After finishing the fried noodles—which carried the unmistakable sour taste of Night City—Arthur made a mental note: never again would he eat them unless they were made from real flour.
Maybe, he mused, his palate wasn't refined enough to appreciate the signature sourness of Night City's infamous "snail noodles." Perhaps the problem wasn't the food—it was him.
He grabbed his windbreaker from the shelf, threw it on casually, and checked the small of his back to make sure his pistol was still in place. As he scanned the room, he spotted David scratching his head.
"Come on, son. I'm taking you to school today."
David blinked. "Huh? Really?"
Since starting junior high, David had never been taken to school by anyone. He usually rode the tram, like most kids in Night City. Public transportation, despite the city's chaos, wasn't half bad.
Of course, it had its flaws. Drunkards throwing up in corners, pickpockets lurking in crowds, and the occasional public indecency weren't rare. Sometimes, a gang with shotguns would try to hold up a tram just for kicks. But all things considered, it got the job done.
David wasn't particularly excited about being escorted by his dad, but avoiding the smell of someone else's vomit was reason enough to agree.
Soon, they were downstairs. David scanned the lot, trying to spot their ride—but there was nothing. Arthur didn't have any keys, and no car was parked nearby.
"Where's our car, Dad?" David finally asked.
Arthur scratched his chin and casually eyed a nearby vehicle on the street.
David's face twitched with embarrassment. If it were up to him, he'd just catch a tram. The idea of "borrowing" a random car made him uneasy.
"You don't mean we're going to steal one, do you?" he asked, slightly worried.
Arthur gave him an exaggerated look. "Steal? What do you mean, steal? I'm just borrowing it. Big difference. Yesterday, a guy from the Sixth Street Gang lent me his car. How can you say people in Night City aren't warm-hearted?"
David blinked. The Sixth Street Gang, known more for violence than generosity, didn't strike him as the charitable type. But Arthur seemed to hold them in surprisingly high regard.
David chuckled quietly. If the Sixth Street Gang was "warm-hearted," maybe the world really had changed. They used to be notorious for their ruthlessness.
Still, a small part of David found it thrilling. He was a fan of braindance thrillers and had always fantasized about taking a car for himself. Maybe today was his chance—with his dad around, it felt safe enough.
David pointed to a sleek black car nearby. "What about that one, Dad?"
Arthur glanced at the car and shook his head. "You've really got my back, huh, son? If we borrow that, we'll be on the run for at least a month. That thing belongs to someone rich. Stealing from them brings serious heat."
He gave David a playful slap on the back of the head. "Rule one—never take from the rich. They'll hunt you to the ends of the city."
David's enthusiasm deflated a little. He hadn't realized how big the consequences could be.
"What about this one?" he asked, pointing to a battered old car nearby.
Arthur sighed. "No good. Don't steal from civilians. Their cars are barely held together. Last time I tried one, I hit the gas and the engine stalled—I nearly died."
David nodded, taking it all in. "Borrowing" in Night City was clearly more complicated than it looked.
Arthur scanned the street and spotted a few Sixth Street guys nearby. He grinned. "Now these guys? Perfect. Their cars are maintained, they've got cash, and best of all, most have bounties on their heads. So if we 'borrow' from them, no one's calling the NCPD."
David raised an eyebrow. "So… no consequences?"
"Exactly," Arthur said. "They might look tough, but they'll hand over the keys if you ask nicely. Hell, they might even top up the gas. Ask for lunch money, they'll probably lend it to you."
David looked skeptical, but Arthur was already walking toward one of the gang members.
"Hey, brother!" Arthur called out, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Nice car. Mind if I borrow it to take my kid to school?"
The gang member—a tall guy with a bionic arm—gave a stiff smile. "Sure. No problem."
Arthur leaned in, puffed his cigarette, and added, "Looks like it's running low on gas. Mind lending me a hundred eurodollars to fill it up?"
Without hesitation, the gang member handed him the cash. "No problem. You're a good guy. Take care of your kid."
Arthur pocketed the eddies, smiling wider. But he wasn't done.
"Actually," he said, "I just got back into town. Money's tight. How about another 200 eddies?"
The gang member nodded and handed it over. "Of course, brother! Anything for a fellow Night Citizen."
Arthur turned to David, cash in hand. "See? There are still good people in Night City."
David looked at his father in disbelief. "Are you seriously this good at hustling people?"
Arthur grinned and patted his shoulder. "It's not hustling, son—it's understanding how this city works. Stick with me. You'll learn a lot."
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