Chapter 222: The Medicine Thief
Arasaka’s people arrived quickly. For the corporation, Night City’s border checkpoints were no different from any major highway.
By the time the group returned to Night City, night had fully fallen. Their hideout was in a remote spot, its walls lit only by the beams of the car’s headlights.
Exhaustion soon weighed on everyone, and silence settled over the place.
When Arthur woke again, the base was still quiet.
He wandered lazily through the halls, finding only Jessica in the lounge... The girl had been spending her time here lately, busy repairing and modifying the standalone server down in the basement. After all, it was her equipment.
“Arthur.” Spotting him from across the room, Jessica waved.
He walked over at an easy pace. “Where is everyone else? Don’t think I’ve got much left to do.”
“V... she says keeping busy helps her forget she’s dying. That’s how she put it.” Jessica tilted her head as she answered. “As for Jack and the others... guess they’ve got their own business.”
Arthur nodded, grabbed some food off the table, and stuffed it into his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with his mouth full, noticing the hesitant look on Jessica’s face. The girl wasn’t good at hiding things.
She hesitated, then asked, “V... is she really going to die?”
“Uh... I think she’ll be fine.” Swallowing down the bread, Arthur replied, “You know her—always expecting the worst.”
“Alright... I hope so.”
...
Still riding that sluggish motorcycle, Arthur decided to roam through Pacifica this time. The district was infamous for its chaos, so he kept a revolver strapped at his waist.
As he passed a gap in an abandoned construction site, the crack of gunfire rang out. Moments later, a ragged figure stumbled into view, collapsing at Arthur’s feet.
Arthur frowned at the sight, shifting the gear with his boot—he had no intention of getting involved.
But sometimes, trouble won’t be avoided. Just as he twisted the throttle, the man on the ground latched onto the bike’s frame. His arm pressed against the scorching exhaust pipe, but he held on tight, refusing to let go.
Arthur sighed, shrugged, then bent down and hauled the man onto the back seat, calmly outrunning the bullets snapping at their heels.
Pacifica was sprawling, its poor planning leaving countless hidden corners. Picking a deserted spot, Arthur prepared to drop the man off.
Whether faking or not, the moment Arthur lifted him, the man struggled upright, his legs hitting the ground.
“Th-thank you...” His voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. Only then did Arthur notice him clutching a black backpack to his chest like his life depended on it.
“So I saved a thief?” Arthur said dryly, giving a few cold chuckles as he sized the man up.
The man flinched, shuffling back a step, hugging the bag even tighter. He wasn’t young—looked like a career criminal...
Arthur shook his head and turned back to the bike, shifting gears to leave.
“Wait!” the man called out.
Fine. If the guy had something to say, Arthur didn’t mind listening. He stopped the motorcycle again. “What is it?”
“I just... I want you to help me... help me find my son.” The man swallowed hard. His voice was weak, filled with fear, yet he forced himself to say the words.
“That’s unfortunate... but I’m not a charity, and I don’t do missing persons.” Arthur’s words were sharp, but he stayed put, waiting for an explanation.
“Sorry... I... I can offer you this.” Desperation in his voice, the man lowered his gaze to the black backpack in his arms.
“I risked everything to get this medicine...” He fumbled clumsily with the bag, which looked like it had been salvaged from a junkyard and didn’t open easily.
Arthur frowned. Medicine? Looking at the man’s bony frame, he immediately thought of the worst kinds of drugs.
Finally, the man yanked the bag open and pulled out a device, holding it in his palm... a pneumatic syringe. At least it wasn’t one of those filthy street chems making the rounds lately.
Pneumatic syringes were standard emergency medical tools. Single-use, sterile, and impossible to load with anything shady.
“You went and stole this stuff?” Arthur gave him a hard look. “What’s going on?”
“Please, help me find my son...” the man begged again, then, voice shaking, added, “My son and the others... they can’t last much longer. They distracted those men so I could get the medicine...”
Arthur guessed as much already. The man stopped hiding and admitted it outright—he was a thief.
“Hmm...” Arthur eyed the injector in his hand. “If your boy really needed this Intensive Treatment II... he probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.”
This kind of emergency med was made mostly of synthetic hormones, used to keep people alive at death’s door. If his son had needed it, he was likely already gone.
“No... no...” the man muttered desperately, digging deeper into the bag. This time he pulled out a cylindrical vial filled with blue liquid. If Arthur was right, it was a vaporized immunosuppressant.
Arthur finally understood their situation. He decided to see it through. “Lead the way. Let’s find out if we’re too late.”
The motorcycle turned back toward the site.
The place was an old industrial complex, the abandoned construction yard pressed against its edge. As they drew close, a foul stench hit them hard, making Arthur rub at his nose.
The pursuers from earlier were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re saying... your son’s in there?” Arthur asked. The man had already leapt off the bike, staring anxiously at the factory ahead.
If the boy was still inside, things didn’t look good. The building was silent, and whatever “anomalies” had cropped up earlier had surely been dealt with.
Arthur doubted they’d left anyone alive. From the look of it, this man was just another bottom-rung resident—and by extension, his son wasn’t worth keeping around.
...
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