — it was rotten.
Twisted streets. Narrow corridors.
The kind of place where you stepped in something foul and prayed it wasn't organic.
Arthur rounded a corner and immediately spotted them: two guys hunched over a pair of boxes.
They were chattering, arguing, exchanging something shady.
Flash deal, Arthur realized.
One of them had more eyes than God intended.
Whirlpool Gang, for sure.
Mutated cybernetics all over, looking like someone tried to turn a sewer rat into a "man."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
Why did these idiots always think more cybernetics made them scarier?
It just made them slower targets.
Arthur kept walking, hands visible, relaxed.
"I'm just passing through," he said casually.
"Keep doing whatever illegal shit you're doing. Not my problem."
He would have kept walking.
But one of them decided to be stupid.
The Whirlpool ganger stepped into Arthur's path, pulling a cheap, rusted pistol from his belt.
"Hey, asshole," the mutant barked, "you saw too much. You think you can just leave?"
Arthur scratched the back of his head.
Seriously? A pistol? Against me?
Before the ganger could blink, Arthur activated his Neural Accelerator.
To normal eyes, he vanished.
A blink.
A blur.
Arthur reappeared behind them, his mantis blades flashing out of his arms with a wet hiss.
Two clean slashes — throat to spine.
By the time reality caught up, the two gangsters were collapsing to the ground, heads spinning through the air like broken dolls.
Blood splattered the alley walls.
Arthur silently sheathed the blades, stooped down, and casually scooped up the two abandoned boxes.
He shook his head.
"Some suffering is brought by others," Arthur muttered.
"But most of it? You idiots bring it on yourselves."
He opened one box slightly and smirked at the glittering tech parts inside.
Bonus loot.
Good night's work already, and he hadn't even caught the main target yet.
Welcome back to Night City.
[End of Chapter 71: Affordable Firepower!]