Chapter 110 – Overtime Pay? Weekend?
Arthur was just about to tip his beer bottle and take a swig when his eyes caught a group of teenagers in the distance. They were hooting and hollering, standing in a line and laughing as they tried to see who could pee farther against the night wind—like a twisted Olympic sport, Night City-style.
He smirked at their drunken idiocy, then turned toward V.
"Hey, listen," Arthur said suddenly, bottle halfway to his lips. "If you ever meet a guy who looks like a black, bald, 300-pound Jesus with a gold cyberarm... don't say a damn word. Just pull your gun and shoot him in the face."
V blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Jack looked just as confused, holding his beer midair. "That's some real specific criteria, choom. What is that—code for something?"
Arthur snorted. "Nope. That's just what he looks like. Trust me, you don't want to get on his bad side. Man's a lunatic with a messiah complex and a body count long enough to need scrolling text."
V exchanged a glance with Jack. "I'm starting to think we need to vet your friends better."
Arthur just chuckled and took a deep pull from the bottle.
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One Week Later
Saturday morning sunlight dripped lazily over the edges of Charter Hill, filtering through the grime-coated windows of rundown apartment blocks. It was the kind of day where even the wind carried hangover breath.