There's a substance—let's call it a drug—that can enter the human mind, erase the synapses formed by memories, and replace them with blue, editable structures.
Rewired synapses. Overwritten subconscious. A way for one person to live again through another.
Was that his case?
Not exactly. He hadn't overwritten the memories of whoever came before—he had devoured them.
As for the philosophical questions—whether Arthur was even a real person at all…
Philosophy? That kind of thing never had a place in a cowboy's head.
Still, there were clear parallels to Arthur's condition.
Just as he was about to copy the data for Vik, the screen in front of him went black. The power across the entire floor cut out.
"This lab's system is just a subsystem of something bigger. What we're seeing means the main system stepped in directly."
Jessica explained quickly.
"Move! We've been found!"
Arthur reacted instantly, yanking Jessica by the back of her collar.
In the darkness, he didn't need to worry about Jackie losing his way—only about keeping the girl close.
Guided by memory and the faint glow of emergency lights, the three quickly reached the bottom of the hole blasted open earlier.
Jessica let Arthur pull her along without resistance. But when she stepped into the room and saw Joseph lying on the floor, she gasped, covered her eyes, and cried out.
Arthur set her down.
"Move! Get up there—watch that cable."
He pointed to the sparking wire overhead.
At his words, Jessica peeked through her fingers, glanced up at the gap, and started climbing on all fours.
Arthur followed close behind, giving her a push when needed. It took effort, but he got the girl through. Then he turned, hauled Jackie up, and together they grabbed a random car and sped out of the Diman Slaughterhouse.
"That was a rush!"
Jackie gripped the wheel, his face lit with excitement.
"Last time we pulled three hundred K for a job worth fifty. This time it's just a hundred K for something worth four, maybe five. Kinda feels like we're losing out, huh?"
Now relaxed, Jackie talked nonstop, grinning wide.
"And we even picked someone up along the way—a little crybaby who can't stop getting lost."
Arthur turned to ask,
"Crybaby, where's your home? We'll take you back. If you get lost on your own, it'll hurt our reputation."
The grimy little girl had helped them a lot in this run, and Arthur felt a warmth toward her.
"Westbrook. Charter Hill. Treeview Community."
Free of that hellhole, Jessica's voice was still soft, but steadier now, without the tremble.
"No wonder—you're a corpo exec's daughter. That's prime real estate."
Jackie's voice called from the front.
Arthur chuckled and teased,
"Then let's get our princess home. I hate running errands like this, but you really came through for us.
Just be careful next time—don't let Scavs get their hands on you again."
...
Night City—the largest free trade port in the Americas. Its brilliance wasn't only the skyline at night, glowing like the Earth's own eye.
The city's transport system was a marvel, too. Especially the elevated highways circling its edge, pumping life through the city's veins.
Racing across the streets, the three soon reached Charter Hill in Westbrook.
Elegant homes lined the slope in dense rows, a luxury community built during the Reconstruction, spearheaded by the corps.
Though North Oak had taken over as the city's most coveted neighborhood twenty years ago, Charter Hill was still one of Night City's most prosperous districts.
Minimalist houses stood among manicured greenery, sometimes accented with just the right touch of flair. People strolled leisurely along the wide, clean streets, every one of them carrying the air of corpo elite.
They parked, and Arthur and Jackie followed Jessica into the gated community.
The scent of plants hung in the air, and the broad streets gave the place a calm, refined feel.
Jessica's identity was already logged in the system. A biometric scan, and the apartment door unlocked.
All three relaxed—until Jessica stopped in front of one door.
Her home. But something was off.
Shouts and curses came from inside.
"I'll say it one last time—your daughter's dead, got it? But you still owe us every penny, plus interest.
Be smart. Houses, cars—you can sell those. But you've only got one life.
If you want to keep it, you'd better pay us back.
And as for your unlucky daughter? If she wasn't chopped to pieces, she's already gone mad.
Don't pay, and I'll be glad to reunite you both."
The arrogance barely faded before another voice answered, weak and desperate.
"Please… I'll pay. I'll pay it all back. Just bring my daughter home.
She's alive. She has to be alive. She's smart—she'll hold on until someone saves her.
Please…"
"Pathetic! I said she's dead, so she's dead. Why would we lie?
I'm done wasting time. The money—on time. Or you'll pay in other ways."
Every word carried through the door. Jessica lowered her head, trembling.
Arthur actually chuckled. A fellow loan shark? But these clowns had even less shame than him.
At least his business was clean: lend a certain amount, collect a certain amount. No extortion, no tricks.
These guys though? They wouldn't do the job, and still wanted more money. That was funny.
Arthur steadied Jessica's shoulders and motioned for her to open the door.
Inside, the shouting escalated—until the door suddenly swung open.
The men inside froze, staring at the doorway: a filthy little girl and two men.
Jackie, with his cold face and towering frame, was enough to silence them on sight.
Jessica broke the silence.
"Dad…"
At the far end, a gaunt middle-aged man stared, stunned. When he heard that word, tears streamed down his lined face, slipping through stubble and dripping to the floor.
Jessica burst into sobs and threw herself into his arms.
Arthur's mood brightened. Maybe this job had been a loss…
…but not really. They'd taken it on a whim, which meant they'd basically pocketed a hundred K for free.
That thought made him grin.
Until—
The troublemakers spoke again.
"Good! Your daughter's back now, so the job's done.
But if you can't pay, we'll just snatch her again."
The shamelessness made Arthur pause. He might be a bastard, but not that low.
They made him sick—deep down, right to his core.
Arthur said nothing—just jammed the barrel of his revolver against the loudmouth's forehead.
"Who the hell are you? Gangers? Freelance mercs? Don't tell me you're private eyes."
His raspy voice sounded almost careless—but it made the men flinch.
It wasn't just his tone. It was the speed of his draw. That was what terrified them.
"This world's always the same—scum pushing around honest folks. And vermin like you are the worst.
Talk. Where'd you crawl out of? Don't, and the next one talks."
"We're with the Tyger Claws! You'd better back off!"
Even with cold steel pressed to his skull, the thug tried bluffing.
"Tyger Claws, huh."
Arthur repeated the name in his head. "Not a good answer."
And for them, it really wasn't. It only meant one thing—death.
The Tyger Claws were like parasites. If you didn't put them down for good, they'd cling to you forever, convinced you were nothing.
...
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