Arthur stepped carefully across the pool of blood, two heavy boxes swinging from his hands.
He didn't even glance down.
What was the point?
In Night City, if you sprayed luminol reagent everywhere, the entire place would glow like a giant broken neon sign.
Blood here was just another color in the city's endless palette of filth.
Arthur clicked his tongue.
Strange, really.
According to evolution, idiots like the ones he kept encountering should have been the first to go extinct.
Yet somehow, the number of fools in Night City kept increasing.
If Darwin could see this, he'd be kicking the lid off his coffin trying to rewrite "On the Origin of Species."
A few turns later, Arthur arrived outside a rundown shack.
Without hesitation, he bent his knees and launched himself straight through the cracked second-story window.
THUD.
Before the bald man inside could even open his mouth, Arthur clocked him across the temple, knocking him out cold.
There was no point wasting words with small fry like this.
If the priest hadn't specifically requested the man be delivered alive, Arthur would've simply put a bullet between his eyes and called it a day.
Arthur slung the unconscious body over his shoulder, leapt back through the window, and dropped down into the alley where William was nervously chain-smoking.
Several passersby glanced his way.
And immediately stared at the cracked asphalt beneath their feet, pretending they saw nothing.
Welcome to Night City — where minding your own business wasn't just smart; it was survival.
BOOM!
Arthur casually tossed the unconscious man to the ground, sending up a spray of dust and grime.
William, still mid-cigarette, nearly dropped his smoke in shock.
"H-How are you so fast?!"
Arthur stared at him blankly.
Really?
Kid, don't ever say that to a man while he's still flexing from the fight.
Still, Arthur let it slide.
Naughty children, after all, were annoying — but not worth a bullet.
Yet.
Dragging a battered old sofa over, Arthur plopped down, legs crossed, and watched William like a cat studying a mouse.
The kid's expression shifted — from nervous to something far uglier.
From inside his jacket, William pulled out a battered DB-2 Satara electromagnetic shotgun.
Arthur whistled softly.
The Thunderbolt model.
A chunky street cannon, famous for its unreliable power coils and exposed arcs.
Even looking at it, you could smell the cheap manufacturing.
Still...
A blast from that thing could tear a man's cybernetic arm clean off.
Which, in Night City terms, made it practically a high-end weapon.
William raised the shotgun, leveling it at the unconscious man.
Arthur tilted his head curiously.
"What's the grudge?" he asked.
"Let me guess. Stole your father's ashes?"
It wouldn't have been the weirdest thing.
In Night City's slums, stealing urns was practically a cottage industry.
High-end coffee tins made for better ash storage than the garbage most people could afford.
But William didn't answer.
Instead, with a cold expression, he pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The man's head erupted like an overripe melon.
Chunks of bone and brain splattered across the alley.
William didn't stop.
Reload.
BOOM.
Reload.
BOOM.
The kid emptied every shell he had, until what remained on the ground wasn't a body — it was pulp.
Only then did William lower the smoking shotgun, his chest heaving — and the faintest smile curling across his blood-spattered face.
Arthur sat there, expressionless.
Around them, the slum stayed eerily silent.
No police. No sirens.
Just flies already starting to gather.
In Night City, gunfire was just another background noise.
Arthur stretched, nonchalantly brushing a bit of gore off his sleeve.
"You know," he said mildly, "for a guy who just lost a little hair, you sure went nuclear."
William silently took off his baseball cap.
Arthur blinked.
Good God.
The kid's haircut was a crime against humanity.
Where once there had been a full, if scruffy, head of hair — now there was a wide, bald stripe running straight down the middle.
Like a mangy skunk or a half-shaved sheepdog.
David's tragic mohawk looked prestigious by comparison.
"This bastard," William growled, glaring at the ruined corpse, "broke into my house last week.
Not to steal cash. Not food.
No."
"He tied me up and shaved my head with an electric clipper," William spat.
"Said it was a lesson for being too poor."
Arthur scratched his head.
Yep. Night City never disappoints.
Stealing youth. Stealing pride. That mattered more than cash here.
Especially in the gangs.
In William's world, humiliation wasn't just personal — it was a death sentence for your reputation.
If he hadn't taken revenge, he'd have been laughed out of Valentino turf and left to rot with the cockroaches.
Arthur nodded slowly.
Now it made sense why the priest had said it was the boy's "most precious thing."
In a world where reputation was everything, losing face meant losing your future.
Still, Arthur couldn't resist poking the kid a little.
"You know," Arthur said, smirking, "you could've saved yourself the eddies. A baseball bat and some elbow grease would've done the trick."
William shrugged.
"Can't put a price on dignity," he muttered.
Arthur chuckled.
Kids these days.
He stood up, dusting himself off.
"Alright. Contract fulfilled.
Call the priest, tell him to release the funds. I'm done here."
Checking his optics, Arthur noted it was only a little past 1 PM.
His stomach rumbled.
Maybe Mrs. Wells had some real corn at the bar...
He really didn't want to eat another synthetic "corn" cob, which tasted suspiciously like chewing on an old boot.
As Arthur adjusted the boxes under his arms and started walking back toward the street, he wasn't paying attention...
BAM!
He collided headfirst into something very soft.
Arthur froze.
Softness. Warmth.
An unmistakable feeling pressed against him.
Was this it?
After all these years?
Was fate finally giving him a beautiful girl to fall into his arms, Hollywood style?
Arthur looked up excitedly—
And found himself face-to-face with a familiar blonde, her arms crossed and a smirk dancing on her lips.
Melissa.
"Aren't you going to explain yourself?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur scratched his nose awkwardly.
"If your heart," he said smoothly, "is as soft as what I just touched,
then I think you should forgive me."
Melissa snorted, rolling her eyes.
Night City, huh?
Where even love stories start with a body count.
[End of Chapter 72: He Stole My Youth!]