Chapter 9: Takeaway From Hell

"Hey, have you heard? The Old Captain's sailor has crawled back from hell. They're really stirring things up. The scavengers are going mad, hunting down that cyberpsycho from last night."

Arthur Scott was no stranger to these rumors. As he made his way through the grimy streets of Night City, his phone buzzed. The name on the screen read Muammar Reyes, better known as the Old Captain.

Reyes was one of the most prominent middlemen in Santo Domingo, infamous for brokering deals between mercenaries, scavengers, and clients. Arthur and Mann had once worked under him. While Reyes wasn't a saint—no one in Night City was—he stood out for his straightforwardness. He didn't sugarcoat the truth or withhold mission funds, though his commission fees were notoriously high.

The gruff voice on the other end of the line greeted him. "Arthur, you old dog, back from the grave? I'm short on cash, but if you're alive, come find me."

Arthur chuckled. "Still the same, huh? I'm going to need a vehicle. Got anything decent?"

The Old Captain laughed heartily. "No freebies, Scott. I'll send you a list—pick one. And try not to blow it up this time."

Before Arthur could respond, the call ended. He tucked his phone away as he reached his destination—a cluster of abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of Santo Domingo. The area reeked of industrial waste and decay. Rusted shutter doors and piles of trash gave it the look of a long-forgotten dump. But for all its shortcomings, it offered two advantages: isolation and space. No one would come snooping, and there was plenty of room for a fight if things went south.

Arthur lit a cigarette and strolled to the nearest warehouse door. He knocked sharply a few times, then spoke with a smirk, "Takeaway from hell!"

As he waited, a gruff voice came from behind him.

"Takeaway? What kind of takeaway?"

Arthur felt the cold press of a weapon at his waist. Without flinching, he took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke rise lazily. Time seemed to slow as he exhaled. Turning his head slightly, Arthur saw a hulking figure. The man's arm had transformed into a weapon—a small missile launcher poised to fire.

Arthur moved in a blur. By the time time returned to normal, he had drawn his pistol and pressed it against the man's lower back. The man's eyes widened in shock.

"The takeaway from hell," Arthur said calmly, taking another puff from his cigarette.

The would-be assailant, Mann, broke into a cold sweat. He had no Sandevistan to match Arthur's reflexes. "Friend," Mann said cautiously, "why don't we talk this out?"

Arthur scoffed. "I told you before: stop acting on impulse. One day, it'll get you killed. How have you even survived in this cesspool?"

Arthur lowered his weapon, spun it once in his hand, and holstered it. Mann stared at him, his face a mix of confusion and recognition. He hesitated, then finally blurted out, "Arthur? You bastard! You're alive? Where the hell have you been for the past ten years?"

Arthur shrugged. "Long story. And I'm not telling it here. Open that door and let's talk inside."

Mann nodded quickly, fumbling with the rolling shutter door. The two stepped into the dimly lit warehouse, its shadows stretching like claws across the floor. Arthur took a seat at a makeshift table while Mann poured them both a drink. Arthur swirled the glass, taking a sip.

"Real whiskey," he noted with approval. "Not the industrial garbage people pass off as booze these days."

Mann grinned nervously but couldn't hide the questions burning in his eyes. "Your… condition. Is it really cured?"

Arthur smirked, sensing Mann's unease. "Cured? Let's just say Satan and I came to an understanding. I do a little work for him now." He gestured toward the box Mann had placed on the table. "That's from him, by the way."

Mann hesitated, then opened the box. Inside was the Sandevistan spinal prosthesis he had ordered from Gloria.

"You're working for…?" Mann trailed off, his confusion evident.

Arthur chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Relax. I'm just here to deliver your order, not drag you to hell."

Mann shook his head, still trying to process the situation. "I don't get it, Arthur. You disappear for a decade, then show up like nothing's changed. Where the hell were you?"

Arthur's eyes darkened slightly, his smirk fading. "Let's just say I've been through some things. But that's not important. What matters is that I'm back."

The tension in the room eased slightly. Mann took a deep breath, his initial wariness giving way to curiosity. "Well, you've certainly got everyone talking. Even the scavengers are buzzing about you."

Arthur downed the rest of his drink and stood. "Let them talk. I'm not here for glory or gossip. I've got work to do."

As he walked toward the exit, Mann called out, "Arthur… it's good to have you back."

Arthur paused at the door, lighting another cigarette. Without turning, he replied, "Good to be back. Don't screw up with that Sandevistan, Mann. You've got one chance."

With that, Arthur stepped out into the cold night, the glow of his cigarette the only light as he disappeared into the shadows.

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