"Don't say that. The doctor's really good," David argued sincerely. "He doesn't have a license, but that's only because he never took the exam. He's taught me a lot about tech, and we swap bd software all the time."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "A guy who can't bring the dead back is a 'great doctor'? Kid, the only person who can do that is a necromancer."
David blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected his father's definition of medical excellence to sound like a comic book pitch. For a second, he imagined every doctor in Night City bowing in shame to Arthur's outrageous standards.
"And this so-called 'doctor' can't even take down a scav in a fistfight," Arthur continued, smirking. "What kind of doc is that?"
David frowned. "He's a doctor. He doesn't need to fight! Are we giving out medical degrees for MMA wins now?"
Arthur shrugged and pulled a cigarette from his pocket, preparing to give another one of his infamous Night City life lessons. Before he could light it, Gloria snatched it away and tossed it into the trash.
Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, too used to this to complain. Then he turned back to David.
"Look, kid. A real good prosthetic doc in Night City isn't just good with tools—they're dangerous," Arthur said, his tone serious. "Take Victor, for example. He saved your mother's life. Wears nerd glasses, quiet voice, polite... but that man used to be a damn boxing champ. One punch from him? Night-night."
He leaned back, a wistful grin on his face. "If Victor had kept fighting, half the bars in the city would be named after him. That dark corner of his clinic? Full of trophies. His medical certificates are just gathering dust in some drawer."
David stared blankly, struggling to process this mix of fact and tall tale. Since when did being a prosthetic doc come with a side of professional beatdowns?
To be fair, in Night City, the lines between professions were always blurry. Prosthetic docs handled everything from cyberarm installations to retinal upgrades, and yeah—sometimes stitched a guy back together after a bar brawl. Licensed or not, if they got the job done, people didn't ask questions.
---
The next morning, Arthur woke with a groan. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and spotted David snoring on the couch. With a mischievous grin, he walked over and smacked the back of his son's head.
"Up! We've got things to do."
David groaned but didn't argue. Arthur rinsed his mouth with some old mouthwash and sat down with the cold fried noodles Gloria had left on the table.
Despite being called "noodles," the meal probably wasn't made with anything even resembling flour. The taste was pure synthetic starch—just another charming trait of Night City cuisine.
"Damn food corp must've skipped their purifier maintenance again," Arthur grumbled between bites. "One of these days, I'm blowing them sky-high."
Gloria handed him a glass of sparkling water and leaned on the table with a soft smile. Arthur handed over half of the 6,800 eddies he'd earned the day before, causing her eyes to light up.
"We can pay David's school fees," he said suddenly. "Think we can get him into Arasaka Academy's dorms?"
Arthur's plan was simple—if David could live at school, no need to buy another apartment. Less rent, fewer headaches.
But Gloria laughed and rolled her eyes. "You're too old to still be this naive."
She shook her head. "Night City isn't some mega-metropolis. Schools here don't have dorms. This place is tiny compared to the rest of the world."
Arthur froze mid-bite. He'd forgotten how public education worked here. No boarding options. Just a lot of street and bad luck between home and class.
"Damn bureaucrats," Arthur grunted. "Crime's off the charts, and they're making kids walk through it every day. What if David runs into a cyberpsycho on the way home?"
Gloria raised a brow. "You've been complaining about this for years. If you're that worried, buy a bigger place."
Arthur considered it. "Or... I get him a smaller place. Let him live alone. He's old enough."
He trailed off, realizing what he just said. If David was living alone at that age... it wasn't far off from how he grew up—sneaking around the Ritz Bar, surviving on scraps and nerve.
He quickly changed the subject. "Ahem! Anyway, these noodles? Real tasty."
Gloria smirked but didn't push further. She already knew Arthur's past. Everyone in Night City had skeletons—they just didn't always fit in closets.
---