Arthur slumped back in the seat like a retired legend basking in the glory of his return.
Status, he thought. This is what real status looks like.
Anyone who saw him now would have to say it: Welcome back to Night City!
A short drive later, Emerick pulled the car from the city center into Little Chinatown, parking in front of the infamous Afterlife bar.
Despite the name, there weren't many people from Longguo here anymore. Originally, when the district had been planned as a secondary city center, a massive wave of Chinese immigrants had flooded in, giving it the nickname. But over time, as with most things in Night City, it all went to hell.
Little Chinatown had become a chaotic melting pot. You had wealthy execs living in penthouses just a floor or two above street-level slums. High-end corporate offices shared walls with illegal gambling dens and underground fight clubs.
People of every background and every purpose mingled—or clashed—on the streets. Company dogs, mercenaries, factory workers, pickpockets, beggars, fixers, you name it. It was one of the most culturally diverse, but also the most dangerously unpredictable districts in all of Night City.
And yet, despite all this madness, there weren't many gangs claiming territory here. Not really. The Tiger Claws might pass through from time to time, but no one really ran Little Chinatown.
Why?
Because mercenaries ran it.
Mercenaries loved chaos more than any gang could. And in the heart of all that chaos stood the Afterlife—the most legendary bar in the city. It wasn't just a place to drink. It was where deals were made, contracts signed, alliances forged—or broken.
Arthur stepped out of the car and immediately lit a cigarette.
"Damn," he muttered, glancing at the neon-soaked streets. "This place hasn't changed at all."
He turned to Emerick. "I told Rogge ages ago, we should've moved the bar. You know, stop building it on top of an actual morgue. Brings bad luck."
"How many waves of mercs have died after walking through those doors?"
Emerick locked the car with a click and rolled his eyes. "You're still running your mouth like one of those 54 News anchors."
"You ever consider the bar's not unlucky?" he added. "Maybe it's just that mercs are too damn desperate to make a name."
Arthur paused, considered it… and shook his head.
"No way. Definitely the bar. Bad feng shui."
He exhaled smoke and looked up at the building, lit in a green hue like a radioactive corpse. "Hell, a place like this is bound to attract ghosts. Maybe that's why so many people here walk around like they're already dead."
As Arthur pondered the spiritual decay of his favorite watering hole, a loud voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, newbie! You don't like the bar, don't go in. No one asked you to curse the damn place."
Arthur turned, eyebrow raised. A random merc stood nearby, puffed up like a blowfish, trying to impress Emerick—or anyone who might offer him a gig.
The merc didn't recognize Arthur. Rookie mistake.
Arthur turned to Emerick, deadpan. "Do we get a lot of barking puppies these days?"
"Just another no-name trying to stand out," Emerick replied, shrugging.
Arthur sighed, dropped his cigarette, and stomped it out.
Then, he vanished.
To most bystanders, it looked like teleportation. Neural acceleration was no joke. The only one who could keep up visually was Emerick—and even he had to squint.
Arthur reappeared with a fistful of the merc's collar, lifting him off the ground.
SLAP!
"Newbie, huh?"
SLAP!
"Arrogant, too?"
The crowd at the entrance watched with a mixture of horror and barely-concealed delight.
Arthur's hands suddenly flicked, red-hot mantis blades deploying from his forearms.
Shunk!
One clean strike, straight through the merc's skull. The laser heat cauterized on contact—no blood, no mess. Just a cooked brain and a body twitching lifelessly in his grip.
Arthur let him drop like a bag of garbage.
Thud.
"You act like a mutt at the gates of hell, don't be surprised when the devil answers."
He glanced around at the gawkers. "Every single one of you is disposable. Me too. That's Night City."
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "But at least don't die being stupid."
Arthur looked down at the corpse, sniffed the air, and frowned.
"High as hell. No wonder he thought he was bulletproof."
He turned to Emerick. "Let's get inside before someone else decides they'
ve got balls."
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