"Maybe I should hire you as a tutor for our Aldecaldos. This is the first time I've seen Panam completely speechless," Sol quipped, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice as he watched Panam's scowl deepen.
Truthfully, Sol had grown tired of Panam's constant defiance. Every time she stirred up trouble, he ended up cleaning the mess. Panam always had some justification for her actions, as if her cause gave her immunity from blame—even when it clearly didn't.
Arthur didn't share Sol's amusement. He shook his head. "Forget the tutor idea. I'm not looking to get a gun aimed at my face every time I say something logical."
He wasn't here to babysit nomads. His mind was on bigger goals—undermining the corporate behemoths and carving out something better for the people of Night City.
"To be honest, I'm more interested in dismantling corporate power," Arthur added, smirking. "Poach a few employees from their factories, knock five minutes off their workdays—small steps, but it adds up. That's how you liberate Night City, one union meeting at a time."
Sol rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning at the absurdity of it. "Actually, we still don't know what's in those boxes. For all we know, it could be a fake dick used by some Militech exec to relieve stress."
Scorpion, standing nearby, let out a loud laugh, nearly doubling over, while Arthur choked on his beer. Still, the truth remained—until they cracked those crates open, they were all guessing.
Later, Arthur climbed into the Thunderbolt and drove to the Aldecaldos' temporary camp. The sight that greeted him was rough. Ragged tents lined the edges, and the people milling about wore tired, weathered expressions. Some tended to minor wounds, while others slumped around small fires. The weight of desperation was thick in the air.
He glanced at Panam, who sat beside him, unusually quiet. Her head was down, hands clenched in her lap. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world.
Sol walked them to the back of a van and opened the double doors, revealing several sealed boxes. Each one bore the bold, unmistakable Military Tech logo.
"We haven't cracked them open yet," Sol explained, knocking on one of the crates. "We figured if we did, we might be opening a can of worms. Our best bet is to fence them on the black market. Maybe Arasaka's got a buyer looking for this sort of thing."
Arthur crouched down, brushing dust off one of the combination locks. "You guys don't do anything half-assed, huh?"
Sol crossed his arms. "It's definitely high-grade. My guess? Prototype weapons or experimental robots. Stuff that hasn't hit the streets yet."
Military Tech and Arasaka weren't just players—they were gods. These corporations controlled everything from automated prosthetics to tactical exoskeletons. Anything with their stamp on it was dangerous and highly classified.
Arthur squinted at the lock and pulled out his phone. He tapped Lucy's contact.
"Hi, Lucy. It's your boss," he said, voice cheerful. "I've got a stack of Military Tech crates sitting in front of me. Think you can help me take a peek inside?"
The voice on the other end came sharp and irritated. "Arthur, are you kidding me right now? Your cyberpsychosis is off the charts. You should be in therapy, not digging into top-secret military hardware."
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course she was right. But she always was, and that didn't change the fact that he needed her skills now more than ever.
"You've already gotten into a fight with the Voodoo Boys today. Then you picked a fight with that lunatic from the Terrorist Mobile Team. And don't think I don't know the Animal Gang is still hunting you down. And now you want to mess with Military Tech? What's next, Arasaka R&D? Biotech labs?"
Arthur winced as her words hit like rapid-fire bullets. Her voice came fast and sharp—just like always. It felt less like advice and more like a bullet train of accusations.
Still, she wasn't wrong. Everything she listed was technically his fault.
"Come on, help me just this once, and I swear I'll owe you," he said, trying to sweeten the deal.
Lucy's sigh crackled through the line. "You've said that before. If you get caught, I'm not bailing you out."
"Just walk me through it," Arthur said, already connecting the cable from his wrist port to the lock terminal.
The data flashed across his retinal display almost immediately—code strings, firewall markers, and encryption warnings from Military Tech's internal security.
Lucy didn't hesitate. "Hold on… I'm in. You're good."
Arthur opened the outer box, revealing another layer—smaller, sleeker, and locked tight. Of course Military Tech would pull the nesting-doll routine. He flipped the latches and cracked the seal.
That's when Lucy's voice dropped into a tense whisper. "Arthur… you're screwed."
Arthur froze. "That bad?"
"The crate contains high-tier research data—Biotech-grade. It's a full commercial package for a new line of antibacterial treatments. They've already begun human trials."
Arthur's blood ran cold. "This isn't just tech, then…"
"Nope," Lucy said grimly. "Military Tech stole it from Biotech through espionage. This crate was on its way to Military Tech HQ for corporate launch. Your wanderer friends accidentally intercepted a live espionage operation."
Arthur swore under his breath. "So I'm neck-deep in stolen corporate intel."
"You got it. And guess what? I just checked Military Tech's network logs. You're already on their radar. They don't know your name yet, but your connection signature's been flagged."
Arthur leaned back, staring up at the dark ceiling of the van. The boxes weren't just dangerous—they were radioactive, metaphorically speaking. He'd stolen from giants, and now they were both reaching for his throat.
Lucy's voice softened just a bit. "You've got to fix this, Arthur. Fast. Before one of them figures out who you are—and sends a team to erase you."
Arthur looked around the camp, his eyes lingering on Panam, Scorpion, and the others. They were all just trying to survive. But now, thanks to him, they were caught in the crossfire of a corporate war.
He flicked his cigarette out into the dirt and stood up. "I've got some damage control to do."