"Fatso, anyone can challenge, right?
Better clear that up now, so no one starts whining later."
Rebecca was still shouting, but this time her voice carried real confidence.
"Cut the crap. If you're gonna shoot, get in here. Don't waste my damn time."
Wilson shoved his bulky frame through the door into the indoor shooting range.
Inside were a few makeshift firing windows and a long target lane stretching dozens of meters. Six ceiling rails held suspended targets.
"The rules are simple. One hundred seconds. One score per target. Targets drop at random, and the number's random too.
Ten points for a bullseye, zero for a miss. At the end, we average it out—that's your score.
So, ready?"
Arthur picked a window at random and drew his revolver from the holster at his waist—the oversized Prelude.
Seeing this, Wilson couldn't help but comment.
"The targets drop fast. You'd be better off with something smaller, less recoil, bigger magazine."
"Use your eyes, kid... and keep your mouth shut."
Arthur set his hat aside, his hoarse voice low and steady.
"Start it."
"You... you... fine.
Maybe watching you flail will at least give everyone a laugh.
Ready! Three, two, one...
Go!"
Bang—
Before Wilson even finished, Arthur's gun roared.
A target barely halfway down snapped back up as if chased away.
Bang... bang...
Every target that followed met the same fate. Even when several dropped at once, they were blasted back instantly.
Arthur reloaded at his own pace—his shots came so fast it felt like time itself couldn't keep up.
When the hundred seconds ended, Arthur turned.
Wilson stood slack-jawed, tiny eyes bulging like they might pop out.
"Well, fatso...
Cough up my damn gun."
Rebecca planted her fists on her hips, chin raised high like she'd been the one shooting.
"Perfect... a perfect score!
Sharpshooter, Arthur—you were hiding that from us!"
Wilson snapped out of it, ignoring Rebecca, still staring at Arthur like he was seeing him for the first time.
"Holy shit... amazing!"
He rushed out of the range and dove behind the counter. Moments later he returned with a heavy black gun case, over a meter long, wide and thick.
"Here, Arthur.
Compared to your godlike shooting, this prize feels like nothing."
He set the case in front of Arthur.
"Damn it, fatso! That's supposed to be my gun!"
Rebecca stomped furiously when Wilson brushed her off and handed the weapon to Arthur.
Arthur took the prize and walked out of the shop, Rebecca trailing proudly at his side.
...
"How'd you end up here?" Arthur asked as they walked. She'd clearly come looking for him.
"Obviously... to test your new Cyberware."
Rebecca grinned wide, thrusting her stubby arms out with excitement.
"I heard you're almost recovered. Let's take the new gear out.
You know so many Fixers—go grab us a Gig."
"Compared to you, I'm the rookie..." Arthur paused, as if something crossed his mind, then added:
"See? Just following someone else around won't get you anywhere.
At least pick a decent boss."
"What, you saying Maine isn't good enough?"
She glared with her big red eyes, cheeks puffed in a sulk.
"The boss I mean isn't Maine..."
By then they'd reached Arthur's apartment door.
It scanned his ID and the crude metal panel slid open automatically.
A wave of heavy alcohol stench rolled out, making Rebecca gag and stumble back.
"This is your place? You sleep on bottles?"
She stared in shock.
The dim hallway lights glinted off shattered glass littered across the floor.
"What? You think a merc's room is supposed to be tidy?
I'm no princess."
Arthur kicked aside bottles and walked straight in.
He cleared the junk from the table with one sweep and dropped the massive gun case on top.
"This thing's heavy. What kind of gun is it?"
Rebecca ignored the mess and hurried over, plopping down in front of the case.
"Affordable Firepower. Model: Carnage. Kinetic Shotgun."
She shoved Arthur aside and flipped the case open eagerly.
Affordable Firepower lived up to its name—cheap guns, notoriously unreliable, sometimes with burrs still on the metal.
Arthur glanced at the thrilled Rebecca and muttered:
"You could walk through the Northside Industrial District, on Maelstrom turf, and scoop up a pile of these. Hell, you'd probably dig them out of the trash."
The Carnage was massive but flimsy, crammed with more powder than its frame could safely handle.
At best, the recoil would rip your shoulder out of its socket. At worst, it'd blow up in your hands.
"This isn't a standard Carnage," Rebecca explained, already hauling the enormous black Shotgun from its case.
Without her new cyberware, even she would've struggled to lift it.
"This one's a custom collector's edition from Affordable Firepower."
She tapped the barrel, thick as a cannon.
"Grade 7 Black Steel—same stuff they use for rocket nozzles."
"A hunk of junk stuffed with premium material?
You planning to fly with it? That recoil could launch you into orbit."
Arthur's sarcasm didn't slow her down. She spun the weapon around, even tossed it up twice before catching it again with a grin.
"Forget the color—this is perfect!
I'll take it to the old man for a tune-up!"
She spun it proudly in her hands.
"I'll call it... Iron Guts!"
"Take your Iron Egg and play somewhere else."
Arthur grabbed her by the back of the collar and tossed her—gun and all—out the door.
It was late, but Rebecca still wouldn't leave. Arthur finally walked her part of the way.
"Damn you, Arthur! It's Iron Guts!"
Rebecca dropped herself on the floor outside his door, legs splayed, pounding her fist against the metal.
"When are we taking a Gig?"
"Tomorrow. I'll find you. Now get home and be ready."
With her answer, Rebecca jumped up, slinging Iron Guts across her small shoulders, and marched off.
She and Pilar lived in Watson too, not far from Arthur.
Back inside, Arthur rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out a fresh bottle.
Since the job was tomorrow, tonight didn't matter.
By midnight, loud snores filled the room. Only a few more empty bottles joined the floor.
...
Jackson Street, northern edge of Watson District.
The border of Northside Industrial District, of Watson itself, and of Night City as a whole.
The squat, decaying buildings looked like relics of a century past. The city's neon glow barely reached this far, leaving the streets in near darkness.
It was quiet here—eerily so, like a place Night City had abandoned.
A row of three-story buildings stood, weathered and crumbling. Above them shone not only neon, but the full, unobscured moon.
In the shadows, Rebecca carried Iron Guts, a faint smile still lingering on her face.