In the dim hall, countless transfer beds were haphazardly arranged on both sides, skewed and disheveled, like discarded trash.
They were all neatly covered with white sheets, exuding a chilling atmosphere in the dim light.
But this was nothing to Arthur, who was used to grand spectacles; he had seen many man-eating psychopaths in the West, and without exception, he had sent them all to hell.
Locating the general direction of the sound, Arthur roughly pulled back the surrounding white sheets.
A more intense and putrid stench of blood assaulted his nose; they were all incomplete corpses, almost making Arthur lose the desire to continue searching.
Clearly, this hall was a complete 'dumping ground'; how could there be any survivors?
Just as he wondered if he had imagined it.
That distinct breathing sound reached Arthur's ears again, to his left.
Grabbing a corner of the white sheet, Arthur directly pulled back the covering.
A woman in a yellow uniform, about thirty years old, lay there.
Her face had extensive contusions, and her limbs were twisted to varying degrees, like a damaged doll.
There was a deep laceration on the woman's neck, a depth that was absolutely fatal.
However, under the light, the wound on her neck gleamed with a metallic luster.
With her breathing, that grotesque wound would occasionally open.
It seemed the Scavengers here mistakenly thought she was dead and simply dumped her here.
As for why she survived.
Heh!
In this damned era, if monsters that couldn't be killed by four shots could exist, why couldn't a woman who survived after having her throat cut?
Grabbing the woman's clothes, Arthur exerted force, preparing to hoist her onto his shoulder.
But as he exerted himself, an intense pain shot from Arthur's wrist.
It seemed his wrist couldn't withstand the recoil of the pistol and had fractured; he couldn't exert any force now.
Left with no choice, he twisted the white sheet into a rope and tied the woman to his back.
"Fuck, she's heavy as hell."
Muttering curses, Arthur left the place directly.
Night City at night was indeed more flavorful than during the day.
Various colored lights and unrestrained outdoor holograms filled its night, while the perfectly placed darkness concealed its ugliness.
Exiting the building, the air was filled with a strong smell of industrial waste gas, a sharp stench like paint and poison gas mixed together.
Arthur immediately understood where he was—
Watson, North City Industrial District.
But this industrial district had been abandoned by capital; on both sides of the street, the industrial-style iron fences were covered with mottled rust.
The factories on the street were all dead, with weeds sprouting from their corners, looking particularly desolate.
The Maelstrom, those corpse worms, huddled here, which also meant that the night here was not safe.
No one wanted to mention the ugliness here; if Night City was a beauty, this place was a festering, pus-oozing sore growing on her smooth skin.
Arthur chose a direction and walked south.
In that direction, there was a row of neat high-rise apartments, completely isolating the North City Industrial District from Night City.
They were the thin veil covering the sores.
Taking heavy steps, a dizzying sensation continuously eroded Arthur's brain.
The drugs were still continuously affecting him.
Arthur's muscles felt as if they were dissolving, his strength receding like a tide, the world before his eyes twisting and spinning, and then he fell to the ground.
He once again fell into a long darkness, and in this darkness, he felt as if he had returned to the prison cell where his soul was confined.
Everything of the original body was losing control.
Memories, emotions, they rushed towards Arthur's soul like nestlings who had lost their parents.
The memories were so sparse, so sparse that they were almost out of touch with the times, but even in these sparse memories, intense emotions were so vast that they almost overwhelmed Arthur's soul.
Grievance, innocence, anger, hatred, and then deep numbness....
Even with Arthur's willpower, he still felt his soul was on the verge of collapse; if these chaotic emotions were to rush into his soul, he would surely become a madman.
Using all his strength, he struggled, hoping to escape this damned cage.
But the surging emotions had almost drowned Arthur, his mind became increasingly chaotic, and true death was enveloping him.
"Hey! Kid, wake up."
Outside, a low, hoarse male voice sounded, like a lifeline handed to Arthur's soul.
He desperately grabbed it, struggling to open his sore and unbearable eyes.
In his blurry vision, a man was bending over, looking at him with concern.
The other person also noticed Arthur's awakening, looking relieved, then slowly straightened up and moved away from Arthur's front.
"Ugh, ah."
Upon waking, intense pain shot through his entire body, as if his flesh was being torn apart inch by inch.
Arthur painfully licked his lips, struggling to sit up, but the intense pain mercilessly pushed him back down.
Lying weakly back on the bed, he spoke with difficulty, painstakingly uttering a few words.
"Where, this… ah."
He couldn't even finish a complete sentence before crying out in pain again.
It felt as if a hot coal had been shoved into his throat, the burning sensation forcing him to close his mouth.
"Rest well, young man.
Your body was injected with an organic poison targeting the nervous system, which paralyzed it for a period of time."
In Arthur's dazed vision, the figure busied himself in front of an instrument, with a faint blue light shining on his face.
"To reactivate your nervous system, I had to increase the dosage of some special medications, which will cause severe phantom pain throughout your body.
But don't worry, this phantom pain will only last for a short while."
The man's tone was unhurried when he spoke, carrying a reassuring magic.
"It's a miracle you survived; when I brought you back, your nervous system had almost stopped functioning."
Arthur didn't answer; he quietly felt the phantom pains throughout his body, the sensation of being alive.
This was much better than having his soul swallowed by chaotic emotions.
Similarly, because of the recent crisis, Arthur's soul and the original body's memories had completely merged.
The detached feeling of being an observer, the sense of alienation from the world, all disappeared.
He felt as if he had truly come back to life, and had arrived in another world, a world that seemed like the future.
Arthur had once been driven to a dead end by the so-called "civilization" of the past, and now it seemed this world hadn't gotten any better because of this shitty "civilization" either.
As time passed, the phantom pains throughout Arthur's body receded like a tide, and his eyes gradually cleared.
It was a dim environment, but surprisingly dry and clean.
Not far from Arthur, the doctor lay on a reclining chair, with a small screen in front of him, from which frantic cheers occasionally emanated.
Strangely, in such a dim environment, the other person was still wearing a pair of pitch-black glasses.
Seemingly sensing Arthur's movement, he turned his head, a smile in his low voice.
"It seems you've recovered somewhat; I suggest you check yourself immediately to see if you have any lingering issues."
Arthur struggled to sit up; he was lying on a high-tech surgical chair, surrounded by screens monitoring his physical condition.
Cupping his hands over his head, Arthur's characteristic hoarse voice sounded.
This was the first time he had formally spoken to someone since coming to this world.
"What happened to me just now?"
"You were injected with a drug I've never seen before.
They are macromolecules, yet they can trick nerve cells' recognition and enter cells normally through endocytosis.
In short, I haven't dealt with those drugs in your cells, so you're still at great risk."
The doctor came to Arthur's front, sporting a neat head of black hair.
He was strong and tall, his knotted muscles bulging his dark shirt, and a large tattoo covered his left arm.
His appearance hardly resembled a doctor.
"So, I'm still going to die, right?"
Arthur lowered his head, as if muttering to himself.
"Child, be optimistic.
As I said, I don't recognize that drug, so what effects it will have on you is still unknown for now."
The doctor gently patted Arthur's big arm; this abrupt familiarity wasn't particularly annoying.
Aside from his appearance, the man exuded an open and frank aura.
"Optimism brings good luck, doesn't it?"
Releasing his hands from his head, Arthur looked at the doctor standing before him.
Reborn, although he had completely merged with the original owner's memories, this unfamiliar world still gave him a sense of unreality.
The doctor's presence somewhat dispelled that feeling.
"Doctor, what's your name?" he asked.
"Viktor. And I'm not really a doctor."
The other person smiled and asked in return.
"And you? To come back alive from the North City Industrial District is already lucky."
Arthur managed a faint smile, looking at the other person, and replied in a hoarse voice.
"Arthur...
Arthur Morgan."