In the southwestern sky, dark clouds loomed, and a light rain fell steadily.
Pitter-patter…
The air was thick with moisture.
On the south lawn, acid-resistant grass strains meticulously cultivated by the Federal Intelligence Agency swayed in the breeze. Dew clung to the tip of every blade—one of the rare signs of life in 2076. Yet, none of the New American elites walking along the pebble-inlaid paths showed the slightest interest in stopping to appreciate it.
The digital rain gauge ticked steadily. On the control screen, it showed that the rainwater contained roughly 11% toxic chemicals—still above New America's regulatory standards for automobile, textile, and food industries, but significantly lower than the 30% or more seen in Night City or the Western states. A political achievement Washington loved to flaunt.
"Mendoza Laurie—that screw-up."
"Those FIA bastards… Is President Myers being too soft on them? New America can't afford another major internal fracture like the 'Big Four' disaster. Letting mid-level agents run wild—it's a dangerous trend..."
Click-clack, click-clack…
Holding an umbrella, Birdsong walked unhurriedly toward the neoclassical white sandstone building.
The murmurs of complaining colleagues and the drizzling rain echoed in her ears.
She tightened the linen-colored coat around her—concealing a body freshly enhanced with high-grade hacker implant mods. It felt like only this outer shell could keep her calm.
Birdsong looked up at the impeccably dressed political aides passing by, her eyes cool and contemplative.
Insurrection from below, huh…
She chuckled quietly to herself.
Then turned to gaze at the 15-star striped flag fluttering in the rain.
This was the White House—New America's highest seat of power, and also where she passively served.
"Agent Birdsong."
After clearing multiple layers of security, her biometric data was confirmed.
Without the need for any introduction, a White House social assistant—recognizing this heavily modified favorite of the President, who barely had any bone left in her skull—approached holding a PDA.
"The President is waiting in the Situation Room."
Birdsong nodded calmly and followed a Special Service agent inside.
West Wing, first floor. Situation Room.
The current President of New America—former Militech CEO Rosalind Myers—sat at the head of a modern yet classically styled wooden conference table, dressed in an off-white low-collar uniform.
This strong-willed woman from a privileged background wore a signature politician's slicked-back short hairstyle.
Chestnut-blonde hair, green eyes, very few visible implants. Only a single golden cybernetic scar ran vertically down her right temple.
But just like Washington's overcast skies, her expression wasn't bright. One leg crossed over the other, she leaned slightly to the side, frowning as she lit a luxury cigarette. Wisps of smoke curled around her face.
Around the table sat White House aides, Pentagon generals, and military advisors from Militech and Lazarus Group—hardened veterans all, equally addicted to their smokes.
Both sides of the table were shrouded in a haze.
The meeting had been going for some time.
Only two agenda items:
Prepare for the worst—localized readiness in case of full-scale war.
And how to fight—and win—a proxy mercenary war without triggering a direct conflict. Suppress, or better yet, eliminate the separatist forces in New Mexico and Arizona!
"Update: Arasaka's latest movements—confirmed, Vela Adelheid has landed at Los Angeles International Airport."
"According to our informants at Night City's Arasaka Waterfront, Arasaka is urgently redeploying military units. Multiple detachments have left Night City. Several of our military satellites were hit by unknown network attacks."
At the support stations on either side of the room, a tech analyst in a hacker's heat-dissipation suit and data visor looked up and gave a quiet report.
"Arasaka is getting restless. But instead of staying in Night City and stirring up trouble with her newly acquired dog in New Mexico, why would she go to Los Angeles?"
"Is it possible her target is Nevada and the northwest? According to records, before she rose through the ranks, she handled several major security assignments and field operations in Las Vegas and Carson City. We suffered significant losses there—both personnel and equipment. A lot of people in those areas support her and Arasaka. As far as I know, part of Barghest has already been stationed there."
"So what are you suggesting? That she's using a diversion tactic—Kurt Hansen's show in New Mexico is just a smokescreen?"
"I'm against hastily deploying Lazarus's field corps. Arasaka's Heavy Recon Division is currently massed along the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ciudad Juárez. Arasaka's Mexico Division's armed forces could cross north at any moment. Oh, and don't forget those Slavic brutes from SovOil—they've joined the fun too, sending their own international investigation teams to the border."
"And let's not forget the rednecks in Texas. The suicide terror attacks we suffered at our military bases in New Mexico and Oklahoma? Their fingerprints are all over that..."
The advisors exchanged views.
"Madam President."
Clack. The heavy automatic doors opened as Birdsong entered and bowed.
"Ah, So Mi. Have you adapted to your new implants?" Myers's somber expression eased slightly as she looked up and gestured to a seat behind her. "Sit."
Birdsong nodded crisply and found a suitable assistant's seat behind and to the side of Myers. While doing so, she seamlessly tapped into the Situation Room's intelligence network, signaling the nearby analysts to cooperate in syncing data.
She quickly reviewed the meeting minutes.
"The situation is clear."
Crushing out her half-smoked luxury cigarette in the ashtray, Myers cleared her throat and tapped her fingers against the solid wooden table.
"Arasaka thinks they've found an opportunity to make a move," she said.
By now, whether the border attack incident had been orchestrated or a coincidence no longer mattered.
What mattered was that Arasaka had seized on it and pinned the blame on New America—and the international community believed them. Localist parties in the Western states had also used it to launch scathing attacks on Washington's incompetence and moral bankruptcy.
"Whatever Arasaka plans to do, we'll respond accordingly. If soldiers come, we'll meet them with arms; if water floods in, we'll build a dam. The Lazarus Mobile Field Corps stays put."
That was the strategic tone Myers set.
"And everything hinges on one key figure." As she spoke, she swiveled her chair, turning to the screen. "Vela Adelheid Russell."
Onscreen: Los Angeles. Tabloid footage of Arasaka's rising star.
"Wherever her hand reaches, chaos and bloodshed follow."
"She alone couldn't orchestrate a power play of this magnitude. And yet Tokyo, aside from continuing to send resources and personnel, hasn't dispatched a single field supervisor..."
At this, Myers turned to the FIA's international intelligence officer.
"Is that really the case, or did your people screw up and miss it?"
Before the officer could reply, Myers looked to a different man—an older white male with a long face and hooked nose.
"Saburo Arasaka's trust in her runs deeper than any of your previous assessments. Bowen, your White House Intelligence Advisory Council is now responsible. Effective immediately, elevate her intelligence priority to the same level as Yorinobu Arasaka."
"Understood," Bowen said solemnly.
"Because of the Mendoza incident, Arasaka now holds the moral high ground and initiative. But that doesn't mean we let them lead us by the nose. She plays her game—we play ours. I want the Pentagon, the FIA, Militech, and the Lazarus Lone Wolves to jointly draft a plan. Top secret. Figure out how to eliminate Vela Adelheid—before or after war breaks out. Per precedent. Just like Morgan Blackhand."
With a tone that was almost casual, Myers leaned forward, her back leaving the chair as she swept a gaze full of aggressive intent across the Situation Room's staff and cabinet members.
Like Morgan Blackhand?
Even Birdsong couldn't help but reveal a stunned expression.
Another Arasaka Tower nuclear detonation?
Politically savvy White House aides exchanged subtle glances.
Was Myers aiming to become the next Elizabeth Kress—the mastermind behind the original Arasaka Tower incident?
If you can't solve the problem, then eliminate the person who causes it. No matter how formidable her personal strength, Vela was still just a person. Watch closely, wait for a mistake—there would be a chance.
Even if it meant fighting another Unification War.
Myers narrowed her eyes.
She didn't want to explain herself.
Besides the harsh necessity of preparing for the worst, there was another reason she couldn't quite articulate.
Perhaps… she saw too much of herself in Vela Adelheid.
Two strong women repelling each other.
"And the situation in Nevada and New Mexico should be a wake-up call. I've decided to formally lift restrictions on the Veterans' Association Act. Notify Lazarus—resume full-scale conscription. The safety of our citizens and the dignity of the Federation require more battle-ready Lazarus mercenaries to defend."
At the end of the day, it was a numbers issue.
After the Fourth Corporate War, the Lazarus mercenary group had steadily declined due to the global de-escalation of armed conflict and a steep drop in commissions. Their power wasn't what it used to be.
Militech still harbored wariness toward this former ally—once boasting a million-strong mercenary force that had helped them withstand Arasaka's armies, headquartered just across the street from their own. Back then, President Kress, aiming to centralize power, had encouraged the decline.
Actions have consequences.
Over half a century later, Militech got their centralization. But Lazarus was left too weak. The last Unification War didn't go far enough. Now, facing a cross-state challenge from Barghest and growing local uprisings, they were struggling.
If this were Lazarus in its prime, they would have steamrolled over the problem.
Kress had reaped the benefits. Now Myers would swallow the bitter fruit.
But rearming Lazarus would take time.
Rebuilding their mass deployment capability would take even longer.
"Madam President!" A shout rang out. An analyst abruptly stood up, face pale. "Arizona—Phoenix! Arasaka forces have launched a surprise attack on Phoenix!"
"What?!"
Myers nearly thought she'd misheard.
So soon? Arasaka was already joining the fray directly?
"No, Madam President. You'd best see this for yourself," Birdsong said quietly beside her. Once authorized, her cybernetic implants glowed with crimson data streams. The central Situation Room screen flickered.
Bzzzt.
A live feed switched on.
"...we wish to clarify that while we have taken note of President Myers' statements regarding the March 30th Arasaka delegation attack at the U.S.-Mexico border, we now believe this was not sanctioned by Washington. Rather, it was a rogue operation."
A press briefing by Arasaka's Foreign Affairs Department outside the Arasaka Tower in Night City.
"But. While this may not involve Washington directly, that does not mean New America or Militech are blameless. This was not a rogue action by mid-level agents—it was greenlit by Arizona's Chief Secretary of State, Plymouth Devon. We have received confirmation that Plymouth Devon had a hand in promoting the perpetrators..."
That was enough for Myers.
"Ridiculous."
Excuses. Manufactured provocations. Guilt by fabrication.
Myers shot to her feet. "Pull up satellite surveillance and real-time feeds of Phoenix. Now."
"Yes, pulling from database now..."
Beep.
Phoenix satellite overhead view—zoomed in on the Tokinsdik neighborhood. Crimson fireballs bloomed across the dense residential zone, towering plumes of smoke twisting high into the sky.
That upscale district was where Chief Secretary of State Plymouth Devon resided.
And from various surveillance feeds across the city, dark masses of chaos surged. Protesters were storming the State Capitol and burning federal flags.
Myers's expression visibly darkened.
"Report," she barked as another analyst cautiously leaned forward.
"Speak."
"The FIA's Phoenix branch reports that PHXPD—the Phoenix Police Department—has defected! State troopers, marshals, SWAT, even the National Guard are switching sides en masse. They're flying banners calling for the 'Re-Independence of Arizona!'"
Rage flickered in Myers's eyes.
She turned a piercing stare toward the hesitant analyst. "What else?"
"...Arasaka's Heavy Recon Division, previously stationed at the U.S.-Mexico border, has just begun mobilizing north. The SovOil-led international investigative unit is moving with them. In Santa Fe, New Mexico—the state capitol—the building has been assaulted in the largest raid to date. The Secretary of State has been assassinated. Separatists have raised the Free States flag. Nevada is seeing even more severe unrest..."
Myers gave a few bitter chuckles—unclear if from anger or irony.
"Provocation? She really thinks I won't dare start a full-scale war? She's gambling that I won't divide my forces across multiple fronts? Notify Lazarus—their Mobile Field Corps is no longer on standby. Deploy them."