Arthur had a strong feeling he had thoroughly p***ed off Lucy.
But... so what?
This was Night City.
Here, you did whatever you wanted — and if anyone had a problem with it, you shot them first and discussed it later.
"By the way," Lucy said after a long silence, adjusting her emotions back to a cool, neutral expression.
"What's up with that 'graphics girl' thing you mentioned?"
She casually changed the topic, trying to lighten the suffocating atmosphere.
After all, Arthur still held the trump card against her — who knew when he might suddenly act out some neon-flavored drama?
Better to play it cool.
Survival in Night City depended on it.
Arthur leaned against the wall, casually observing the Voodoo Gang members now bustling around outside.
Some were cleaning up corpses; others were sweeping out the factory — stuffing black garbage bags full of who-knows-what.
He took a long drag on his cigarette.
"Well, to put it simply," Arthur said, voice lazy, "a graphics girl is an accessory."
Lucy blinked.
"A... computer accessory?"
Arthur chuckled.
"A long time ago, people were obsessed with something called virtual currency.
They needed powerful graphics cards to mine it — to earn it.
Those who worshiped their GPUs more than life itself were called graphics girls."
He sighed nostalgically.
"Ah... the good old days."
Lucy stood nearby, arms crossed, one eyebrow twitching.
Ancient history again... What did I expect?
She muttered sarcastically, "Yeah, yeah, real antique storytelling energy."
Arthur wasn't done.
"Speaking of antiques, the old captain's ship is ready to sail!
Are you ready, sailor?"
Without missing a beat, Arthur put on a gruff voice.
"AYEAYECAPTAIN!" he barked dramatically, throwing a salute.
Arthur froze.
"Wait... why does that sound so familiar?
Wasn't it from some ancient cartoon? About a little yellow sponge living under the sea?"
Lucy facepalmed.
"You even watched that?!"
"Where the hell would I find you those 'resources' now? Let's stay on topic!"
Lucy's headache was growing.
In less than an hour, she had met a gang of lunatics, a Terrorist Mobile Team, dodged gunfire, and now — cartoons?!
Arthur finally shrugged and got serious.
"Okay, okay. Focus.
There's a job coming up — you know Dakota?"
Lucy narrowed her eyes.
"The old middleman from the Badlands who breathes nothing but pure oxygen?
That Dakota?"
Arthur grinned wickedly.
"Yeah, her.
What, are you gonna invite me to your wedding with her?
I promise I won't cry at the ceremony."
Lucy rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out.
"Focus, idiot."
Arthur finally tapped a message attachment open in his cyberdeck.
"Dakota just pushed out a job.
A group of Nomads — wanderers — are tearing toward Night City, hotly pursued by MilitaryTech.
Apparently, they stole something spicy — maybe someone's grandma's ashes, maybe corporate secrets — doesn't matter.
They're asking for help."
Arthur inhaled deeply and said with mock solemnity:
"Night City welcomes all.
It's our duty to... preside over justice!"
Lucy stared at him blankly.
Justice? In Night City? That's the funniest thing I've heard all week.
She spoke flatly.
"I'm staying here.
I'll keep an eye on your factory.
When they finish cleaning, I'll message you."
Arthur wasn't surprised.
"Suit yourself," he said as he turned to leave.
But he spun back around at the last second.
"Oh, right — that idiot Placid will bring me three kilos of chicken later.
Fresh, mind you.
Remember to deliver it to my house.
And don't you dare steal a drumstick!"
Before Lucy could explode, Arthur hopped into the battered Sword in the Stone — full of bullet holes, cracked glass, and a smoking hood.
But it still drove.
Night City engineering — tough as cockroaches.
The car coughed, groaned, and finally roared to life.
Arthur stepped on the gas and sped off toward the Badlands.
Meanwhile, Lucy pulled out her phone and punched in a call.
"Hey Mann.
Yeah, it's me.
Get me everything you have on Arthur —
I want it detailed down to what color underwear he wore as a kid!"
A pause.
"What?! You think I'm into him just because he's handsome?!"
She flushed, then barked.
"I'm telling you — he's a f***ing psycho!"
She clicked off furiously.
After a rough hour-long drive through the crumbling outskirts, Arthur finally arrived at the edge of the Badlands.
He jumped out of the car, letting the Sword in the Stone sputter one last defiant cough before dying completely.
Stretching lazily, Arthur pulled out the cigarette pack he stole from Lucy and lit one.
"Mmm... that's the good stuff," he muttered, exhaling into the dusty air.
The environment was pure desolation — endless stretches of dead brush and rust-colored sand.
Grit filled every breath.
Each gust of wind kicked up radioactive dust that coated your skin like a second skin.
The true flavor of the Badlands.
Arthur took another drag on his cigarette, his eyes narrowing against the stinging air.
"Alright..."
He cracked his knuckles, smiling to himself.
"Time to preside over some justice... Night City style."
He marched toward the Nomad convoy's last known location — unaware that today's "justice" might just spiral into the biggest mess yet.