Beep—beep—
A small room.
Built-in wardrobes lined the wall. Three beds were spaced apart, nightstands cluttered with magazines, folders stamped with the Arasaka logo, and chip storage cases. In the shared, sunken sitting area stood a coffee table covered with empty beer cans, a pizza box, and an ashtray filled with crushed cigarette butts.
The vibration came from a silent electronic clock displaying a half-length portrait of Saburo Arasaka.
The automatic ceiling and wall lights flickered on softly.
At the center, the bed labeled [Lucyna Kushinada].
"Phew…"
Lucy opened her eyes to see a smooth, gray ceiling and matching walls.
It wasn't her rented flat. Not the team's safehouse. Not the underground shelter out in the Badlands. It was an Arasaka dormitory.
Blinking at the soft but steady light, her pupils adjusted as awareness settled in. Lucy threw off her blanket and sat up.
She immediately looked around.
To her left—"Yo." Kiwi, already awake, slipped on her red-pink iron mask and gave a casual wave.
To her right—the person on the bed was wrapped tightly in a blanket, chest rising and falling in sleep.
Seeing the strand of bright green hair poking out—the most vivid color in the otherwise sterile room—Lucy felt a small sense of relief.
Another day survived.
The farther they got from the incident, the safer she, Maine, and the others were.
The crucial seventy-two-hour window for criminal investigation had long passed. She had been here for almost six days now.
Arasaka's efficiency was impressive.
On the same day her file was reinstated and entered into the company database, she, Kiwi—her so-called "study companion"—and Rebecca were relocated to Arasaka's integrated branch office in Vista del Rey, Heywood, for closed training sessions. Occasionally, they attended adult courses at Arasaka Academy.
Lucy couldn't tell whether this was sincere corporate training—or disguised containment.
Perhaps both.
After all, Vela herself hadn't appeared again. Arasaka had shifted the blame for the assault toward Washington and Militech, escalating North American tensions once more. Both sides were now waging a war of propaganda, digging up each other's dirt—entertainment that delighted the masses. And that, to Lucy, was a relief.
She knew—the team's disaster had finally passed.
The ashes of Susan Abernathy, the victim of the "Early 2077 Night City Ambush Case," had been ceremonially buried in Arasaka Cemetery after evidence collection.
Lucy had watched the livestream in this very room. Through the close-up camera, she clearly saw Abernathy's epitaph: "Loyal to the Company—Faithful Unto Death."
She couldn't shake the feeling that Arasaka's higher-ups knew more than they let on—that they had allowed certain events to unfold.
Even if the FIA hadn't meddled and things had ended differently, Arasaka would've still turned it into a weapon against Washington.
After all, Maine's background as a former NUSA SpecOps soldier was no secret. For a megacorp, such information was child's play to uncover.
In hindsight, that "old friend" of Maine's—the one named Solomon Reed—had planned to use them as pawns in a mantis-stalks-the-cicada game, only to become the mantis himself, struck down by the oriole waiting behind.
Now Arasaka had a legitimate pretext to attack the FIA—solid evidence and all. They no longer needed to dig deeper, nor target Maine himself, whose record was less damning.
A twisted blessing, perhaps—a cruel irony of fate.
With that understanding, Lucy had confessed everything truthfully. And when they'd concluded that as long as Maine's group hadn't been caught on-site, they likely survived, she, Kiwi, and Rebecca settled down in Arasaka's den of corporate wolves.
Day after day, their routine repeated—training, classes, study.
In Rebecca's words, "I've never lived this damn regularly in my entire life!"
"Lucy, stop spacing out."
Wearing nothing but a skimpy black tube top and underwear—clothing indecent by most standards but typical in Night City—Kiwi's long, tattooed body glimmered under the lights, hexagonal cyberware ports tracing her collarbones. She walked toward Rebecca's bed. "Arasaka training's not like merc work. Get moving, or you'll be late again."
At her words, Lucy blinked back to reality, nodded, and headed for the washroom.
Lucy's current identity was that of an Arasaka trainee. Kiwi and Rebecca, meanwhile, were classified as external contractors—eligible for full employment depending on their performance. In essence, the company was observing how this "well-connected" recruit, Lucy, would fare, and whether she had any potential worth investing in.
"Rebecca, up."
Acting like a tired housemother, Kiwi patiently tugged the blanket off the smaller girl.
"Ha~"
Yawning, Rebecca rubbed her eyes, tears glistening at the corners. "When's this gonna end? I wanna go find my brother."
"Not for now. Don't overthink it. Maine and the others will be fine. And if they're not… well, there's nothing we can do anyway."
Patting her shoulder, Kiwi turned to the wardrobe and began dressing.
"Pfft!" Rebecca smirked. "Wow, you really suck at comforting people, grandma."
"As long as it works."
Kiwi gave the green-haired girl a sidelong glance.
Among the three of them, Rebecca was the most emotional, the one who cared most about her brother, her feelings always raw and on display. The reason she slept so much and seemed carefree was simple—she hadn't been able to sleep at all when they first arrived, kept everyone awake, and was late for classes. Now she took strong sleeping pills every night.
To be blunt, that lack of awareness was exactly what she needed right now—to stop her mind from spinning out of control.
Rustle—
They began to move about, dressing and washing up.
Kiwi, lacking a mouth due to her past cybermodifications, finished the fastest. Once ready, she slipped on a dark Arasaka-style coat and waited for the others.
Arasaka dorms were far more disciplined than a mercenary's lifestyle—blankets had to be folded neatly, smoothed flat, and clothes organized by category in the wardrobe. Uniforms included everything from black businesswear to crimson, web-patterned coats.
"Damn it, Arasaka's treating me like your runaway rich-girl sidekick!" Rebecca complained as she tied her twin tails, following Lucy out of the room. "Even if I'm using your money, don't worry—I'll pay you back!"
As for clothes—Rebecca's usual revealing tops and tattoo-baring gear had been confiscated. Arasaka supplied her with conservative outfits, uniform in color. Skin exposure was technically allowed, but not without restraint.
"Etiquette training, guest service, home management, garment care, cooking skills… what the hell is this crap?!" Rebecca cursed, recalling the day's schedule. "It's all maid school stuff!"
"Just take the lessons. It's still a way to make some eddies."
Hands in her pockets, Kiwi's tone was casual—but her eyes gleamed with focus.
Among them, she was the most eager and serious about Arasaka's lessons.
As a self-taught, street-born netrunner, she knew the value of real, high-level knowledge. Unlike the pre–Fourth Corporate War days when the Net was open and figures like Bartmoss, Alt, and Murphy freely shared breakthroughs, the current intranets were walled gardens—corporations hoarding their tech, releasing only outdated scraps.
So she cherished the opportunity deeply.
And since Lucy herself was a netrunner, Arasaka's curriculum favored her, giving Kiwi the chance to learn alongside. She absorbed every scrap of technical material she could get her hands on.
From Lucy's mentor to her servant—so be it. Kiwi cared little for appearances. Practical benefit was all that mattered. Staying within Arasaka under Lucy's name didn't seem like such a bad deal. As for the coming Corporate War—who could predict the future?
"It's fine. We're a team, aren't we?"
Wearing her uniform, Lucy approached, unbothered by Rebecca's talk of repayment. She clapped her hands lightly. "Let's go."
If you've come this far, you may as well adapt.
Life wasn't fair. Not everyone had the luxury of choice. She understood that truth more clearly now than ever. Looking back, she realized how much she had taken for granted.
Creak— The door opened and shut behind them.
Time: [07:15]
Passing the scanners and sentry turrets, the three stepped out of Arasaka's Vista del Rey office.
In the corridor, a heavily armed Arasaka security officer was already waiting.
"Lucy… ahem, Miss Lucyna Kushinada. Please come with me—I'll escort you to Arasaka Academy."
He spoke politely.
"David, just call me Lucy. And drop the 'Miss.' My father… never mind."
Lucy simply smiled, gazing at her steadfast savior. The faint cursor of a comm-link flickered in her eyes: [Don't you have anything you want to ask? Like why I was in the Badlands that day, or about that car—]
[David: Don't even start!]
David immediately shook his head, cutting her off. "Don't say a word. I don't know anything—and I don't want to know anything. Everything follows the official Ministry of External Affairs statement. Lu—Lucy, come on, time for class. I'll take you and your, uh… 'assistant' to the Vista del Rey security dispatch center tonight for a little internship experience."
With that, David stepped aside and gestured politely.
A heavy armored Arasaka vehicle—a Villefort [Cortes V6000 Overlord]—waited by the curb.
After opening the doors and helping the three inside, David climbed into the passenger seat.
The V6000 Overlord had plenty of space; the three in the back sat comfortably.
"Yo, David," said Suneo Kawakami from the driver's seat, helmet on but visor up, leaning forward with amusement. "Didn't think you knew this kind of rebellious heiress. Sparks flying yet?"
He waggled his brows.
"Cut it out."
Buckle fastened, David pointed forward. "Drive."
"You got it."
Vrrr— The engine roared to life. With a tap on the accelerator, the vehicle merged smoothly into traffic.
The passionate background music switched automatically to Arasaka's Security Radio broadcast, feeding into NCPD's shared database for real-time case updates. The rear-seat tablet and front display cycled between Network 54, WNS, and the Night City Inquirer.
"Any accusations against the New United States or Militech—especially from Arasaka—are baseless fabrications. We have every reason to question Director Vela Adelheid Russell's motives. It's well known that Ms. Russell's parents died—"
"I'm always right, you're always wrong—typical deflection. Blaming temp workers, ex-employees, 'tragic accidents during security rotations'—President Myers continues to dismiss accountability. This behavior is not only irresponsible but downright immoral."
...
Tit-for-tat—the media war had become downright spectacular.
Names were being called directly now; no more cryptic hints or veiled references.
It was like déjà vu from late 2075 to early 2076, when the Western Free States' independence sparked countless border skirmishes.
"Phew."
David exhaled deeply, lifting his visor. His hand rested absently on his sidearm, fingers brushing the metal as he drifted into thought. He wasn't stupid—he had his suspicions about what Lucy meant. Why had she been in the Badlands that day? And that modified truck… what exactly was inside it?
Why hadn't Arasaka pursued that lead? It was as if they'd deliberately let it slide.
He couldn't dwell on it. After SAT-6 arrived, their overwhelming firepower had reduced everything to ashes. Had Director Vela done that intentionally—to protect Lucy? Or to strike back at NUSA?
"Are we really heading toward a third Alvin Accord?"
After a moment, David decided to stop thinking. Games at that level weren't his concern.
Once he finished this assignment, he'd try to 'raise his flag'—apply for transfer into SAT-6. The Director's personal guard rotation was approaching; those who'd served a full year were up for promotion. And within Vela's personal security detail, aside from the Arasaka Bodyguard Division and the family's own Cyberninja Corps, SAT-6 stood as the elite heavy-armor unit.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, David thought silently. He figured he had a chance. The Director remembered him—had taken notice. That was his greatest advantage.
He clenched his fist slightly.
Let's do this.