The mont Arthur started talking business, his energy surged.
"I'm telling you, there's no competition between suppressors and inhibitors!"
Lucy, intrigued, reviewed the data Arthur had sent her. After a mont, she nodded thoughtfully.
"Compared to suppressors, inhibitors are indeed inferior. They require regular injections, precise dosages, and the body quickly develops resistance."
Arthur blinked, then looked at Lucy like she'd just grown another head.
"Who told you that? Inhibitors are clearly better! Think about it—they're consumables. As long as soone's alive, they'll keep buying them. But suppressors? One-and-done. Where's the profit in that?"
Lucy fell silent, lighting a cigarette. Before she could take a drag, Arthur snatched it. She casually lit another one, unbothered.
Is this what capitalism looks like? she thought as she exhaled smoke. She'd been focused on what worked best for people. Arthur, as always, was focused on what made the most money.
Arthur, puffing on the strawberry-flavored smoke, grew even more animated.
"What I need you to do isn't just optimize the program—I want to add features."
Lucy raised an eyebrow.
"First, reduce the chip's performance to 50%. Then, connect it to the Net and load it with ads. Sell the chips at a 20% markup. Once installed, the user watches one hour of ads daily—unless they pay for a mbership."
Lucy stared, trying to figure out if he was joking. He wasn't.
"So if soone pays for a mbership, they get rid of the ads?" she asked skeptically.
"Of course not!" Arthur replied, offended. "That's where the real money is. Even paid mbers see curated ads. But we'll offer mbership tiers: Regular, Black Iron, Bronze, Silver, and Gold."
Arthur grinned as he laid it out.
"Regular mbers get ad ti cut to five minutes. Black Iron? No ads. Bronze gets a 10% chip boost, Silver another 10%, and Gold unlocks full power—30% total boost!"
By the ti he parked the car, Arthur was practically glowing. He turned to Lucy, eyes gleaming.
"This suppressor chip is going to rake in more cash than any inhibitor ever could! I'll be out of Santo Domingo, living in a downtown penthouse. CEO of a listed company, married to multiple beauties, living the dream. Just thinking about it gives goosebumps!"
Lucy just stared, stunned.
What did I just hear?
This wasn't just evil. It was genius-level evil. Arthur didn't want to fleece the rich—he wanted to milk everyone in Night City dry. One chip at a ti.
She lit another cigarette. This ti, when Arthur reached for it, she slapped his hand away and tossed the case into his lap.
"Every fiber of your being is soaked in greed. It's disgusting."
Arthur lit one anyway, inspecting the case before pocketing it like it was his by right.
"Compared to the corps in this city, I'm a small fish. So—are you in?"
Lucy sighed, smoke curling from her lips.
She hated to admit it... but it was a solid idea.
"I'm not against it," she said. "But let ask—does your company need funding? Offering shares?"
Arthur smirked. "Sorry, no investors yet. But I could use a chief network consultant. Once this hits the market, people will try to crack the system to bypass ads. I'll need soone like you to stay ahead of them."
He stepped out of the car and looked around. They were parked in front of a graffiti-covered factory in Pacifica. A few suspicious figures lingered nearby, eyeing them.
Arthur lit another cigarette.
"Let guess... Intel gatherers. Who the hell cos to Pacifica for a scenic tour?"
Lucy followed him out, eyes narrowing at the black-clad n in the distance.
"You really plan to run a factory here? The Voodoo Boys aren't exactly neighborly."
She had a point. The Voodoo Boys didn't trust outsiders. They barely trusted each other. Any attempt at partnership was likely to end with soone dead.
Arthur, as always, didn't care.
"I should track down the real estate agent who sold this dump. Anyone who can convince a cyberpsycho to buy property in Pacifica deserves a damn award."
Lucy scowled.
"I'm serious. If the Voodoo Boys decide you're a threat, they'll co after you."
Arthur just smiled, exhaling a sweet cloud of strawberry-scented smoke.
"Trouble? In Night City? That's just another Tuesday."
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