For ten straight days, Arthur Vale barely left the workshop.
He didn't just study cybernetics.
He studied himself.
His predecessor had been a ripperdoc—yet surprisingly conservative. Even the precision medical hand used during surgery was an external mechanical tool rather than an implanted enhancement.
Arthur had to admit it.
The former Arthur was both cautious and brilliant.
Aside from a basic neural interface and a pair of Kiroshi Type II optical implants, his body was almost completely organic. No heavy combat chrome. No reflex boosters. No reinforced skeleton.
And under those limited conditions—
He had rebuilt Crow.
That realization sent a strange wave of admiration through Arthur.
To complete complex cybernetic surgery in a slum clinic with almost no internal enhancements? That required skill.
Real skill.
Arthur raised both hands now, holding a pair of five-finger Heart Picker gloves—each nearly as large as his head.
He was grinning.
Bain stood nearby, breathing heavily as Arthur explained the modifications.
Arthur casually tossed the gloves onto the ground.
Bain winced in visible pain.
Then Arthur picked up something blackened and metallic from the floor.
A long, rough rod of reinforced steel.
Bain's eyes narrowed.
"Brother Arthur… isn't that the cable conduit near our bar?"
Arthur shot him a look.
"Conduit? What conduit? This is a high-explosive shell launcher I customized specifically for you."
Bain froze.
Arthur walked outside without waiting.
Nearby was an open area cluttered with broken appliances and scrap machinery. Rusted washing machines. Dead generators. Twisted metal frames.
Arthur stepped into the clearing.
It was noon. Clear sky. Sunlight pale and sharp.
He lifted the "conduit" toward the sky and pressed a slightly raised metal node along its surface.
"Whoosh—"
The sound was soft.
Then—
BOOM!
The sky cracked.
A streak of smoke cut upward before detonating in the clouds like a guided missile.
The explosion echoed across the district.
Somewhere in River Valley, alarms activated. Civilian AVs initiated emergency descent protocols. Panic rippled outward.
Bain stared.
"…That was a missile."
Arthur shrugged.
"It's technically a micro-guided shell."
Bain looked back at the launcher.
That thing had been a cable pipe.
Arthur had added layered scrap plating and twisted wiring around it. It looked unstable. Improvised.
And yet—
It launched a missile.
A weapon of that scale.
From junk.
"Brother Arthur…" Bain swallowed hard. "Are you sure it won't explode on me?"
Arthur paused thoughtfully.
"You know," he said slowly, "I didn't fully calculate that scenario."
Bain's face turned pale.
"Maybe we shouldn't install it yet."
"No! I was joking!" Bain shouted immediately.
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Based on structural stress calculations, it can fire twelve times safely."
He held up a finger.
"So limit it to nine."
He leaned closer.
"No flesh-and-blood body can withstand direct impact from that."
He paused.
"Except those whose organic composition is less than six percent."
Bain immediately understood.
Adam Smasher.
The walking tank.
Arthur waved dismissively.
"Besides the launcher and the gloves, I prepared something else."
They returned to the workshop.
Arthur picked up a strangely assembled pistol.
It was ugly.
The barrel was too large. The frame reinforced with visible steel wire and crude welding.
It had no aesthetic.
No corporate polish.
Just brutality.
"This," Arthur said, "is not for ordinary users."
He handed it to Bain.
"High-caliber. Extremely high penetration."
He tapped the barrel.
"Single-shot only."
Bain blinked.
"How powerful?"
Arthur answered calmly.
"One round can penetrate five centimeters of steel plate."
Bain inhaled sharply.
"So I can kill anyone in Night City with one shot?"
Arthur shook his head immediately.
"You're overthinking."
He crossed his arms.
"Without something like Sandevistan, you wouldn't even see top-tier mercs before you're dead."
He paused.
"Military-grade cyberware requires endurance, physical conditioning, and willpower. You're not there yet."
He gestured at the gun.
"This is a trump card. Not a toy."
Bain nodded seriously.
Minutes later, he was lying on the operating table.
For the first time, the phrase "famous across the world" didn't feel childish.
It felt reachable.
Arthur worked in silence.
He removed Bain's existing prosthetic arm.
Then—
He amputated the remaining organic arm and replaced it entirely with cybernetics.
Metal replaced flesh.
Rusty components fused with reinforced joints.
Wires connected.
Power linked.
Arthur wiped sweat from his forehead when he finished.
He glanced around the cramped workshop.
I need money.
Real money.
A clean operating room. Sterile environment. Proper tools.
Two hours later, Bain awoke.
Arthur handed him a neural stabilizer.
"Done."
They stepped outside.
Bain examined his new arms.
Oversized.
Heavy.
Powerful.
He clenched his fist.
The sensation was overwhelming.
Strength.
True strength.
---
They walked down the alley toward the tavern.
Arthur stepped over a puddle of unknown liquid and avoided a homeless man slumped against the wall, clearly overdosed.
An aluminum can rolled at his feet.
Clang. Clang.
Dark green liquid spilled onto the cracked pavement, mixing with alcohol and rot.
The smell was suffocating.
Arthur felt a mix of disgust and resignation.
This was home.
For now.
Bain moved to kick the unconscious man awake.
Arthur stopped him.
"Leave him."
They continued walking.
After a moment of thought, Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out three small blue cylinders.
He handed them to Bain.
"What's this?" Bain asked.
Arthur's voice lowered slightly.
"Miniature EMP devices."
Bain's eyes widened.
"They release a localized electromagnetic pulse. Three-to-five-meter radius. Instantly paralyzes electronics."
He tapped Bain's chest.
"Everyone in Night City has neural interfaces now."
He made a snapping motion with his fingers.
"Throw it accurately enough."
"Snap."
"Opponent paralyzed."
Silence.
Bain stared at the blue devices like they were radioactive.
"Brother Arthur… EMP weapons are prohibited items. Corporations classify them as high-level contraband. If we get caught—"
Arthur turned slowly and glared at him.
"Then don't get caught."
He leaned closer.
"Use them efficiently."
"Leave no witnesses."
Bain swallowed.
"Understood."
Arthur turned forward again.
In Night City, laws protected corporations.
Not the poor.
If Destiny Church wanted to survive—
They couldn't play by corporate rules.
They had to become smarter.
Faster.
More ruthless.
The era of being hunted was ending.
The era of striking back—
Was beginning.