After Lucy finished speaking, the line went dead.
Arthur stared at his phone, the weight of her warning settling over him like smog. In his hands, he held what might be the most dangerous item in Night City. Just a chip—something so small it could be mistaken for a scrap of junk—but it radiated the kind of danger you didn't want to get too close to. Holding it felt like gripping the exhaust pipe of a burning hot Arasaka ride: one false move and you're cooked.
Military Tech hadn't skimped on deception. The chip had been buried deep within multiple large boxes, each layered in foam and dummy parts to draw attention away from the real payload. Whoever packed it knew what they were doing. It wasn't meant to survive discovery by corps rats, but it wasn't meant to be found by the homeless either. They had thrown out a few low-value scraps to keep wanderers distracted—but Aldecaldo wasn't just any crew. Panam had spotted the decoy, and her people, sharp and desperate, pounced.
Now the data was theirs—or rather, it had fallen into their laps like a cursed treasure. Arthur shut the lid of the box, slotting the smaller container neatly inside before sealing the case. His fingers lingered on the lid, hesitant, thoughtful. Then he turned to Thor, who stood silently by his side.
"Can we pretend I was never here?" Arthur asked, voice low.
Thor didn't respond right away. He wasn't sure what Lucy had said, but he could see it had rattled Arthur. That alone was enough to confirm the situation was bad. Real bad. Arthur didn't scare easily, and if he was looking to disappear, then Aldecaldo was in deeper trouble than they realized.
"Friends should protect friends, right?" Thor finally said, his tone calm but resolute.
Arthur raised a brow at him. "If Panam calls you dumb again, come to me. I'll make sure she regrets it."
Thor let out a dry chuckle, the kind only middle-aged men with too many regrets knew how to pull off. But Arthur didn't laugh. His mind was racing, his thoughts stuck between survival and responsibility.
He exhaled slowly. "Let me put it simply," he said, his voice firm. "That chip? It's biotech. Military Tech stole it from Biotech through corporate espionage. It was supposed to go straight to their headquarters. Somehow, your people intercepted it."
Thor furrowed his brows. Arthur continued, "And it's not just data—it's ready for rollout. Clinical testing's done. It's the kind of information that could shift the power scale in the pharmaceutical war. You're sitting on a ticking time bomb worth more than anything else out here."
Thor's face hardened. Sol, nearby, stood still as stone, his clenched jaw betraying the storm building behind his silence. He had enough of Panam's impulsiveness already, but now it had placed them in direct conflict with two of the most dangerous corps in the world.
Arthur leaned in a little closer, his voice quiet but sharp. "Now you understand why they chased you across the desert. They're not after revenge. They want their tech back. And they'll kill anyone in the way."
Sol's knuckles whitened. If Panam had been here, she probably would've snapped back, maybe blamed him for letting things spiral. But she wasn't, and that gave Sol just enough room to think.
Arthur didn't let up. "If you return the chip to Military Tech, they might cut you a deal. Maybe even withdraw the bounty. They'll want the data intact, and if you hand it over clean, it could be your one chance to walk away."
What Arthur said wasn't just advice—it was a lifeline. He knew from experience that most of the research in the case was practically unusable outside of a megacorp. The hardware alone required labs, proprietary tech, and highly-trained specialists. No black-market crew could replicate it, not without risking their necks and attracting every corporate hit squad in the hemisphere.
But Sol simply shook his head. Arthur caught the flicker in his eyes—a plan forming, a choice made. Sol wasn't giving it back. He wasn't going to run.
"Thanks for your help, Arthur," Sol said, voice steady. "We didn't know what we had. But now we do, and we'll figure it out."
Arthur knew that tone. It wasn't defiance. It was survival logic. Sol thought he could work the odds. In Night City, that kind of thinking either made legends—or corpses.
Some people chased dreams. Others reached out and grabbed grenades thinking they were gold bars. Sol looked ready to juggle explosives.
Arthur didn't want any part of it.
"If that's your decision, fine by me," he said with a shrug. "But if things go south, call me. I might not have a miracle, but for a bottle of beer, I'll throw in a favor."
He stepped away from the van, not looking back. He'd said his piece. The rest was up to them.
As he walked toward the edge of camp, Mitch approached, dragging a dusty motorcycle behind him.
"Arthur!" Mitch called out, a grin on his face. "It's no Sword in the Stone, but she'll run."
Arthur blinked. "You named a bike after Excalibur? Really?"
Mitch laughed. "What, you don't like it? It's sturdy, fast, and quiet. Not bad for the Badlands."
Arthur inspected the bike. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't have to be. In Night City, stealth and reliability beat shine and chrome every time.
"Not bad," he said, nodding.
The job hadn't made him rich, but it had kept him alive—and now he had wheels that didn't rely on favors from gangs. That was worth more than eddies.
Behind him, Panam watched from a distance, beer in hand. Her voice cut across the camp. "Heading out already?"
Arthur looked over his shoulder. "Yeah. Got business back in the city. Next time, I'll stay longer."
The Aldecaldos had become something like a second family. They'd fought, drank, and risked death together. They'd watched each other's backs in ways most couldn't understand.
"If you come to Night City," Arthur called out with a smirk, "I'll buy you some real chicken."
Panam snorted. "I'll hold you to that."
He turned back toward the bike, the sounds of the camp behind him softening. Kids played in the sand. Someone stirred a pot over a makeshift stove. The wounded were bandaged. Life went on.
Arthur revved the engine, letting the growl of the machine echo across the flatland. Whatever came next, he'd face it head-on.
And if the corps came knocking?
Well, they'd learn—just like everyone else in Night City—that Arthur didn't go down easy.
–––
Visit our Patreon for more:
patreon.com/Samurai492