Chapter 59: What? And A Legacy?

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In the next instant, Arthur activated the skill the system had just granted him earlier that day. The entire room seemed to transform as an air of birdsong and blooming flowers inexplicably filled the space.

Arthur's sudden transformation into what could only be described as a human telegraph machine left Rock dumbfounded.

For the first time, Rock realized that cursing could transcend crude vulgarity and become an art form—perhaps even reach the philosophical heights of what people from the Dragon Kingdom called the "realm of Tao."

Compared to Arthur's mastery of profane eloquence, the attempts by residents of Night City seemed laughably immature. It was as if those in Night City had only just begun scratching the surface of shamelessness, lacking even the fundamental tools for such an endeavor.

When Arthur's litany of curses ended, he punctuated it with a resounding slap across Michael's face.

Arthur, still riding the adrenaline of his outrage, scowled. Just moments ago, he had been determined to take his fate into his own hands, only for this obnoxious excuse for a man to strike him down metaphorically—and literally—with a cavalier attitude and appalling actions.

But what made Arthur's blood boil more was Michael's side project: engineering cockroaches into palm-sized monstrosities. It was just another testament to the man's depravity.

"People like you are so vile," Arthur spat, "even Satan would have to make room for you in hell because you're too evil for him to handle."

Arthur pulled his pistol from his waistband, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on the weapon. Sensing imminent danger, Rock leapt forward and wrapped Arthur in a bear hug to restrain him.

"Arthur! Hold on! Listen to me, you've got to calm down! We're here for the mission!" Rock exclaimed, trying to de-escalate the situation.

The scene, far from poetic, was almost laughable: Arthur, wearing a pink dress, struggling against Rock while glaring daggers at Michael, who sat nonchalantly nearby.

"If you kill him now," Rock continued, "the trauma team will be here in minutes, and both of us will end up dead—alongside this bastard!"

Arthur exhaled sharply and relented, shoving Rock away with a frustrated grunt. After putting the gun back into its holster, he adjusted his dress and turned his steely gaze toward Michael.

"Fine. Let's get straight to the point," Arthur said, his voice cold. "You look like you've finally sobered up. Now, how about we talk business?"

Michael blinked, his demeanor still unnervingly casual, but Arthur noticed a flicker of fear in his eyes. That small crack in Michael's confidence gave Arthur a sliver of satisfaction.

Pinching his nose against the chemical stench of the basement, Arthur pressed on. "Here's the deal: factory, workers, unpaid wages. Now you should know what needs to be done. Right?"

Arthur felt his patience wearing thin. The longer they stayed in this hellhole, the closer he came to losing what little composure he had left.

Michael finally dragged over a chair, ignoring the rancid odor around him. He stroked his chin thoughtfully before responding, "Actually, I don't understand. Why should a boss pay wages to workers?"

Arthur:

Rock:

Crack!

This time, it was Rock who cocked his pistol, striding purposefully toward Michael with murder in his eyes. Arthur quickly lunged at Rock, gripping his arms tightly and redirecting the gun's aim toward the ceiling.

"Rock! Calm down! Don't lose your cool!" Arthur barked.

"But Arthur!" Rock shouted, his voice filled with fury. "A scumbag like this doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as us!"

"I know! I know! But think about it! If we kill him, the trauma team will have us on their radar, and we'll both be toast. The mission comes first!"

After a tense struggle, Rock finally relented, lowering his weapon and sinking into a nearby chair. Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

Turning back to Michael, Arthur snarled, "Your mind is filthier than the soles of a homeless man's shoes in Night City. I'm serious—you need to see a psychiatrist. You might have an antisocial personality disorder."

Michael simply shrugged, as if the accusation meant nothing to him.

"Do you have any idea what your unpaid wages have done to those workers?" Arthur continued. "Families torn apart. People hanging themselves in their homes. And you're sitting here like it's no big deal?"

Michael waved his arms dismissively. "Is that so? Nobody told me about it."

Arthur felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps even someone as vile as Michael still had a speck of humanity.

But before Arthur could continue, Michael interrupted with an infuriating suggestion. "In that case, the company should get a share of their inheritance! Tell me, which employees committed suicide? Who inherited their assets? I'll have my lawyer sue them immediately."

Arthur:

Rock:

For a moment, silence reigned. Rock's hands trembled as he fought to control his anger, and Arthur, sensing disaster, stepped in once again to restrain him.

"Calm down, Rock. We're almost done here. Don't screw this up," Arthur said through gritted teeth.

Finally turning back to Michael, Arthur asked, "Why on earth would you think the company is entitled to their inheritance?"

Michael rose from his seat and began pacing the room, gesticulating wildly. "When a hen dies, you can still eat its eggs. When a cow dies, you can slaughter it for meat. So, when an employee dies, shouldn't their assets naturally go to the company?"

Arthur:

Since arriving in this world, Arthur had never experienced such a profound sense of disgust. His very worldview was being shattered and rebuilt before his eyes.

At that moment, Arthur finally understood why people in Night City harbored such intense hatred for corporate lackeys.

A human being could truly sink so low, becoming more repulsive than the filth at the bottom of the River in Night City.

Arthur drew his pistol, his fingers steady as he aimed the barrel directly at Michael.

"Here's the deal," Arthur growled. "You've got two choices: either pay up, or go to hell and see if you can bribe Satan into letting you into heaven."

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