Chapter 202: An Unnatural Pulse
Arthur sat in silence, his heart just as heavy... His eyes were fixed on V.
Her jet-black hair was soaked in blood, the sticky strands clinging to her skin like a fire burning life away piece by piece.
One of Arthur’s hands stayed pressed stubbornly against her neck, while the other recoiled as if scorched... as though that still-warm blood really was fire.
He wiped his hand roughly on his clothes, then froze. He didn’t dare move recklessly anymore—only let his gaze drift over V’s body, as if searching desperately for some sign...
The cab roared forward, tires cutting through sheets of rain. Spray exploded against the windows, as if trying to drown the world outside.
Night City still blazed with its unchanging neon glow, but through the downpour, the lights bled and scattered... like someone had spilled paint across the skyline.
Inside the cab, Arthur slowly lifted his head and let out a long breath.
“Hey!”
Jackie, watching him, seemed to realize something. His head shook stiffly, denial etched on his face.
“No way... V... she can’t be...”
Arthur remained silent, shifting his fingers slightly. But he knew. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew exactly where a pulse should be... and yet...
Just as he was about to admit it to himself, to pull his hand away... his fingertips caught something.
“She’s alive!”
His usual hoarse voice rang clear in the cramped cabin, carrying to Jackie in the backseat. Arthur repeated, more urgently this time, “She’s alive!”
“Take us to a Ripperdoc!” Jackie roared, his eyes locked on V’s limp body.
“Apologies... this time...” Delamain’s mechanical voice buzzed through the cab. Arthur’s brow furrowed. He drew the Swallow dagger from his coat and slashed hard at the side window.
If the car wouldn’t stop, they’d have to force their way out.
But this cab was tough. The razor-sharp Swallow barely scratched the glass.
Arthur didn’t stop. He slashed again and again.
“Warning! Passenger! Your actions violate the Mandela Protocol. Cease immediately...”
“Bang!”
This time the blade punched clean through the window.
“Attention... Due to passenger violation of the Mandela Passenger Agreement, this ride is terminated...”
The cab jolted to an abrupt stop. With a sharp click, the locks on both doors released.
Arthur frowned. The outcome might have been accidental—but it was exactly what he needed.
Behind him, Jackie had already hauled Rebecca out into the rain. His eyes fixed on the headlights of an oncoming car, his jaw set.
By the time Arthur stepped out, Jackie was muttering apologies while dragging the driver from the vehicle and onto the slick road.
...
Desperate times, desperate measures.
Arthur jumped in as well. This was already the third car they’d taken tonight.
Jackie floored the gas, engine roaring as the four of them tore off through the storm.
...
The Arasaka Port, not far from Little China. When the car screeched to a stop outside the familiar psychic shop, Misty Olszewski and Vik were already waiting.
Victor’s worried eyes swept over the group spilling out of the car, lingering on the figure slumped across Arthur’s back. He stepped aside to let them inside.
“Goddamn...” Victor’s brow furrowed so deep it looked carved into his face. “You people... really... Alright. I’ll do everything I can.”
The lights burned through the night...
...
Vik never stopped moving. The rest sat in silence, huddled in the corner of the clinic, saying nothing.
Rebecca was fine—Arthur and Jackie already knew that. But V’s condition... was far more complicated.
Victor didn’t say a word. His hands just kept working nonstop. His brow tightened and eased, then tightened again.
The wait dragged on endlessly...
And indeed, it stretched until dawn. Only when the first sunlight crept across the sky did Victor finally remove his medtech gear and collapse into a chair.
That same night... the events at Konpeki Plaza had shaken the entire city. Saburo Arasaka... was dead.
...
Everyone in Night City was talking about it. Saburo Arasaka—the man who lived more than a century and a half, the architect of countless Corporate Wars, the Emperor of Arasaka—killed on the very night he came to Night City.
The only survivor of the attack was his son. With methods and resolve that defied every rumor, he quickly smothered the turmoil inside Arasaka. At the same time, he unleashed nearly all of the corporation’s resources to hunt down his father’s killer.
Time slipped by...
More than once, calls came in from Dexter DeShawn, that fat fixer. By the afternoon of the next day, they finally arrived at the meeting spot.
The Tight-Lipped Motel.
Arthur had slipped back into his usual attire: a brown leather coat and a jet-black gambler’s hat.
Jackie walked ahead of him, uncharacteristically quiet.
The road there felt bleak, the place remote.
Arthur’s sharp eyes caught a few idle figures along the way. Just a fleeting glance, but it was enough to feel the weight of their stares meeting his.
He tugged the brim of his hat lower and stepped into the shabby motel.
“Shit... the streets are gonna crucify us for this...” Jackie muttered once they were alone, unable to hold back any longer.
“Who knows?” Arthur’s voice rasped from under the brim of his hat, barely carrying in the dark hallway.
They reached the room.
Arthur checked the number, then rapped on the thin iron door. Knocked again.
After a long pause, the door creaked open. A curtain of patchwork rags hung inside. A burly man peeked out, glanced around, then waved them in.
The TV blared loudly. Dexter DeShawn leaned on it with one hand, his eyes locked on the screen.
“Why didn’t you show yesterday?” His deep, heavy voice rumbled with restrained anger. Without sparing them a glance, he demanded coldly.
“We had to get V to a Ripperdoc. She was hit bad... the kind you don’t walk away from.” Jackie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, his usual swagger gone.
Author's Note
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