Chapter 6: Go Back and Adjust It Yourself!
"Mr. Arthur," Delamain's mechanical voice came through politely, "who is famous among cyberpunks, is not just a stray dog on the streets."
Arthur chuckled as he leaned against the taxi door, adjusting Gloria carefully in his arms. "Famous? Tch. Where's that reputation come from? I'm no god. Just another fool who people decided to toss up onto a pedestal."
He waved Delamain away casually.
The black taxi hummed off into the neon night, leaving Arthur and David standing outside the weather-worn building that housed Victor's underground clinic.
David clutched Arthur's worn black duffel bag, staring at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion, as if trying to find cracks in the man who'd bulldozed his way into his life just hours ago.
Arthur smirked at the kid's wide-eyed stare.
The truth was simple: the original Arthur Martinez hadn't been much in Night City terms.
Just a cyberpunk a little more violent, a little more reckless, and maybe a little luckier than most. His mission success rate was high, but it wasn't because of finesse—it was because he completed contracts with overwhelming, brutal force.
That kind of fame in Night City wasn't lasting. One bullet, one wrong move, and even the "famous" ended up rotting in a gutter.
If Arthur hadn't crossed over, if he hadn't been given this second chance by fate—or whatever cosmic joke was at work—the original Arthur would have ended up exactly the same. Another nameless corpse, dissolved into the background noise of the city.
Arthur shoved open the rusted iron gate next to Misty's closed psychic shop. Misty had long since clocked out for the night.