Arthur honestly felt like vomiting.
Good God — were these people serious?
Was that thing on the table actually edible?
Had civilization really fallen so low?
It was already the year 2076.
And yet, cannibalism still made appearances in this hellhole of a city.
Fantastic.
Arthur followed Tom deeper into the compound, passing through a few battered steel doors, until they entered what looked like an underground fight pit.
Inside, two slabs of flesh masquerading as humans were hammering each other with their fists.
Blood splattered everywhere.
New wounds layered over old ones, creating grotesque patchworks of scar tissue and bruises.
Even standing ten meters away, Arthur could smell the pure, sweaty stench of testosterone leaking off them.
Arthur grimaced.
Maybe he should've worn a gas mask.
Or at least a hazmat suit.
The Animal Gang — true to their name — didn't play by normal human rules.
By the way, if you're wondering:
There are no female members of the Animal Gang.
In a literal, biological sense.
You think that bruiser flexing her arms in the corner is a woman?
Wrong.
That's a dude — just one with more silicone, steroids, and hormone injections than your average gorilla.
The average Animal Gang member had enough male hormones to out-macho an entire army battalion.
If you saw someone with tits in Animal Gang colors, it just meant their doctor had a very flexible sense of gender assignment.
Arthur regretted showing his face here without a mask.
With his relatively "pretty boy" features, he was starting to attract the wrong kind of attention.
Real wrong.
Like, prison wrong.
Under the harsh spotlight, the two fighters collided like wrecking balls.
Arthur cringed as a tooth — freshly dislodged — bounced across the filthy floor and landed neatly at his feet.
He scratched the back of his head.
Welcome back to Night City.
Where teeth were more common on the ground than spare change.
Eventually, one of the two collapsed with a wet, meaty thud.
The victor — arms like tree trunks and blood pouring from her broken nose — wiped the sweat and gore from her face and jumped off the ring.
She didn't even glance at her defeated opponent.
No medics.
No sympathy.
Just the casual swagger of someone who had seen, and probably eaten, worse.
Tom quickly ushered Arthur toward the woman.
He spoke respectfully: "Boss, this guy's good. Said he wanted to cooperate with us Animal Gang folks. I didn't think he was full of shit, so I brought him in."
The boss nodded once.
Without speaking, she dropped onto a creaky sofa, picked up a three-liter bottle of water, and chugged it down in one go.
Arthur blinked.
Three liters.
In one breath.
He scratched his head again, wondering if he should be more impressed or more horrified.
In Night City, there were always fools hoping to work with Animal Gang muscle.
Most companies loved outsourcing dirty jobs to them — transport, intimidation, retrieval missions.
Heavy lifting with no questions asked.
But Arthur wasn't here for that.
After emptying the massive water bottle, the boss finally pointed lazily at the sofa across from her.
"Sit," she ordered.
Arthur shrugged and plopped down.
He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and leaned back, crossing his legs casually.
The boss stared at him, amusement flickering in her small, beady eyes.
"Arthur Martinez," she drawled. "The old relic of Night City.
Heard you went full cyberpsycho back in the day.
Looking at you now?
Still a ghost, huh?"
Arthur smiled, tapping ash from his cigarette.
So they'd done their homework.
And not just because of some Animal Gang street gossip.
Someone had briefed them.
Someone with more resources than a bunch of steroid-riddled brawlers.
Arthur's instincts screamed corp interference.
He grinned lazily.
"Ghost, huh? I'm living better than half the city," Arthur said. "Since you know my name, you probably know what I'm here for too."
He stubbed out his cigarette with a casual flick.
"I'm opening a business. Legit, if you can believe it.
If Animal Gang can provide security — real security — without causing too much trouble, I'm willing to cut you in for a healthy slice."
He left the specifics vague.
Negotiations were like boxing — you didn't throw your hardest punch first.
The boss leaned back, her face splitting into a grin that somehow made her look even more dangerous.
"Change of plans," she said.
"Someone else wants to meet you."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
That's when he noticed him.
A skinny man, standing quietly behind the sofa — too still, too clean, too... corporate.
Not Animal Gang.
Arthur squinted, then sighed.
Network Surveillance Company, huh?
Those pricks again.
"Please," Arthur groaned theatrically.
"I'm not interested in your little drama with the Voodoo Boys or your corporate espionage wet dreams."
He lay back on the sofa like a washed-up lounge singer.
"I just want to make money, drink decent whiskey, and not get melted into goo by rogue AI programs."
The boss chuckled — a deep, chesty laugh that sounded like a diesel engine.
Behind her, the clean-cut corp agent smiled thinly, adjusting his tie.
Bingo.
Arthur had hit the nerve.
"You're sharp," the boss said approvingly.
"You know who's pulling the strings."
She steepled her massive fingers.
"You're right. We don't care about the Voodoo Boys personally.
But the idiots messing with the Blackwall?
They're gonna get us all killed.
The Net's not just full of pretty data anymore.
It's full of monsters. Real ones."
Arthur shrugged.
"And you want me to... what? Go monster hunting?"
The agent behind the boss stepped forward finally.
"No," he said smoothly.
"We want you to keep the children from opening the gate."
Arthur sighed again, blowing a smoke ring.
"Babysitting hackers," he muttered.
"Just what I needed."
[End of Chapter 81: Network Surveillance!]