In the dimly lit hall, transport beds were densely packed on both sides, crooked and haphazard, like discarded trash.
They were all neatly covered with white sheets, exuding an eerie atmosphere under the feeble light.
But this was nothing to Arthur, who had seen his share of grand scenes. He'd encountered man-eating freaks in the West, every last one of whom he'd sent to hell.
Locating the general direction of the sound, Arthur roughly pulled aside the white sheets nearby.
A stronger, more putrid stench of blood assaulted his nose. They were all mutilated, incomplete corpses, almost making Arthur want to abandon his search.
Clearly, this hall was a complete "dump." How could there possibly be a survivor?
Just as he began to wonder if he'd imagined the sound…
That distinct, wheezing breath reached his ears again, coming from his left side.
Grabbing a corner of the white sheet, Arthur yanked it off.
A woman in a yellow uniform, probably in her thirties, lay on the bed.
Her face had extensive abrasions, her limbs were twisted to varying degrees, like a broken doll.
There was a deep, tearing wound on her neck, absolutely fatal in its depth.
However, under the light, the gash on her neck glinted with a metallic sheen.
With each of her breaths, the gruesome wound gaped open slightly.
It seemed the Scavs here had mistaken her for dead and simply dumped her here.
As for why she was still alive…
Heh!
In this godforsaken era, if a monster that took four bullets point-blank could survive, why couldn't a woman with a slit throat live?
He grabbed the woman's clothes, preparing to hoist her over his shoulder.
But as he exerted force, a sharp pain shot through his wrist.
It seemed his wrist, unable to handle the pistol's recoil, had a hairline fracture. He couldn't put any weight on it now.
Left with no choice, he twisted the white sheet into a rope and tied the woman onto his back.
"Fuck, she's heavy as hell," he cursed under his breath, carrying her out of there.
Night City at night truly had more… flavor than its daytime self.
Multicolored lights and brazen outdoor holograms filled its nights, while the just-right darkness helped conceal its filth.
Outside the building, the air was thick with the pungent smell of industrial waste—a sharp, acrid stench, like paint mixed with poison gas.
Arthur instantly knew where he was—
Watson, the Northside Industrial District.
But this industrial area had been abandoned by the corps. The industrial-style chain-link fences on either side of the street were covered in blotchy rust.
The factories lining the streets were dead, with weeds sprouting from their corners, looking desolate.
The Maelstrom gang, those carrion worms, nested here, which also meant the nights here weren't safe.
The ugliness of this place was something nobody liked to mention. If Night City was a beauty, this place was the festering, pus-filled sore on her smooth skin.
Arthur picked a direction and headed south.
In that direction stood a row of neat high-rise apartments, completely separating the Northside Industrial District from the rest of Night City.
They were the veil hiding the sore.
Moving with heavy steps, waves of dizziness incessantly assailed Arthur's mind.
The drugs were still affecting him.
Arthur's muscles felt like they were dissolving, his strength ebbing away like a tide. The world before him twisted and spun, and then he pitched forward, collapsing onto the ground.
He plunged back into prolonged darkness. In this darkness, it was as if he had returned to the prison holding the trapped soul.
Everything of the original owner was spiraling out of control.
Memories, emotions—they were like fledgling birds that had lost their parents, swarming chaotically towards Arthur's soul.
The memories were so barren, barren to the point of being almost detached from the times. Yet, within these barren memories, the intensity of the emotions was vast enough to nearly overwhelm Arthur's soul.
Grievance, innocence, anger, hatred, and finally a deep numbness…
Even with Arthur's willpower, he felt his soul was in peril. If these chaotic emotions crashed into his core, he would surely go mad.
Summoning all his strength, he struggled, hoping to escape this damned cage.
But the turbulent emotions had nearly submerged Arthur. His thoughts grew more disordered; true death was enveloping him.
"Hey! Kid, wake up."
From the outside world, a low, hoarse male voice rang out, like a lifeline thrown to Arthur's soul.
He grabbed onto it desperately, forcing his stinging, heavy eyes open.
In his blurred vision, a man was bending over, looking at him with a concerned expression.
The man noticed Arthur had woken up, seemed to relax, and slowly straightened up, moving out of Arthur's immediate view.
"Ugh…"
Upon waking, intense pain erupted all over his body, as if his flesh were being torn apart inch by inch.
He moistened his chapped lips with difficulty. Arthur tried to sit up, but the severe pain forced him back down.
Lying helplessly on the bed, he rasped out, struggling to form words.
"Where… this… ah."
Before he could even finish a complete sentence, another groan of pain escaped him.
His throat felt like a hot coal had been shoved down it, the burning sensation forcing him to clamp his mouth shut.
"Rest, son.
Your system was injected with an organic poison targeting the nervous system. You were paralyzed for a while."
In Arthur's dazed sight, the figure was operating a machine, an eerie blue light illuminating his face.
"To reactivate your neural pathways, I had to increase the dosage of some… special medication. It's causing severe phantom pain throughout your body.
But don't worry, it should only last a short while."
The man's tone was calm and measured, carrying a magic that was reassuring.
"It's a miracle you're alive. When I brought you in, your nervous system was almost completely shut down."
Arthur didn't reply. He lay still, feeling the phantom pains throughout his body. The feeling of being alive.
This was far better than having his soul swallowed by chaotic emotions.
Also, due to the recent crisis, Arthur's soul and the original owner's memories had thoroughly merged.
That sense of detached observation, the barrier between him and the world, had all vanished.
It seemed he had truly come back to life, arriving in another world, a world that felt like the future.
Arthur had once been driven to a dead end by the so-called "civilization" of his time. And now, it seemed this world hadn't improved much thanks to this shitty "civilization" either.
As time passed, the phantom pains receded like a tide, and Arthur's vision gradually cleared.
It was a dim environment, but surprisingly dry and clean.
Not far from Arthur, the doctor lay on a recliner. In front of him was a small screen, from which frantic cheers occasionally erupted.
Strangely, in such dim lighting, the man still wore a pair of very dark glasses.
Seeming to sense movement from Arthur's direction, he turned his head. His low voice held a hint of laughter.
"Looks like you're recovering. I suggest you check yourself over now, see if anything's permanently out of whack."
Arthur struggled to sit up. He was lying on a high-tech operating chair, surrounded by screens monitoring his physical condition.
He clasped his head in his hands, and Arthur's signature raspy voice sounded. This was his first proper conversation with someone in this world.
"What… what was wrong with me just now?"
"You had a drug in your system I've never seen before.
Large molecules, but they trick the nerve cells' recognition, entering them normally through endocytosis.
Long story short, I couldn't remove those agents from your cells. So you're still at significant risk."
The doctor came to stand before Arthur. He had a head of neat black hair.
He was strong and tall, his bulging muscles straining the dark shirt he wore, a large tattoo covering his left arm.
His appearance wasn't exactly that of a typical doctor.
"So… I could still die. Is that it?"
Arthur kept his head down, as if muttering to himself.
"Optimism, kid.
Like I said, I don't know that drug. So what effect it'll have on you is still unknown for now."
The doctor gave Arthur's upper arm a gentle pat. The abrupt familiarity wasn't particularly annoying.
Despite his appearance, the man exuded an air of straightforward honesty.
"Optimism brings good luck, doesn't it?"
Arthur released his head and looked at the doctor standing before him.
Given a second chance at life, even though he had fully merged with the original host's memories, this unfamiliar world still felt unreal to him.
The doctor's presence helped dispel that feeling a little.
"Doc, what's your name?" he asked.
"Viktor Vector. And I'm not exactly a real doctor."
The man smiled, asking in return.
"And you? Managing to keep your life after being in Northside Industrial… that's lucky already."
Arthur managed a weak twitch of his lips. Looking at the man, he answered in his hoarse voice.
"Arthur…
Arthur Morgan."