Chapter 9: Takeaway From Hell
"Hey, you heard the whispers? The Old Captain's sailor has crawled back from hell. Word is he's stirring up the streets again. Scavs are losing their minds over that cyberpsycho from last night."
Arthur Scott didn't need to hear the rumors. He was the reason they existed.
As he walked through the industrial husk of Santo Domingo, boots crunching over broken glass and rusted bolts, his phone buzzed. The name on the cracked screen read:
Muammar Reyes – "Old Captain"
Arthur swiped to answer.
"Arthur, you old dog!" Reyes's voice was as coarse as ever, worn from whiskey, smoke, and too many late-night negotiations. "Back from the grave? Thought you'd gone flatline years ago."
Arthur exhaled slowly, a faint grin on his lips. "Still breathing. You still charging ten percent on air?"
"I've upgraded to fifteen," Reyes shot back. "But if you're alive, come find me. I'm low on debt collectors and men who know how to shoot straight."
"I need wheels," Arthur said flatly.
The Old Captain laughed. "Same Scott. I'll send you a list. Pick one. But don't blow it up this time, yeah?"
The line clicked dead before Arthur could respond. Classic Reyes—efficient, impatient, and never sentimental.