The member of the Animal Gang scratched his head, looking a little regretful about losing out on the deal, but he wasn't angry at Arthur's words.
Among the Animals, strength was everything.
Respect wasn't earned through negotiation — it was enforced with muscle and firepower.
Arthur's heavy cyberware alone was proof enough: this guy wasn't to be messed with.
Even if the Animals hated extensive cybernetic modifications, they weren't stupid.
A lion might not like a bear's claws — but it sure as hell respected them.
"Alright," the Animal Gang member finally muttered, "you come with me. But be careful — our boss doesn't have a good temper."
He scratched his arm absently, then added, "Name's Tom. What's yours?"
As he spoke, Tom turned and started leading the way through the maze of back alleys.
Arthur followed, his instincts alert.
Tom's casual chatter couldn't hide the fact that they were moving deeper into Animal territory.
Tom was different.
Arthur could tell instantly.
Most Animals were unstable beasts pumped full of homemade steroids and trash-level synth-hormones.
The gang's philosophy revolved around one thing: bigger, faster, angrier.
Their "medicine" cocktail shredded their bodies and turned their minds to mush, but they didn't care — it made them stronger.
And yet Tom seemed... normal.
Polite, even.
That meant only two possibilities:
Either Tom had the money to buy clean, professionally mixed boosters — unlikely, given his threadbare jacket —
Or he was a low-level grunt who kept his head down and survived by staying just useful enough.
Arthur shrugged casually.
"Arthur," he replied.
Just as Tom was about to say something else, a small box flew across the air and smacked into his shoulder.
Arthur caught the box one-handed before it could hit the ground, then casually yanked Tom behind him.
A larger Animal — built like a malfunctioning vending machine — stomped forward, snarling.
"Madre de Dios," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"Really? Over a box?"
The big guy stomped closer, face twisted with rage.
"You little sh*t," the big Animal growled. "You think you can bump into me and just walk away?"
Arthur didn't even blink.
His hand flashed, and a switchblade materialized from his sleeve — resting casually against the big guy's thick, sweaty neck.
The message was clear:
One more step, and you're fertilizer.
Arthur leaned in slightly, voice low and cold.
"When you get angry, try making sure you're not picking a fight with someone who can skin you before you even blink."
The Animal froze, visibly swallowing his rage.
For a moment, it looked like he might test his luck anyway — but some tiny fragment of survival instinct kicked in.
He sneered, snatched the box from Arthur's hand, and turned away, muttering curses under his breath.
"Next time, you're dead, asshole!" the big man spat over his shoulder.
Arthur just smiled pleasantly.
"Looking forward to it."
Tom exhaled heavily and slumped against the nearest wall.
"Thanks, man," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "These guys always find a reason to hassle me. Even though I bring them the best sh*t every time!"
Arthur rolled his eyes.
There were no innocents in Night City — especially not among the Animals.
"Maybe," Arthur said dryly, "next time you water down the hormones a little less. Or at least cut the scam to five times the market price instead of ten."
"Or," he added, "stop buying your stock from the Whirlpool Gang and passing it off as premium goods."
Tom's face froze.
He stared at Arthur like he'd just seen a ghost.
"H-How did you know?"
Arthur shrugged, amused.
"I have eyes, Tom. And a nose. That crap smells like a gang lab exploded in a dumpster fire."
As they continued walking through the back corridors of Animal territory, Arthur kept thinking about that little box from earlier.
It didn't feel like ordinary contraband.
Too... heavy.
Curious, he asked casually, "What was in that box anyway?"
Tom looked around nervously, then leaned closer.
"Dandan," he whispered conspiratorially.
"Fresh stuff! Picked right off some unlucky guy off the street!"
Arthur blinked.
"You guys are harvesting balls now?"
Tom nodded proudly, like he'd just announced they were importing diamonds.
Arthur rubbed his temples.
"So what? You planning to install a dozen of them on yourselves for extra testosterone?"
He half-expected Tom to answer yes.
After all, the Animals weren't exactly known for their deep critical thinking.
Tom shook his head, laughing.
"Nah, man. Some corpo freaks in the city center keep asking for fresh ones. Says Night City's radiation levels are too high — gotta swap the goods out every few weeks."
Arthur stared at him.
"...You're serious?"
"Dead serious! They think it protects their purity or some sh*t."
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back a headache.
It wasn't the first time Night City's upper class had shown staggering stupidity, but it still amazed him how easily rich idiots could out-crazy the street gangs.
Radiation?
Replacing body parts every month?
Jesus wept.
Arthur changed the subject.
"Sounds like you guys are running a big business."
Tom shrugged modestly.
"Eh. We just do some 'express deliveries.' Those corpo types don't like working with scavengers, so they use us instead."
"They pay well?"
Tom grinned.
"Better than selling steroids to meatheads, that's for sure."
Arthur thought for a second.
"And besides... it's not like they're buying chicken or anything, right?"
Tom laughed, a little too loudly.
"Not chicken, man. That's for the immigrants over in Pacifica. They don't trust anyone but their own people."
Arthur shook his head, both amused and disgusted.
Night City: where even smuggling meat could mean smuggling actual human meat if you weren't careful.
Finally, Tom gestured toward a reinforced steel door at the end of a dirty hallway.
"Boss's inside. Good luck."
Arthur adjusted his coat, feeling the familiar weight of his mantis blades under his sleeves.
Time to see if he could make a deal.
Or, failing that,
time to see if he could cut one.
[End of Chapter 80: Animals Help Deliver the Goods!]