Seeing Arthur's reaction, Judy's gaze naturally dropped to his arms.
Arthur caught her look immediately.
He understood why Judy had been so on edge earlier.
In her mind, she thought she'd seen the cruelty of Night City.
But that was just imagination.
She had never truly experienced it—
Hadn't felt the smell of blood clogging her nose,
hadn't tasted the metallic iron replacing the oxygen in the air.
Arthur smiled, his posture relaxing.
He rolled up his sleeve and casually revealed the weapons.
"A genuine Mantis Blade," he said lightly.
"You won't find this model on the market.
It's an experimental prosthesis—gifted to me by a good 'friend' at one of the corps.
Later, they scrapped the whole project because the thing was too... stimulating for the human brain."
Judy's eye twitched.
Gifted?
Yeah right.
More like stolen from some poor corporate lab, ripped out with Arthur's own two hands.
And honestly, she wasn't wrong.
These Mantis Blades had been extracted during one of Arthur's "field trips" into a megacorp facility.
It was also one of the main culprits that caused Arthur's cyberpsychosis to spiral out of control later.
Judy shook off her thoughts and refocused.
"You've got a hell of a lot of crazy brothers, but this guy you chopped into a human stick?
There's not much in his head.
Aside from the experience of getting turned into hamburger meat by you, there's only a little worth salvaging."
Judy paused for a second, grimacing as she recalled the hours of footage showing the old guy peeing everywhere.
"In addition, there's one asset he left behind—property in the Badlands, some kind of abandoned factory.
If you can find your 'brother' again, maybe you can convince him to transfer it to you."
Arthur: "..."
Arthur silently took a drag from his cigarette.
Good lord.
No wonder the poor bastard went crazy.
A piece of "valuable" property in Taipingzhou?
Might as well gift-wrap a ticking bomb.
"Apparently," Judy continued, "your brother got tricked by some real estate scammer.
When the City opened up the freehold program, he eagerly spent a fortune to buy that wasteland."
Arthur's mouth twitched.
If it were him, he'd have gone cyberpsycho too.
Badlands "valuable property"?
Yeah right.
Maybe after a nuke and an industrial miracle.
"And," Judy added with a strange look,
"even though it's a freehold property, you still have to pay regular taxes to Night City.
If you don't, the City seizes it and sells it again."
She tapped her finger against the desk thoughtfully.
"Your brother must've been loaded, though.
Despite everything, he's been paying all those taxes on time."
Arthur stared blankly at her for a few seconds.
Paying Night City property taxes for Badlands land?
He'd rather go to the Voodoo Boys, buy a few chickens, and start farming.
Arthur finally shook his head with a wry smile.
"Alright," he said, standing up and stretching.
"Delete the footage where I turned my 'brother' into sashimi.
Delete the footage where I blew up people's heads.
Keep only his killing footage, clean it up into a Mewtwo cut, and sell it online."
He thought for a moment, then added:
"Split's 30/70. I take 70%, you take 30%.
Sell as much as you can. If nobody buys, forget it."
Judy's face instantly turned bitter.
She actually hated working on this kind of material.
Editing Mewtwo was a full-sensory experience.
You didn't just cut footage—you lived inside it.
Which was fine if you were editing a cute date night or a skydiving memory.
But if the footage was 90% murder or public urination?
It became pure mental torture.
Normally, Mewtwo editors focused on projects they liked.
Romance, action, exploration—something they could enjoy while editing.
If you hated what you were editing, it was like...
being waterboarded with raw sewage for hours.
Judy sighed heavily.
"For perverted crap like this, you should find someone like Jimmy Kurosaki.
This is his style."
Arthur shrugged.
"As an excellent Mewtwo editor," he said seriously,
"you must have the courage to break through your own limits.
Only then can you create even better Mewtwo."
Judy gave him a look that could curdle milk.
"Are you saying," she said flatly,
"that to be a great editor, I have to become a complete pervert?"
Arthur nodded wisely.
"Exactly.
Only a true pervert can edit the best Black Mewtwo."
Judy: "...You can leave now."
Arthur pretended not to hear her.
"I actually have another small request."
Judy glared.
Arthur just grinned.
"You know, when you reach middle age," he said solemnly,
"you have to think about your family, your children."
He leaned in conspiratorially.
"I need you to cut a private version of the footage for me.
One complete copy.
I'm taking it home as a gift for my son."
Judy pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache blossom.
Editing regular footage for money was one thing.
Editing footage for psychological warfare against your own kid?
That was some next-level Night City parenting.
Judy got back to work with a grumble.
Technically, it wasn't difficult.
People who liked Black Mewtwo didn't care about clean cuts or fancy transitions.
They wanted the raw, disgusting, bloody mess.
In fact, the less editing, the better.
A proper gutter experience.
She could slap this thing together without even touching the Mewtwo headset again.
Still, she couldn't help but ask:
"Normally, aren't parents supposed to STOP their kids from diving into Black Mewtwo?
You know, too much exposure can cause bedwetting and other... issues."
Arthur scratched his chin and shrugged.
"Nope," he said.
"I just want to scare him straight.
Next time he dares watch this kind of crap,
I'll make him live it—just like my brother."
Judy stared at him for a long moment.
...This was parenting in Night City.
Somewhere deep in her heart, Judy sent a small prayer:
God bless Arthur's son.
He's going to need it.