Chapter 97 – The Donkey Is Not That Tired!
"I'm telling you right now—I'm a cyberpsycho, and a ruthless boss!"
Arthur stood on the podium, hands raised like a prophet announcing doom. His voice echoed across the square, rich with exaggerated enthusiasm. He was clearly letting loose—perhaps too loose.
The workers gathered below didn't know whether to cheer or run.
Lucy, arms crossed and cigarette dangling from her lips, sighed heavily from the front row. She pinched the bridge of her nose in pure exasperation. That was the third time today Arthur had threatened to implement "extreme measures" as a joke—except it was getting harder to tell if he was actually joking.
Maybe it was finally time to reserve a room at Night City's last standing mental hospital for him... if they had beds left. Word on the street said the facility had overflowed so badly that even MaxTac had been deployed to provide "treatment." With guns.
She sighed again and lit her cigarette.
The employees, meanwhile, stood frozen. Trembling, even.
Eighteen-hour work shifts?
That left barely six hours for rest, and that was if you didn't live in a combat zone. But this was Night City. Peace and quiet weren't on the menu.
Still, they didn't bolt. Jobs were rare. High-paying ones, rarer still. In Night City, between gang shakedowns, corporate oppression, and surprise shootouts, employment was more fragile than a glass gun.
Folk customs were simple and honest, as they said—with a revolver behind every smile.