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Arthur scratched the back of his head as he heard Spanish. He didn't understand a word of it, but in Night City, that didn't matter. Thanks to the widespread use of brain-computer interfaces, language barriers had beco a thing of the past. Subtitles popped up directly in your prosthetic eyes—like watching a live movie, minus the popcorn.
He pushed open the door to the prosthetic clinic and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was a muscular man writhing in pain on an operating table, face twisted like he'd just been dumped by his girlfriend. Lao stood next to him, casually gripping the man's hand while hamring away—with actual nails.
Arthur blinked. Was this a clinic or a construction site?
Then again, doctors in Night City were a different breed. Their thods might look primitive or downright questionable, but they got results. The fact that Lao was carrying out an operation with a hamr and nails was both impressive and mildly horrifying.
Arthur flinched at the sight. It brought back so uncomfortable mories.
"Lao, doing renovations today?" he quipped, unable to resist.
The guy on the table glanced over and grinned through the pain. "Hermanos, I told you—if you need fixing, Lao's the guy. Strong arms, factory finish."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound convincing at all. Lao was surrounded by an unsettling mix of tools—hamrs, nails, saws, scalpels, even a soldering torch. It looked more like a scavenger's workshop than a professional dical setup.
If Arthur hadn't known Lao for years, he probably would've bolted.
Lao ignored him and turned to the patient. "You know what a black hand is?"
The man, trying to be clever, shot back, "Of course! Morgan's the mastermind!"
Victor, who stood nearby, and Arthur both twitched at the na. Lao's hamr missed the nail—and hit the guy's actual hand.
"AAAGHHH!" The scream that followed was ear-piercing, like a pig being butchered. Arthur winced in sympathy.
Lesson learned: don't test Lao's patience.
"Okay, Lao, I'll let you get back to your... masterpiece," Arthur muttered. "I just need to borrow so equipnt."
He made his way over to the workbench, opened a drawer, and pulled out a standard chip. Placing it on the table, he got to work, modifying it with quick, precise movents.
Prosthetic doctors in Night City often took on roles beyond their dical expertise. Clients requested all kinds of bizarre customizations—mini cannons in their arms, bulletproof skin layers, retractable claws. It was risky and illegal, but that never stopped anyone here.
While Arthur worked, Lao continued with the patient, uninterested in what Arthur was doing. The two had known each other long enough to respect each other's space.
Then Lao said, "This guy's new to Jack's crew. If you need backup soti, he's not bad."
Arthur glanced up. He had recognized Jack, but introductions in Night City were delicate. You didn't greet soone unless you knew where they stood. One wrong move, and you could find yourself in a gang war.
Victor chid in, "That's Arthur over there—old-school rc. Caused more chaos back in the day than most gangs combined. He's a cybermaniac, but experienced. Could teach you a thing or two."
Arthur shot him a dirty look. "Can we stop calling a cyberpsycho? That phase is over. You're killing my rep."
Victor chuckled. Given Arthur's track record, most people still believed he was one bad day away from snapping again. And since he spent more ti in clinics than out on the streets, the rumors never stopped.
Arthur turned to Jack. "So, Mrs. Wells from the Wolf Bar has a son nad Jack. That you?"
Jack blinked. "You know my mom?"
Victor laughed. "Arthur's on the Wolf Bar's blacklist. Has been for over a decade. But I'm sure that ban's expired by now."
Arthur shrugged. "Back then, I helped Mrs. Wells deal with so troublemakers. Next thing I knew, I was banned. Totally unfair. I still drink there sotis."
Victor nearly doubled over laughing. "You 'helped' by detonating half the bar with military-grade explosives, rember?"
Jack's jaw dropped. That explained a lot. His mom wasn't soone who tolerated nonsense. Running a bar in a gang-infested neighborhood took guts—and respect.
Jack, once part of the Valentinos, understood what that ant. In gang life, power ca with rules. Let anyone co and go without consequence, and your authority would evaporate.
Arthur just smiled to himself, quietly enjoying the chaos. In a world full of madness, sotis the only way to survive was to be a little mad yourself.
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