10% off?
Sol was speechless.
He stared at Arthur like he'd just suggested selling his kidney for a discount.
10% off?!
If it was really that cheap, the entire homeless camp would be guzzling Mistral by the barrel.
"Come on, Arthur," Sol said dryly. "Your jokes aren't funny."
Arthur chuckled and leaned back lazily.
"Alright, fine. How about this — if you laugh at my next joke, you take my order at 80% of market price?"
Sol squinted at him.
He was going to offer a discount anyway — wanderers always took care of their own — but Arthur's shamelessness still amazed him.
"Alright then," Sol said, touching his chin thoughtfully. "Tell me your best joke. But I warn you, I'm famous for keeping a straight face."
Arthur grinned.
"Why does every magazine in Night City hold thirty rounds?"
Sol raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know, why?"
"Because that's how many students are left alive in a classroom after roll call."
There was a beat of silence — and then Sol burst out laughing, slapping his thigh hard enough to rattle his holster.
"Oh, God, forgive my sinful soul! Arthur, you son of a b***h — you're going straight to hell for that one!"
Still chuckling, Sol finally gave in.
"Alright, alright. 80% of the market price it is. Contact Mitch directly when you need it. Adécado is always ready for you."
He hung up, still wheezing with laughter.
Arthur looked up at the gloomy sky overhead and realized it was still early.
Good.
He still had time to knock on the Animal Gang's door today.
A short while later, Arthur — driving a beat-up loaner car from his old Sixth Street friends — rolled up toward the Animal Gang's current turf: Grand Empire Mall.
Among all Night City's gangs, the Animals were a special breed.
Not just a gang — a philosophy.
While other groups had strict hierarchies, leaders, plans, the Animals ran like wild packs.
No fixed territory.
No clear goal beyond flexing, fighting, and feeding their primal instincts.
You could find them anywhere: guarding VIP doors, hijacking transports, or beating each other senseless in illegal boxing rings.
Their name wasn't ironic — it was a lifestyle.
Savage, brutal, straightforward.
Perfect.
Arthur preferred dealing with muscleheads over slimy fixers any day.
At least with the Animals, everything was laid out with a punch to the face instead of a knife in the back.
Arthur threw off his long coat and tossed it into the car, cracking his neck as he loosened up.
If there was one thing the Animals respected, it was raw power.
And Arthur was ready to give them a show if needed.
Sure enough, he barely made it three steps before a massive hulk of a man — more bicep than brain — stomped over.
The Animal looked Arthur up and down, blinking slowly at the lack of visible cyber-muscle.
"Brother," the man said seriously, "what kinda growth hormone you on? Dog? Cow?"
Arthur twitched.
Seriously?
He resisted the urge to facepalm and just said flatly, "It's called being human, you dumbass. Try it sometime."
The Animal grinned like he'd just heard the smartest thing all day.
"Cool!"
He gave Arthur a heavy slap on the back that nearly staggered him.
"You here to box? You gotta ditch the cockroach knives if you wanna fight fair!"
Arthur rolled his shoulders.
"Nah. I'm here to talk business. I'm opening a factory in Pacifica. Thought I'd come say hello."
The Animal nodded sagely.
"Ah, Dragon Kingdom rules, eh? Always good to pay respect at the dock."
Then he grinned wider.
"But, uh... if you want to talk cooperation, you probably still gotta throw a few punches. Rules are rules."
Arthur expected as much.
Then, with all the subtlety of a pickpocket on fire, the Animal whipped out a wad of plastic vials from his pocket.
"Hey, wanna buy some real hormones? Best stuff. Legit!"
Arthur tilted his head.
He wasn't surprised — in Night City, buying shady drugs was easier than buying bottled water.
Still, he raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah? Real legal, huh?"
The Animal puffed out his chest proudly, rummaging in his pockets until he yanked out a crumpled certificate.
"Look! Official from City Hall! I'm a registered vendor!"
Arthur snorted and grabbed the flimsy paper.
Sure enough, it was a real permit.
The City had legalized the sale of certain "supplements," as long as taxes were paid.
Selling was legal.
Buying?
Eh... not so much.
In Night City, it worked like this:
If you sold shady stuff, no problem. Just pay your taxes.
If you bought shady stuff, congratulations, your name was now in a database somewhere.
When the police needed to meet a quota?
Guess whose door they kicked down.
It was an elegant system of legalized betrayal.
Arthur tossed the certificate back into the Animal's hands like it was radioactive.
"I'm not some fresh meat from outta town," Arthur said dryly.
"I was playing cards with Arasaka agents while you were still drooling on your bib."
The Animal laughed sheepishly.
"Fair, fair. No offense, choom."
Arthur stretched out his arms.
"Now, take me to your boss," he said casually.
"And make it fast. I'd like to settle this without getting covered in blood today."
The Animal scratched his head awkwardly.
"Uh, yeah... about that. We don't really have a 'boss'."
Arthur sighed.
Of course.
The Animals didn't do official leadership.
But every pack had an alpha — the meanest son of a bitch who punched harder than everyone else.
Arthur figured he'd be easy enough to find.
Just head toward the loudest shouting and the smell of blood and sweat.
Arthur flexed his fingers.
No avoiding it.
If he wanted their cooperation for the factory in Pacifica, he'd have to fight someone.
And not just win — he'd have to dominate them.
Make it crystal clear who was the real apex predator.
Arthur cracked his neck again, feeling the familiar adrenaline start to hum through his veins.
Time to knock some sense into a few thick skulls.
[End of Chapter 79: Selling Is Legal, But Buying Is Illegal!]