Vrrrmmm...
Clack.
The thunderous grind of treads pressed into the asphalt, crushing scattered glass, paper scraps, even shell casings and chunks of congealed, bloody flesh.
A dozen multi-legged self-propelled tanks, each bearing the black-and-white clover emblem, rolled under the dimming light of the setting sun. Following these armored behemoths were over ten turreted armored vehicles and Bimon APCs, along with more than a hundred Arasaka heavy infantry who had already dismounted, advancing in tactical squads alongside the armor.
Above them swarmed light attack drones and numerous heavy Octant drones—some Arasaka, some Militech, Kang Tao, Biotechnica...
Oh, and the NCPD Maximum Force Tactical Division was here too.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy... Is Arasaka getting ready to help the Free States Alliance kick off another corporate war?"
Even from across most of Corporate Plaza, Jackie could feel that suffocating pre-battle pressure.
Especially the pounding thrum of those murder machines' roaring engines—it was like a war drum hammering in his chest.
And this… was only the tip of the iceberg of the North American conflict.
"Chingada madre..."
The thought of another war igniting in North America—and Night City becoming a battlefield—left Jackie uneasy and irritable.
Even someone as upbeat and easygoing as him couldn't ignore it.
Ever since unrest on the West Coast escalated from riots into local party insurrection and Free State secession, Night City's government had sealed the borders and declared a state of alert.
Part of the Arasaka garrison stationed at the Waterfront to guard the new development zone had immediately rolled into the city proper.
And here they were—an Arasaka assault armor battalion redeployed to Corporate Plaza. The official line: "maintaining order and reinforcing security." The reality: squaring off with Militech corporate forces.
The first week of May 2076 had been a spectacular one for the world's war-watchers and crisis-junkies—
The West Coast's independence wave surged anew. Dogtown warlord Kurt Hansen, with backing from certain "well-wishers," reorganized Barghest and issued a "vengeance" challenge to Washington. Arasaka officially named the 3.30 US-Mexico border attack suspects. An Arasaka assault unit assassinated Arizona's state secretary. New Mexico's state secretary was taken out by local Free State partisans. The Lazarus Group's main force moved west. Mercenary wars erupted in Santa Fe. The NUSA Army launched a massive westward mobilization. Cities across the Southwest were hit with precision strikes. The governors of Washington and Oregon openly declared secession from the NUSA. The White House issued a final war ultimatum. The Free States Alliance reformed and contracted Arasaka for national defense military services. Arasaka's main naval battle group, led by two supercarriers, closed in on the West Coast...
Damn! Epic! Glorious! Blood-soaked mayhem! Bring it on!
When war isn't yet at your own doorstep, people are blind.
But if you asked the average North American—especially the ordinary folks just trying to live—the answer was clear: there's nothing here to look forward to.
The massive protests that had dominated headlines days earlier had mostly faded away.
Beneath the multi-level ringwalk at the plaza center, the homeless grumbled and shuffled off, dragging their ragged "possessions" away from the danger zone.
The dream-chasers of Night City were no exception.
Dream all you want—but stepping into the corporate war meat grinder in person? That was the dumbest, most pointless death imaginable.
The legendary Johnny Silverhand, Morgan Blackhand—their exploits were both triumph and failure. They'd taught many a bitter truth:
You. Change. Nothing.
Night City was still Night City.
Round and round it went, the house still owned by the same two old enemies—Arasaka and Militech.
Just look at Corporate Plaza.
Arasaka's soldiers, clad in intimidating powered exoskeletons, had already mounted heavy machine guns and anti-materiel thermal cannons on roadside barricades. The sound of bolts being pulled back followed. Across from them, Militech's corporate troops weren't backing down—rolling out armored vehicles from their showroom that was basically a full-scale armory.
That smell of gunpowder—Jackie feared one stray shot would blow Night City sky-high.
"Come on, chica, pick up the call."
Rubbing his hands, Jackie paced the balcony.
Every so often, he turned to glance toward Corporate Plaza through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the data-light of the call signal flickering in his cybernetic eyes.
He'd rented this half-day flat in Heywood for the view and angle—enough to peek through gaps in the fortress-like skyline and catch a glimpse of the Plaza standoff.
As background noise, every channel worldwide was reporting updates on the North American situation.
"Arasaka's so-called humanitarian aid is nothing but a pretext. It's a conspiracy to interfere in the New United States' internal affairs and destroy our great, unified vision. For the sake of the New United States' bright future, we will fight to the end—fight like warriors until the last. The only outcome awaiting Arasaka is defeat. Utter defeat…"
"Our stance is clear: Arasaka's armed interference in another nation's internal politics is a severe breach of international law. It is absolutely necessary to pursue this in the International Court…"
Hard talk, then soft talk.
Comparing half-day-old speeches to the latest statements, played side-by-side, was downright absurd.
The situation was shifting so fast, it was changing almost every moment.
Jackie, still just a rookie fixer, had no idea if the NUSA was really going to war. With Arasaka bringing two supercarriers and a strike fleet here, were they really about to give Militech a serious beating?
Should he tell his mom to shut down the Afterlife and skip town for a while?
Finally, just as Jackie's frown deepened, ring ring ring—an encrypted video call lit up, tagged Big Chica.
On the retinal display, a red-haired, undercut woman appeared.
It was V.
Though her face, usually sharp and commanding, looked far more worn—she'd clearly been working overtime.
"Hey, V, you folks have been making some big moves lately. When you gave me that job, you didn't say it would blow up this big."
[V: What's wrong, our big shot, Heywood's 'Old Jackie' getting cold feet?]
Forcing a bit of teasing into her tired voice.
"Cold feet my ass."
Hearing her still able to joke eased Jackie's nerves. "Come on, you know Old Jackie—being part of a headline-making, history-worthy event like this… knowing I played a part, it feels pretty wild. I guess I'm half a legend now, right?"
[V: Right. Half a legend. A legend you can never go public with. If Militech finds out, you're done.]
"That's a damn shame."
[V: Join Arasaka and you can go public.]
"Pass."
After some playful banter, Jackie leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "So… real fight or fake fight?"
[V: My boss is probably being kept in the dark. How the hell would I know? We've been busy in Counter-Intelligence assisting Intel with relocating local party leaders' families from other states—Free State politicians' households.]
"Ah… and what about Vela Adelheid? Track her down and maybe…"
[V: Forget it. You know who's running the North American war theater now?]
Her tone was full of sighs and sentiment.
"Who?"
Jackie gave her his best curious-puppy look.
[V: Shintaro Takayama. Head of Security at Tokyo HQ, Saburo Arasaka's retainer, a veteran in corporate security, and Director Russell's direct superior. The old man's pushing a hundred. And from what I've just heard, Director Russell and Lady Michiko Arasaka should be aboard the Kujira right now.]
"Hss… the Kujira? That supercarrier?! And the Head of Security himself…"
Everyone knew—the shorter the title, the more powerful it was.
Then, realizing something, Jackie froze. "No way! Michiko Arasaka too? Are they bailing? Is this for real?!"
Hearing that Vela and Michiko were gone, Jackie instinctively thought of rich folks fleeing before a war.
"Thanks, V. I've gotta warn my mom, Misty, and Vik—"
[V: Whoa, whoa, I know you're wound up, but hold on.]
On the screen, V took a pull from a soft stim inhaler and downed an anti-fatigue pill. Her complexion looked a little better before she spoke again, a hint of smugness in her tone: [We might actually be itching for a fight, but from the looks of it, Washington's not about to let us have it.]
Realizing what she meant, Jackie looked toward the TV. Beep, channel change—Network 54.
"Breaking news: The White House may have reached an agreement with Arasaka Security Director Shintaro Takayama to hold a second peace negotiation in Arvin, Southern California. Saburo Arasaka himself and New United States President Rosalind Myers will attend via video conference, with a possible private meeting. Both sides will seek long-term peace…"
Another pivot.
Politicians' mouths—professional lies.
"…"
Jackie was speechless.
...
Meanwhile, Washington.
The White House.
Rosalind Myers had been standing by the window for some time, cigarette between her fingers, taking drags now and then, her expression unreadable as she gazed out over the South Lawn. Several cigarette butts were crushed out in the ashtray near the window frame.
"Arasaka… hm."
She hated Arasaka.
They had destroyed her dream of unity.
But Myers also knew—now was not the time for war. She didn't know how ready Arasaka was, but the NUSA certainly wasn't. And with the international climate stacked against her, starting a war now would be disadvantageous in every way.
The priority was to fracture and weaken the international forces opposed to the NUSA.
"Hah…"
Exhaling a long stream of smoke, Myers came to a decision.
"Then… this is what we must sacrifice."
She turned from the window and spoke firmly: "My decision stands. Accept parts of the terms in the second Arvin peace treaty."
"Madam President?"
The Chief of Staff still hesitated.
"See to it."
Myers waved him off.
"Y-yes, ma'am."
Once he left, Myers took another deep drag, squinting at the holographic map of the West Coast situation. Every coastal state had seceded.
Much of the political capital she'd gained from the last Unification War was gone.
"Rebels, traitors… whatever. The West Coast can't be salvaged. Consider it feigned weakness."
Yes—feigned weakness.
She didn't believe there were that many powers abroad who truly supported Arasaka.
Just as they didn't want to see the NUSA unified, they didn't want to see Arasaka back at its peak—dominating the Pacific Rim, reaching into North America, eyeing Latin America. How many powers would be happy to see that?
They only wanted Arasaka and Militech to tear each other apart.
So why not retreat to advance?
Once Arasaka occupied the rich coastal lands of North America, how many foreign backers would they really have?
Crunch. Myers crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
"The mercenary wars, however, continue. If Lazarus can't even take down Barghest, then it's time to rebuild them from scratch."
...
One day later.
When news broke from official media that the war had been halted and peace talks amended, the Arasaka Navy fleet withdrew from coastal waters to the open sea. The NUSA–Militech joint forces also ceased their westward push into the coastal states.
Both the Free States and the NUSA declared victory.
The reborn, reemerged Free States Alliance emphasized that they had preserved their independence and reaffirmed sovereignty.
Meanwhile, Washington boasted to audiences in the East and Midwest that Arasaka's war threat had brought Americans closer than ever to spiritually reuniting a divided nation.
While politicians on both sides were busy declaring total, mutual victory, aboard the Kujira, on the deck, Vela looked back toward the North American continent.
"This isn't peace. It's just a ceasefire."
At that, Michiko Arasaka said to her: "And next time, you'll have to truly face a corporate war."
"Ah… a world war."
Vela nodded.
"You and I, 'sisters' united, for revenge. We'll give another speech at the White House—only next time as the hosts. Interested?"
"No popping champagne at halftime, my dear 'sister.'"
"True enough."
They shared a smile. Vela turned and boarded a luxurious airship. Michiko followed.
Destination: Tokyo.
Half-reclining in her flight sofa, Vela crossed her hands elegantly over her lap, closed her eyes, and stilled her mind.
The deep sea of her soul, once still and clear, rippled outward in silent circles.
...
Resident Evil World.
San Francisco, Militech Tower.
"Hah. On one hand, pulling every string to crush Militech; on the other, breaking my back to build it up. Is this the twisted thrill of NTR?"
Militech CEO and Chairwoman of the Board, Ms. Vela, muttered quietly to herself.
[Madam Executive, how may I assist you?]
A sweet child's voice. A holographic girl, sketched in red data-lines from the projector, appeared quietly before Vela's spacious, opulent desk.
Ah—without that screw-up Rache Bartmoss to wreck everything, using an AI was so much smoother.
Nodding, Vela said, "Please compile and list this quarter's biochemical attack incidents in the Afghan mountains, as well as BOW sighting data from the Pentagon."
[Red Queen: Yes, ma'am.]
Beep-beep-beep—
The crystalline holo-display atop her desk began pulling up the relevant images and intel.
Vela spread open the folder stamped with the Pentagon and U.S. Army crests.
—Operation Anaconda—
The Afghan War.
"For such a gourmet feast, not to claim my share of the American entrée would be an insult to my place in the White House."