A serious expression climbed onto Arthur's face. This body looked exactly like his previous life, with a young, pale, but handsome appearance.
A light flickered in his blue eyes, as if announcing his arrival to this brand-new world.
"Your name is quite famous in Night City, I mean, your surname," Viktor said with a relaxed tone, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
"Famous in this goddamn city? It won't be anything good, I should probably change my surname," Arthur twisted his shoulders, a sense of weakness continuously emerging from the depths of his body and soul, making him uncomfortable.
Even when he was on his deathbed, he wasn't as weak as he was now; he couldn't even muster the strength to lift an arm.
"Haha, you guessed wrong. The person I'm talking about is a legend in this city. Many young people follow in his footsteps, eager to catch a glimpse of his legend."
Raising his bony arm, Arthur gestured towards Viktor.
"I hope he isn't a skeleton, with a body like a matchstick that breaks with a touch."
Shaking his head, Viktor looked at the self-deprecating Arthur, a smile on his face.
"How could a legend be weak? And he's a lone wolf, an assassin."
"To worship an assassin… I can only say, it truly is the City of Dreams, filled with Scavengers."
"You, fellow."
Viktor looked at Arthur's calm face, feeling a bit speechless and a bit amused.
"You really like to argue, whose bad temper did you learn that from?"
Those words reminded Arthur of two people: Dutch, and the father who sold him to the Scavengers.
What Dutch was like no longer mattered to him, but Arthur wasn't going to let go of the guy who sold him.
And those Scavengers who deserved to be flayed alive!
He, Arthur Morgan, was almost bitten to death by a few small bugs.
On the outskirts of the North City Industrial District, in Watson, near the low-rise buildings by the elevated highway, police cars of various sizes gathered.
A group of NCPD officers surrounded a building, their red and blue flashing lights occasionally illuminating their faces, reflecting their current nervous mood.
In the center of the cordon, a middle-aged man with a prominent belly stared intently at the shadows in the building's doorway.
He clutched the walkie-talkie at his collar with one hand, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.
On the seventh floor, in that hall, there were countless bodies.
It was obvious it was a Scavenger hideout. What the NCPD feared, of course, wasn't those rats, but the person who killed the rats.
That is, cyberpsychosis, these social outcasts most likely to appear on Scavenger "bodies."
Since their departmental tech experts had not yet arrived, the brain-computer network's defense would be effectively nonexistent.
To avoid potential hacker attacks, the reconnaissance team had cut off their brain-computer networks, forced to rely on backup walkie-talkies for communication.
The Fat Sheriff at the door dared not call the team members who went in to investigate, as sudden static might awaken those madmen.
To avoid accidents, he had to remain silent, enduringly waiting for their call.
"Shasha… Shasha…"
A rough static came from the walkie-talkie by his shoulder, the sound gradually clearing, and a clear male voice emerged from it.
"Sir! Threat eliminated."
As soon as these words fell, everyone around let out a deep sigh of relief, their bodies visibly relaxing.
"What's the situation?"
The fat man pressed the walkie-talkie button, asking about the situation on the other side.
"Officer, no one alive, not even a whole piece of flesh can be found."
"Damn these Scavengers, you secure the scene, I'll bring the brothers up right away."
Stamping his police boots, the fat officer walked straight in, passing directly through the laser-formed cordon.
It flashed a few times quickly, changing from green to yellow, as if identifying the identity of the intruder, and then quickly returned to green.
This NCPD team quickly secured the scene. They were already familiar with this procedure; they just needed to verify the bodies here and make sure there were no important figures.
As for who the killer was?
Who would care?
Homeless people, the poor, these commoners weren't worth their concern.
As noon arrived, a young boy slowly walked towards this direction, his head bowed.
His brown hair stood on end, his hands in his pockets, his head down, moving forward in a daze.
Until a green cordon blocked his path.
The boy paused, his eyes fixed on the line, as if his soul had been sucked away.
He looked up in a panic—
That's right, the hospital that admitted his mother was here.
He rushed in frantically, ignoring the red-flashing cordon behind him, climbing the stairs using both hands and feet.
"It must be a murder somewhere, this ghostly place is near the North City Industrial District, very chaotic. Maybe someone had a shootout, a misfire, or committed suicide. In any case, it won't be that hospital; my mother must have woken up and is waiting for me."
"Hoo… hoo…"
The boy rushed up to the seventh floor in one breath. Around the stairwell corner was the entrance to that hospital.
He struggled to grab the stair railing, but it felt like something was pressing on his neck. He gasped several times before finally lifting his head.
A green cordon surrounded the door, and two NCPD officers in blue uniforms stood nearby, smoking.
A crisp cracking sound seemed to echo in the boy's heart. For a moment, even his breathing was forgotten.
"What happened?"
He rushed to a police officer and asked.
"What's wrong here? My mother is still being treated inside."
The police officer frowned, looked at him, waved his hand, and replied impatiently.
"Treatment? Damn it, even a ghost going in there would be torn apart. This is a Scavenger hideout, everyone inside is dead."
The other party's words were like a sledgehammer falling from the void, heavily striking the boy's ears.
A huge buzzing sound exploded in his world.
The police officer's mouth was still moving, but the boy could no longer hear anything.
He had left his severely injured mother in a Scavenger hideout.
Those wild dogs that eat "rotting corpses," he had personally sent his mother to this place.
Everything went black, and he fell to the ground.
After a long period of darkness, the boy struggled and slowly opened his eyes. A voice reached his ears from afar.
"Sir, the kid is awake."
"Wake him up, tell him to go find his mother's body himself, damn it, whoever wants to go to that hellhole can go."
A series of footsteps approached, and then he felt his face being patted a few times.
"Kid! Kid! If your mom is inside, go find her yourself. Hey! Wake up, you brat."
"Are there really no survivors? My mother was only admitted two days ago," he asked, unwilling to give up.
"Why so much nonsense? Alive or dead, we don't know. But I'm almost off duty; if you keep dawdling, just get out."
The police officer's words were impolite; he even grabbed his clothes and pulled him up directly.
The hall was a chaotic scene, with transfer beds haphazardly placed, though the white sheets on them were neatly covered.
"Here, go find her. Her belongings are on top, you can take them yourself."
Pointing casually, indicating the boy was free to do as he wished, the police officer pinched his nose and retreated.
The boy, like a zombie, lifted each white sheet one by one.
One by one, until the boy stood in the deepest part of the hall, looking at all the exposed "true faces" of the bodies before him.
His mother was not among them.
In Watson, Chinatown, in a clinic in a messy community basement.
Viktor put down the device in his hand and nodded, signaling Arthur to get off the operating chair.
"Your wrist joint has a slight dislocation, but it's not a big problem. Aside from any potential long-term effects of that unknown drug, you are now completely healthy."
"Thanks, Viktor, I feel much better."
At this moment, Arthur had indeed lost that feeling of weakness, but his body still made him look frail.
"Call me Viktor. You're a good kid, if you could just be a bit more polite, it would be even better."
Arthur's new body was only in his early twenties, so to Viktor, he was indeed a kid.
"If my medical expenses could be extended a few days, I think you'd find me quite agreeable too."
He was practically penniless now, without even a plan for his next meal.
"Haha, extending it for a few days is certainly no problem, I guessed you wouldn't have much money."
Someone who just escaped a Scavenger hideout, and was almost an original, having money would be absurd.
Touching his forehead, Arthur lowered his head, a hint of evasion in his uncharacteristically hoarse voice.
"If possible, I also need some guidance on living, and of course, if it's support, that would be even better."
He, the debtor, still needed his creditor to help him out.