"Hello, friends of Night City! Good evening! In today's program, we'll continue to focus on the recent uproar surrounding the Director's assassination case. Will it truly ignite a hot war between Arasaka and Militech, potentially leading to the Fifth Corporate War? To discuss this, we are honored to have a sociologist from the University of Night City…"
"Professor, do you believe war will break out?"
"I believe it will—but not yet."
"Your reasoning?"
"Arasaka and Militech are both giants occupying the core of the international order. As the Kang Tao proverb goes: 'No matter how great a corporation may be, if it lusts for war, it will perish.' Based on our analysis, the confrontation between Arasaka and Militech resembles a 'Cold War 2.0' of the 21st century. In this tug-of-war, we already know some of their plans. They know we know some of them. They also know that we don't know everything—and that means…"
...
One could say this episode of Tonight's Talk echoed the views of many on the current situation.
While Arasaka made bold declarations, its rapidly expanding mercenary group, Barghest, fought a major battle against the revitalized, Washington-funded Lazarus Group along the tangled southern borders of New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado.
Meanwhile, the newly reorganized Free States Alliance Army launched counteroffensives along the northern frontier—Montana and Wyoming—clashing with local NUSA garrisons in fierce exchanges.
The fighting was intense indeed, employing cutting-edge military technologies rivaling those of the 2069–2070 Metal Wars, with over two thousand casualties in just a few days.
Yet, that was all…
Arasaka still restrained itself from entering the battlefield openly. Everyone knew, however, that the covert war waged behind the scenes was bloody and merciless.
As of now, Arasaka held a slight advantage, but Washington managed to secure its core interests.
In the north, the Free States Alliance scored minor victories, advancing their lines and occupying more than half the cities across Montana and Wyoming. Montana's capital, Helena, had fallen, and the Alliance had even dropped bombs deep into the Central States.
In the south, however, Barghest's offensive was halted by Lazarus forces along the Arizona–New Mexico border.
Vela's plan to open a land route with the Republic of Texas thus fell apart.
In hindsight, it made sense—severing Arasaka's West Coast influence from Texas' isolationist forces had long been one of New America's national policies.
Washington had massed Lazarus' heavy units in New Mexico, Colorado, and Oklahoma, supported by NUSA's second-line divisions and a growing number of Militech-armed troops.
Losing Montana—or even the Central States—was acceptable. Those were sparsely populated agricultural regions, economically insignificant. But losing New Mexico? That would lead to President Myers' impeachment.
Subsequently, as Arasaka maintained its strategic composure and refrained from escalation, the southern 'skirmish' naturally subsided. Over time, the flames of war dwindled. The Free States, satisfied with their gains, declared their 'punitive action' complete and began consolidating territory.
As always, it was the same old pattern—decades of Arasaka–Militech hostility, endless preparations, and posturing. Thunderous declarations followed by light showers, a mere taste of battle before withdrawal.
All the other megacorps behaved the same.
Since the end of the Fourth Corporate War, nations and corporations alike had spent over half a century licking their wounds. Though conflicts and regional wars flared up occasionally, peace, recovery, and development remained the dominant themes of the age.
Would Arasaka and Militech really risk having their 'fruit of victory' stolen by other opportunists—stake everything on another all-out corporate war?
Everyone knew a clash was inevitable—but no one could say when.
And so, the music played on, and the dance continued.
After the storm, Night City remained as it was.
Some rose, some fell, some stayed the same, and others stood at the crossroads of fate.
Heywood District.
2:00 a.m.
Amid the towering skyscrapers and bustling night markets stood an old-fashioned ramen shop.
In a booth tucked away in the camera's blind spot, against the wall—
Pak!
Watching the TV host—Ziggy Q, the famous talk show personality with bronze-tanned skin, blue eyes, a garish golden suit jacket, and a bright green mohawk—rambling on about the "Director Assassination Case" and its aftermath, V's irritation, already fueled by her superior's newly assigned "cleanup job," finally boiled over. She crushed the paper coffee cup in her hand.
Cinnamon-flavored coffee splashed across her fingers.
"I can't stall him much longer."
Across from her, a red-haired woman in plain clothes—wild, sharp, predatory, like a tigress—asked, "So, what are you going to do, Jackie?"
Slurp— Jackie noisily downed a mouthful of noodles, chasing it with a spoonful of fried rice soaked in broth, his "double-carb" Japanese-style meal. Looking at his friend's flushed, angry face, he muttered, "I'll say it again—Esa chamba te va a matar (Spanish: You're gonna die on this job)."
"I know."
For once, V didn't counter him with her usual Arasaka workplace theories.
Jackie paused mid-bite and glanced at her. "So what's your plan? You really gonna go through with this heartless crap? Take out Maine and Panam just to please that asshole boss of yours? Let me guess—he's got no friends and a shit reputation."
V raised an eyebrow but still nodded.
"Pfft."
Jackie scoffed. "Forget my reputation. If everything's just use-and-dispose like that… heh, what happens when we know too much? Or when you know too much, huh?"
"People who burn every bridge and leave no way back… well, it's only a matter of time before—ah, whatever. Screw that idiot, he's bad luck."
"I know you can't refuse. You've been in Arasaka's viper pit too long—not being a snake just isn't an option anymore. I get it. You've done dirty work before. So have I. We're both complicit. Whores, all of us—no one's clean here. But this…"
He slammed his chopsticks down. "This is different. Burning bridges, stabbing a friend in the back—someone who trusts you?"
"Fuck! Just thinking about it pisses me off. We're your people, your network in the underground. And that bastard only cares about himself, huh?"
Draining the free drip coffee provided after the meal, Jackie wiped his mouth and stared V straight in the eye. "Listen, V. He may see you as a confidant—but the work he's giving you? That's a maid's job."
"No one pities the maid."
He pointed at her. "And you, my friend—you're no maid."
"The more you play the maid, the less chance you'll ever climb higher. Unless the one you're serving is a real power at the top."
"As for your boss…"
Jackie sneered. "Now I see it. He's all boot-lick and bluster. There's a reason he can't outmaneuver his rivals. The guy can barely stand on his own two feet—how the hell's he gonna cover you?"
"'Maid,' huh? Fitting."
V gave a weary smile. "And yeah—you're right about him barely holding it together."
"Abernathy's dead, sure—but he's only been promoted half a rank, as acting director. If HQ's treating him as a temporary placeholder, then all his effort's for nothing. That's why he's working himself to death now, trying to scrub away the negative optics, to stay in favor upstairs."
"Think he'll manage?"
Jackie let out a laugh.
"Doubt it."
V recalled everything she'd seen in the Counter-Intelligence Division over the past few weeks.
After Jenkins scurried up the tower to temporarily take over Abernathy's post at the Special Operations Department, his efficiency remained high—as always—but something had changed. He really was going mad.
The division, already stretched to its limits, was now on the verge of total collapse. Endless overtime, relentless pressure, morale scraping bottom.
"That bastard, Special Operations Director? Him?!"
"I don't believe Lady Vela would ever actually promote that two-faced rabid dog. What's his background again—Security Division? R&D? Academy type? Tokyo U? Military?"
"Plenty of others want to rise. The long-dormant loyalists of the late Kei Arasaka—those 'Old Crown' retainers—each one's more qualified than him."
...
And that was just the Counter-Intelligence agents—speaking freely, without even trying to hide their disdain.
Jenkins' reputation was abysmal.
Other departments, especially the Special Operations Division—Abernathy's old loyalists—had no love for him either. Their obedience was purely out of respect for Arasaka's rigid hierarchy and top-down orders, nothing more.
"So—what's your decision?"
Pouring another cup of coffee, Jackie pushed it toward her.
"Haah."
V leaned back, exhaling softly. When she opened her eyes, there was little sign of hesitation on her face—or rather, she had already made up her mind. What she needed now was just to speak it aloud—and to have at least one person's understanding. She looked at Jackie calmly and said, "Gekokujō."
Today Jenkins had ordered her to kill the informant she'd personally developed—claiming it was a matter of secrecy. Tomorrow, he could order her to kill Jackie. And the day after that, someone else could be sent to kill her for the same reason.
It was time to abandon Jenkins—and find another way to live.
Not only to save herself, but also for the sake of her friend.
V admitted she wasn't a good person—her hands were soaked in blood—but compared to Jenkins, she wasn't nearly as deranged.
"How're you planning to do it? Straight-up kill him?"
Jackie mimed a throat-slitting gesture.
"Too crude."
V shook her head, her expression firm. "Jackie, I can't tell you the details. But if you trust me, contact Maine and Panam. Tell them to stay hidden a little longer. As for their missing teammates—don't let them look into it. I'll handle it."
"No problem."
Jackie nodded, asking no further questions.
He'd been around Arasaka long enough to know the rules: don't look when you shouldn't, don't listen when you shouldn't, don't ask when you shouldn't. Some things are better left unknown.
After food and drink, their pact was sealed.
Before parting, Jackie raised his fist. "It'll work out."
"Let's hope you're right."
Bumping fists with him, V managed a small smile. "Remember—don't let Maine and the others mess things up."
"I got it. See you around."
With that, Jackie got into his car and drove off.
V stood there, watching until he disappeared from sight.
After a moment, she turned back to the quiet street. Past 2 a.m.—the night market was almost empty. A few workers were setting up for their night shifts; others looked like they never left the streets at all.
Just as she could never leave Arasaka.
"Resign?"
V had noticed that unspoken thought behind Jackie's eyes. If she could, she would—but at Arasaka, a clean resignation was impossible. And with everything she was entangled in now, dreams were a luxury.
"Lucy, huh?"
Murmuring softly, she pulled an encrypted terminal from her pocket. The screen lit up as she summoned a Delamain taxi she'd pre-booked. While waiting, she scrolled through a file she'd stumbled upon recently.
The image showed the main gate of Arasaka Academy—several figures walking out.
David Martinez from Arasaka Security's Special Tactics Unit; a tall blonde hacker with a bob cut; a green-haired twin-tailed loli; and a half-Japanese, half-European girl with faintly rainbow-tinted hair—identified internally as Lucyna Kushinada.
"...Tch. What is this, a corporate heiress doing fieldwork?"
V hadn't expected that one of Jackie's old contacts—the young netrunner with the deep-dive neural port—would have such a background.
Recognized on-site by Director Vela herself.
And because her old file originated from the Paris Tower jurisdiction, it was, as they say, fate. Competing fiercely with Yorinobu Arasaka, Director Vela happened to need just such an identity as justification to expand her influence in Europe—so she transferred Lucy's file to Night City. Now the girl had somehow become Vela's confidante. Even if only in title.
The thought made V's stomach twist. She wanted to be someone's loyal hound—but had no master worth serving.
"Damn it."
Still, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. The girl had direct comm access to Director Vela—and V happened to know her personally. Through Lucy, perhaps she could sell Jenkins out… without leaking a single secret.
That last part was crucial.
Because of Lucy, V felt a flicker of unease deep down.
Working in the delicate space between corporate counter-intelligence and the mercenary underworld, she inevitably brushed shoulders with both sides.
If Lucy ever told the truth about the ambush in the Badlands… how much had Director Vela already pieced together? Don't tell me this whole thing was part of an already authorized plan—that every move Jenkins and she made had been under watch the entire time.
If that was true, why had Director Vela tolerated Jenkins' near-treasonous gekokujō against Abernathy?
Why not remove him now? Was Abernathy's death part of a purge targeting Yorinobu Arasaka's loyalists?
Why stage the whole "Badlands Attack" farce? Why erase other clues while deliberately pointing the finger at Washington? Was the true target always the Federal Intelligence Agency of New America?
If so, was Director Vela deliberately steering events toward war? And why did Tokyo HQ remain silent—almost approvingly so?
The more V thought about it, the more chilling it became.
That was also why she kept it from Jackie—knowing too much never did anyone favors.
She'd face this alone.
"Let's hope your new identity proves useful."
V dialed a number.
[Contact: Lucy]
Beforehand, just in case, she had gotten the full encrypted contact list of Maine's crew from Jackie.
Beep—beep—
A few seconds later—
[Lucy: Hello?]
"This is V. Sorry for calling so late, Lucy—or should I say, Miss Lucyna Kushinada."
[Lucy: V? You're… that one from Mr. Jackie Welles' team…?]
"That's me. I'm calling to discuss a proposal. I need your connections—for everyone's sake, not just yours."
V took a deep breath, lowering her voice. "Lucy, you don't want Maine and the others to get hurt, do you?"
...
The next morning.
Arasaka Tower, Level 118.
Sunlight filtered through polarized glass, scattering long, thin rays across the floor.
In the tower suite—after staying overnight to work—Vela stretched lazily, yawning as she slid out of bed and headed toward the washroom.
Then—beep-beep. An incoming call.
Vela blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at the display.
[Incoming Call: Lucyna Kushinada]