Night air drifted through the open windows of Puff Bar's second floor, carrying neon reflections from the streets of Night City.
DeShawn stared at Arthur Vale as if he were looking at something impossible.
"His close-combat ability is already top-tier," DeShawn said slowly. "In this city, only heavy hitters like the Animals could rival that kind of performance…"
Arthur finally turned his head.
His expression was calm. Almost bored.
"This morning," Arthur said evenly, "Bane's close-combat ability wasn't any different from the eight people he fought."
DeShawn blinked.
Arthur continued, voice steady and controlled.
"I have a drug that temporarily stimulates the human nervous system. It enhances neural response speed without causing physical side effects. The version I'd give you would be a weakened one. It won't reach Sandevistan-level performance…"
He paused deliberately.
"But it can stack with a Sandevistan. It can even reduce part of the cyberware backlash from neural overload."
DeShawn's throat tightened.
Arthur leaned back slightly.
"You can think of it as injectable adrenaline. Our production isn't large-scale yet. About one hundred doses per day. Interested in helping us distribute it? Cyberware clinics. Mercenaries. Fixer networks."
For a few seconds, DeShawn didn't speak.
If what Arthur described was true—
Then this wasn't just a combat enhancer.
It was a second life.
For a mercenary, three hundred seconds of improved reaction speed could mean surviving a job that should have killed you.
It could mean finishing a contract instead of bleeding out in an alley.
It could mean walking out of Dogtown alive.
And in Night City—
That was priceless.
But priceless things attracted predators.
Corporations.
Gangs.
Warlords.
Without firepower to defend it, this kind of product would become a death sentence.
The hunger in DeShawn's eyes was almost too obvious.
Even Bane could feel it.
Arthur pretended not to notice.
Instead, he quietly observed the calculation happening behind DeShawn's gaze.
"And the price?" DeShawn asked carefully.
Arthur didn't answer immediately.
He was thinking.
In his mind, numbers moved calmly.
The current production cost per 10ml dose was about 18 eurodollars. Effect duration: roughly 300 seconds. Physical variance minimal.
Of course, Arthur had told DeShawn it had no side effects.
Technically speaking, it didn't cause organ damage.
But mental dependency?
That was another matter.
Once someone tasted that heightened combat clarity… the normal world felt slow. Dull. Empty.
Still, mercenaries didn't care about long-term psychology.
They cared about surviving the next job.
Arthur's goal wasn't to flood the market with full-strength doses.
That would be foolish.
Instead, he would dilute it.
1ml of active compound. Saline buffer. Lower potency.
Lower cost.
Higher scalability.
Most importantly—
Control.
Finally, Arthur spoke.
"The production cost is high. Around five hundred eurodollars per tube. And no more than four injections at once. Otherwise, partial organ shutdown risk."
That last part wasn't entirely false.
He watched DeShawn's reaction closely.
"What price would you set?"
DeShawn rubbed his mechanical hand across his chin.
"Mercenaries live on the edge already. They won't use it casually. But if it really works the way you say… it shouldn't exceed three thousand. Anything higher, most won't afford it."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
Then he delivered the real move.
"We'll set it at one thousand per tube."
DeShawn's eyes widened slightly.
Arthur continued calmly.
"You buy from me at eight hundred per tube. I'll give you one hundred units first. Let your mercs test it."
For a moment, DeShawn simply stared at him.
One thousand?
If this were sold by a corporation, it would easily cost ten thousand.
Or more.
Arthur wasn't just entering the market.
He was undercutting it.
"Alright," DeShawn said firmly. "No problem."
Bane looked at Arthur with blazing admiration.
This was what true leadership looked like.
Anyone else would have squeezed every euro out of it.
Arthur wasn't greedy.
He was building influence.
In Bane's eyes, that made Arthur almost saint-like.
Arthur glanced at DeShawn.
"Do you need help tonight?"
DeShawn hesitated before answering.
"I had trouble in Pacifica. The Voodoo Boys grabbed some of my people. I was planning to lay low… until I ran into Bane."
He exhaled.
"I need to head out again later. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
At the mention of the Voodoo Boys, the atmosphere shifted slightly.
The gang controlled Pacifica's deep-net corridors. Their netrunners were ghosts. Silent and lethal.
Bane immediately leaned forward.
"If we're brothers now, let me handle Pacifica. I want to see what the Voodoo Boys are like."
Arthur and DeShawn both shook their heads instantly.
"Not now," Arthur said calmly.
Provoking the Voodoo Boys meant provoking bigger forces.
And in the background of Pacifica—
There was always Dogtown.
And behind Dogtown stood Kurt Hansen.
Arthur had no intention of revealing cards too early.
Destiny Church was still fragile.
Strong? Yes.
Established? Not yet.
DeShawn's eyes flickered blue as he completed a transfer.
"Doctor Arthur," he said quietly. "One hundred sixty thousand transferred. Count it."
Arthur nodded.
"If I need help, I'll call," DeShawn continued. "I'm meeting my netrunner, T-Bug. She nearly got her brain fried today by those Voodoo Boys bastards."
Arthur stood up slowly.
"Go."
Then he turned to Bane.
"See him out."
Bane rose immediately.
As they walked toward the exit, DeShawn glanced back once more at Arthur.
There was something unsettling about him.
Not aggressive.
Not emotional.
Just… controlled.
Downstairs, neon lights flickered.
Music pulsed.
Life in Night City continued as usual.
But something had changed tonight.
A new product had entered the shadows.
A new power structure had begun to form.
And in a city ruled by corporations and gangs—
Arthur Vale had just baked his first "cake."
A piece of the market.
Small for now.
But sweet.
Back upstairs, Arthur remained alone at the table.
He checked the transfer confirmation.
160,000 eurodollars.
Enough to expand production.
Enough to strengthen infrastructure.
Enough to prepare.
He finished his drink and stood.
"I need to prepare," he murmured to himself.
Tomorrow morning, the first batch would leave the workshop.
Tomorrow morning—
Destiny Church would take its second step.
And in Night City—
The ones who controlled supply eventually controlled fate.
Arthur smiled faintly.
Let the corporations chase profit.
Let the gangs fight over territory.
He would build something different.
Not just power.
Not just money.
Influence.
Dependency.
Belief.
And once mercenaries across Night City realized they survived because of his drug—
They wouldn't just buy from him.
They would follow him.
Outside, sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
Another firefight.
Another contract.
Another mercenary gambling their life.
Arthur turned off the lights.
The real game had begun.
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