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Chapter 125 - 125: The Farmer and the Snake Always Take Turns
"That's really a shame. I was hoping to bring one back just to help cook," Saul said, eyes still fixed on one of the shut-down security robots. "You don't know how awful the food is back in the camp. Sometimes, I genuinely consider kidnapping a chef from Night City."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Kidnap a chef? From Night City? Saul, all the chefs there crawled out of hell. They don't cook food—they perform culinary crimes. Night City's cuisine is more radioactive than the Badlands."
With that, Arthur pushed open the next door. Lucy had already overridden the hotel's internal systems. Right now, Arthur had top-level clearance—practically a manager on the executive tier. He could access any room he pleased.
As the door swung open, a wave of cool, filtered air hit his face—fresh, unnatural, sterile. The kind of air that reeked of wealth and status.
It wasn't the HVAC doing the work—it was the plants.
Lush green vines trailed across a decorative wooden trellis, while broad-leafed ferns and nutrient-engineered bamboo stood like quiet sentinels in ceramic pots.
Arthur gave a low whistle. "Damn. They really shelled out to make this room feel like a slice of Eden."
Behind him, Saul entered and fell completely silent. His gaze fixed on the vegetation as if he were seeing ghosts. "I haven't seen plants like this since the Amazon back in the War," he murmured. "You forget what green smells like."
Arthur didn't say anything—just nodded. He knew Saul had been through a lot. Fourth Corporate War veterans were everywhere in the Badlands, and most of them weren't half as collected as Saul.
As Arthur continued into the room, he caught sight of a figure slouched on a designer leather recliner, trembling slightly. It was a woman—early forties, gaunt, and wearing a BD headset. Her fingers twitched reflexively, her body shifting in subtle spasms of pleasure or terror. Arthur already knew which.
He strolled over and picked up a nearby data box lying beside a plate of untouched fruit. The label caught his eye.
"Jimmy Kurosaki's vintage BD collection," he read aloud. "Out of print. Didn't Mann's team kill this guy a few months back?"
He turned to look at the woman again. "Guess someone's into the sick stuff."
Joanne—Arthur already knew her name—trembled violently as the BD reached its climax. Arthur, not one for patience, picked up the BD player and yanked the power.
The woman gasped and ripped the headset off, blinking rapidly as if emerging from underwater. She looked around, eyes wild, until they landed on Arthur.
"Who... who are you?"
Arthur didn't answer right away. He looked to Saul and the Red Ocher survivor standing behind him. The survivor's face twisted in a storm of emotions—grief, fury, restraint.
Arthur smiled coldly. "You remember the Red Ocher Tribe, right?"
The effect was immediate. Joanne's pupils shrank. Her back straightened. "Wait—I—listen, I didn't know the side effects were that serious! We were in late-stage trials! The test results were manipulated!"
She stumbled over her own excuses. "I tried to compensate the families. I offered a settlement. But they wouldn't take it—they just want blood. But that's not what I wanted... I swear!"
Arthur nodded, impressed by the fluidity of her lies. If he hadn't known the truth, he might've believed her.
He let her ramble until she finally paused. Then he pulled up the file Lucy had decrypted for him—a hidden email buried in her personal biotech database, requesting to erase and suppress the drug trial results for 'optical presentation optimization.'
"Oh, and what about this email, huh?" Arthur asked, holding up his holo-wrist for her to see. "You planned to bury the whole thing. Say it was a fluke. Claim the victims were sick beforehand. Say their genes were weak."
Joanne's face lost all color. "I was under orders!"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were under greed."
She fell silent for a long time, then muttered, "You're not going to let me live, are you?"
Before Arthur could answer, Saul suddenly stepped forward and elbowed him in the side. Arthur turned, brows raised.
"What?"
The Red Ocher survivor was standing beside Saul now. He hesitated, eyes full of pain. "Let her live."
Arthur blinked. "...What?"
The man clenched his fists. "It's not about revenge anymore. My people—they died for nothing. But if this data survives, maybe... maybe they didn't die in vain. Maybe something good can come of it."
Saul nodded. "We don't have to become like them. We don't have to be executioners."
Arthur stared at them both. Then turned to Joanne.
Her face was frozen in mock remorse, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching. Barely noticeable—but enough for Arthur to catch it.
She was smiling.
It wasn't relief. It was triumph.
Arthur's fingers twitched with the urge to unsheath his mantis blades, end it here, clean and simple.
Instead, he took a deep breath, walked to the nearby couch, and sat down.
"Fine," he said. "The client's always right."
He lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the two men as they watched Joanne.
"But remember one thing," Arthur said, eyes on them now. "The farmer and the snake always take turns."
Neither Saul nor the survivor answered. They stood there, quiet, like people trying to convince themselves they'd done the right thing.
Arthur smiled bitterly. "That story's older than this city. Farmer takes in a freezing snake. Warms it by the fire. Snake bites him the moment it can move again."
He pointed at Joanne.
"That's your snake."
Joanne gave a tight smile but didn't say a word. She knew better than to press her luck.
Arthur stood up, stretched, and flicked his cigarette butt into a luxury ashtray worth more than an average Night City apartment.
"Le
t's go," he said. "I need a drink. And a shower."
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