Judy's eyes remained locked on the chaotic mess dancing across her monitor. Lines of corrupted footage, glitchy neural feedback, and fractured sound loops flickered in rapid succession. The braindance wasn't just messy—it felt alive, hostile even. And for someone as seasoned as Judy, that was saying something. Her brows furrowed deeper with every passing second, the glow of distorted data reflecting in her lenses.
Arthur leaned forward from his chair, cigarette slowly burning between his fingers, studying her reaction. "That bad?"
"No," Judy muttered, not tearing her gaze from the screen. "That important. You're lucky you didn't try decrypting this crap yourself. This isn't just combat BD footage—it's layered with corporate-grade ICE, fragments of the Blackwall, encrypted Arasaka fingerprints… and something else I can't quite identify."
Arthur's exhale came slow. "Something else?"
Judy hesitated before finally pushing her chair back and swiveling to face him. "This BD wasn't just recorded passively. It wasn't captured by accident. Your cyberpsycho? He was broadcasting. This... this was meant to be seen—but not by people like you or me."
Arthur's expression tightened. "Broadcasting what?"
She tapped a few keys, freezing a corrupted frame. A dark, narrow corridor appeared—mostly empty. But tucked into the shadows, faint and almost ethereal, stood a distorted figure. No identifiable face. No metadata. No timestamp. No reflection.
Arthur leaned in. "The hell is that?"
"That," Judy said, her voice low, "is someone—or something—watching your philosopher friend. Whoever they were, they used his meltdown as a distraction. They weren't just observing—they were testing. Watching how long it took MaxTac to show up. Gauging response time."
Arthur's jaw clenched as he scratched his chin. "So we're talking corps? Arasaka? Militech?"
"Could be," Judy said with a shrug. "Or it could be something new. Something smaller. Smarter. The kind of group that doesn't leave digital fingerprints."
Arthur leaned back and sighed. "If this is what he was carrying, I'd hate to know what was hardwired into his body."
Judy nodded grimly. "Which is why I'm keeping a copy of this. Not to sell—just for insurance. And if I were you? I wouldn't carry this around unless it's air-gapped. One wrong scan and you'll light up on half the city's radar."
Arthur gave a half-laugh. "Too late. I already had MaxTac tailing me and got flirted with by a crazy inspector with a badge and boundary issues. I think the danger train already left the station."
Judy grinned, if only for a moment. "Night City, baby. Every path's got a knife waiting for your back."
Their conversation was cut short by a sharp knock on the studio door. Rita poked her head in, tone casual but eyes wary. "Arthur. Some trench coat's asking for you upstairs. Doesn't look like he's here for a drink."
Arthur stood, brushing ash from his jacket. "Guess that's my cue."
Judy's expression sobered. "Be careful. With that footage... with anyone asking questions. Don't trust a soul unless you see them bleed."
Arthur nodded. "Thanks for the warning—and the help."
She was already turning back to her monitor. "Just don't die before you pay me."
Back upstairs, the Ritz had changed. The ambient music had quieted, and the neon lights now felt more like a warning than a welcome. The crowd had thinned. Even the working girls kept their distance. Something had shifted.
By the door stood a tall man in a long armored coat. His hood was drawn up, silver cyber-eyes glowing softly beneath. Military posture, corpo presence.
Arthur slowed his pace, eyes narrowing. "Let me guess. You're not here for a Mewtwo session."
The man's face didn't move. "Mr. Scott. You've drawn attention."
Arthur chuckled dryly. "What else is new?"
The man extended a sealed datachip. "This is a gesture of good faith. A potential partnership. There's someone very interested in the braindance you acquired. They believe a deal could benefit both sides."
Arthur didn't move to take it. "And if I say no?"
The agent's smile was thin. "Then others will step in. And you'll find yourself hunted by people who think you're holding something they own."
Arthur stared at the chip. It seemed to pulse faintly, like it was alive. A trap? A gateway? Maybe both.
Finally, he reached out and took it. "If this fries my head, I'm haunting you."
The man's smile grew. "Understood."
And just like that, he turned and melted into the shadows of Night City, leaving Arthur alone once more beneath flickering neon and tightening tension. Arthur tucked the chip into his jacket, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the weight of possibility.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
But tonight, he needed to think.
And maybe—just maybe—find a quiet place where nobody would bleed for a few hours.
---