"Ahhh!"
The scream cut through the air like a tear in reality. The robber, face twisted in disbelief, dropped his weapon and lunged for the window.
He'd seen it. That wasn't his father. That grotesque smile on the bald thug standing beside his mother—the very image of Night City sleaze. It sent him spiraling.
He kicked open the security shield with the desperation of a man betrayed by fate and family. A pistol trembled in his hand.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three shots cracked into the air, echoing off the glass and chro of the surrounding buildings. But not one hit its mark. Whether it was panic or lack of skill, his aim was all over the place. River Ward, still shirtless and smiling like a walking felony, didn't even flinch.
A split second later, the crack of a sniper rifle pierced the tension.
One bullet. Clean. Precise.
The robber's head snapped back, and he collapsed forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood sprayed onto the pavent in a grotesque fan, pooling by his boots. His eyes, wide and distant, locked on his mother one last ti before dulling completely.
Arthur let out a long sigh and tossed the gaphone to the young cop standing frozen beside him. Then, with practiced ease, he slid a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a flick.
David stood rooted behind him, face pale, eyes fixed on the growing puddle of red.
"Dad... why did it end like that?" he asked, his voice low, shaken.
Arthur exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned to him, gaze calm but unreadable. "In Night City—hell, in this world—stories like his are everywhere."
He took a long drag, then pointed the burning tip of the cigarette in the direction of the body.
"Sympathy? It'll get you killed. Everyone here's got a sad story. Everyone's been used, chewed up, and spat out by the system. So snap and take hostages. So rot in alleys. So put on suits and smile while burying knives in your back. You wanna survive here, you don't carry their burdens. You carry your own."
David said nothing. He just looked at his own hands, like he didn't quite recognize them.
Arthur didn't press. He simply turned and walked back to the car, his black coat catching in the wind.
The streets of Night City didn't wait for grief. They swallowed it.
---
The drive was silent.
David sat in the passenger seat, eyes cast down, lost in whatever storm brewed inside. He didn't ask questions. Didn't look up. Arthur didn't bla him. Everyone has to confront the truth of Night City eventually. Better to learn young than die blind.
By the ti they reached the Civic Center, the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows across the gleaming towers. The chro heart of Night City pulsed with life, oblivious to the blood spilled in its alleys.
Arthur killed the engine and turned to David.
"You stay in the car," he said, tossing him the keys. "Keep the engine warm. If anyone tries to fine for parking, just say you're a corporate intern. They hate interns."
David looked up, startled. "I—what? You're not taking in?"
"Nah," Arthur muttered, stepping out. "You've seen enough for one day."
---
The Civic Center was cleaner than most districts, probably because every corrupt official inside paid extra to keep the streets piss-free.
Arthur strolled through the glass doors with all the arrogance of a man who'd dodged taxes his whole life and still got invited to the mayor's gala.
Inside, he was greeted by fluorescent lights, a soulless receptionist, and the kind of artificial air freshener that made your nostrils cry for help. He handed over his appointnt code and was told to wait.
When the ti ca, he was led into an office that reeked of recycled paperwork and desperation. The official behind the desk was slick—polished hair, glowing teeth, expensive watch. The kind of guy who smiled while denying you housing.
Arthur didn't waste ti. He set the tal briefcase on the desk with a thud and opened it. Inside, a single file folder.
The bureaucrat raised a brow. "Just two pages?"
Arthur shrugged. "The rest is performance."
The man chuckled and flipped through the papers. Whatever was on them made him nod appreciatively.
"Well, Mr. Arthur, Night City always welcos innovation... especially when it cos with a modest donation to the public good."
"I'm not here to bribe you," Arthur said, lighting another cigarette.
"Oh, I know. You're a good citizen. You want to lease a few thousand square feet in the Badlands. Nothing shady."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Fifty-year lease. Ten thousand eurodollars."
The bureaucrat blinked. "That's... generous."
"No." Arthur blew smoke toward the ceiling. "That's fair. I clean up a rat-infested patch of dirt, turn it into sothing useful, employ the locals, and don't ask questions. All you have to do is keep the paperwork quiet and the cops busy elsewhere."
The man licked his lips. "Deal."
Arthur smiled and signed.
"You really do care about Night City," the man said, extending a hand.
Arthur took it. "Of course. I live here. I might die here. That makes a patriot."
---
Outside, Arthur leaned against the car, staring up at the gray sky as it threatened rain.
He'd done it. Official land rights in the Badlands. No more hiding from NCPD drones. No more midnight relocations. He could finally build sothing—sothing permanent.
He glanced through the windshield.
David still sat inside, hands clenched, lost in thought.
Yeah. This city changes people.
And soon, Arthur would be the one pulling the strings instead of dodging them.
"Let's go, kid," he muttered. "It's ti to build our empire."
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