Night City, Arasaka Tower — Level 118.
A comprehensive executive floor reserved for the corporation's upper leadership.
Inside the Nakajima-style kitchen, the sound of sizzling oil filled the air. Golden rice danced in the wok as Arasaka's personal chef, a culinary artisan born into the family's service, held the pan in one hand and the spatula in the other, adding ingredients, drizzling broth, flicking his wrist with perfect control. Each motion was precise, rhythmic—graceful enough to mesmerize anyone watching.
Having finished washing up, Vela entered the kitchen, walking barefoot over the Persian carpet. She wore a tailored formal suit without the outer jacket. Her light-golden hair was tied in a half-up knot, swaying softly with her steps, while her indigo eyes reflected the flickering orange icons of her retinal HUD.
[Lucyna Kushinada: …That's all. Valerie from the Counter-Intelligence Division has decided to confess directly to you, Director.]
[She said that during her tenure in Counter-Intelligence, she was nurtured and promoted, repaying the favor through loyalty and hard work—even when it meant doing the dirtiest jobs. She admits her mistakes. Now that the division has earned your trust and its friction with Special Operations has been resolved, she feels deep gratitude. However, Director Arthur Jenkins continues to conceal the truth…]
[She understands perfectly well that you, Director Vela, see everything clearly and comprehend the situation with piercing insight. Since the incident, she has been waiting in torment for her superior to take responsibility and report the matter to the company.]
[But a week has passed, and Jenkins remains silent. It troubles her deeply. She fears that her silence could cause losses to the company—or worse, tarnish your reputation. So, for the sake of her own conscience and loyalty, she dares not delay further, and has asked me to deliver her confession on her behalf.]
[Given the sensitivity of the issue and the risk of information leaks during standard reporting, she sought an alternate route—entrusting me to relay it directly.]
The message ended with an attachment detailing the full course of the ambush incident.
Vela tapped the interface in her iris and opened the document, skimming through the data logs.
Comprehensive. Thorough. Practically a complete confession—V and Lucy had poured everything out.
Including details about Maine's crew.
Of course, there was bias—a self-serving polish to the narrative. Between the lines, V subtly exonerated herself while pushing the main blame onto the deranged, secretive Jenkins.
Still, the effort was obvious. The "confession report" was crafted carefully, clearly written with great thought and awareness of what Vela valued most.
Every word was measured, the tone respectful yet restrained.
It opened by admitting fault—a clever move. V hadn't tried to dump all the blame. Instead, she emphasized a loyal subordinate's misguided devotion: that her actions stemmed from gratitude and duty, not rebellion. Her 'betrayal' was framed as loyalty—borne of fear and respect for the Director, and out of faith in Arasaka itself.
The flattery was well-balanced, never excessive. The accusations against Jenkins struck precisely where they would matter most. The phrasing and tone had likely been tailored to Vela's personality profile—perhaps even cross-referenced with preference algorithms.
They had done their homework.
After a quick read, Vela smiled faintly. She already knew what she would do.
Approved.
Given her unique position between Arasaka's Counter-Intelligence Division and the mercenary networks, V had access to a rare breadth of information—much broader than what Jenkins or Maine ever possessed.
She'd noticed Lucy's sudden transformation from an edge-runner to a "corporate daughter," and after reaching out to her personally, the two had shared their findings. Their combined perspective had painted a clear enough picture.
That Vela wasn't surprised said everything.
Valerie, it seemed, was the most well-informed mid-level operative in all of Night City concerning the true events behind the Abernathy assassination.
The time to summon her had come.
A thought flickered across Vela's mind.
Beep.
[Vela: Quick-witted. Very well, I understand. Her loyalty is commendable—this will not be held against her. Order her to clean up the remaining traces. From now on, if anything arises, she can contact me directly.]
Her tone was calm—accepting the subordinate's gekokujō, her betrayal, as a formal act of allegiance.
[Lucyna Kushinada: Understood.]
Beep. The call ended.
Valerie was now in her grasp.
Smiling faintly, Vela adjusted her collar and settled elegantly at the kitchen island's dining area.
Her right elbow rested on the black Luan-gold stone counter extending from the island, her head tilted slightly as she supported her cheek with one hand. Multitasking effortlessly, she browsed both the confession document and company reports, her mood light and unhurried.
"Looks like it's time for Jenkins to take early retirement…"
The attendant standing beside the kitchen island silently pulled out a chair and prepared a drink, neither listening nor glancing aside.
Clang, clang—the sharp rhythm of a spatula scraping the iron wok echoed softly.
"Miss, today's dish: Fragrant Golden Yangzhou Fried Rice. Please enjoy."
The private chef deftly lifted the pan and poured the fried rice onto a plate, offering it forward with both hands.
Steam rose as the broth vaporized, releasing a rich aroma. Each grain of rice was distinct and glistening, perfectly separated. Diced scallops, sea cucumber, shrimp, ham, chicken, bamboo shoots, and shiitake mushrooms blended harmoniously—refined, glossy, and fragrant.
"Miss, this is persimmon-honey punch."
The attendant presented a warm drink made from dried persimmons and honey—perfect for the stomach.
An all-purpose cyber-ninja trained by the Arasaka household; everything they made was guaranteed to be flawless.
"Thank you."
Vela smiled warmly.
As she sipped, the soothing warmth spread through her throat, kindling her appetite. She scooped up a spoonful of fried rice.
"Mmm."
Each bite revealed rice of perfect texture—firm yet tender—its flavor deepened by the balance of umami from the ingredients. The richness of seafood and the soft fragrance of the rice intermingled delightfully. Smooth, savory, and lingering.
Authentic.
Not much different from the cuisine she had enjoyed in other worlds—especially in [Jormungand + Black Lagoon] or [Jurassic Park + World]—those that followed normal historical paths, uncorrupted by cybernetic decay.
In the cyberpunk world of 2077, such tangible pleasures were rare luxuries.
Raw ingredients were scarce—that was one reason. But social changes and evolving customs were another. With the complete industrialization of food, traditional cooking had long given way to synthesized protein meals. Skilled chefs with true training and lineage had grown rarer by the decade. Layer upon layer of cause and effect gave rise to today's "cyber cuisine" trends—like the infamous insect-based diets.
The logic of cherishing what's yours still applied. Even though learning chips allowed cybernetic skill transmission, most chefs refused to open-source their craft. Instruction was paid, recipes were guarded, and ancestral techniques were their greatest selling point—their livelihood.
With autonomous-learning AIs strictly regulated, standard cooking and recipe chips were mostly worthless, offering little real knowledge.
It always came back to that bastard who blew up the Internet. Public sentiment toward him had shifted—from initial applause during the DataKrash to indifference, then to utter hatred.
In the modern day, aside from a few rebel hackers and nostalgic legends, most people would respond to the name Rache Bartmoss with a heartfelt curse toward his entire bloodline.
Vela's ability to enjoy such a meal, then, was thanks to the Arasaka family's heritage.
Notorious though their name might be, Arasaka remained the longest-operating megacorporation in history—its foundations deep and unshakable.
Yes—her foundations.
As her thoughts wandered, reviewing the progress of her power consolidation and the strategies for Arasaka's rapid yet efficient expansion—
Knock-knock. A door chime resembling a knock sounded.
"Come in," Vela said between bites, not looking up.
"Miss, Vice President James Thomas has arrived."
The Tang-style lacquered door slid open automatically as the attendant spoke.
Tap, tap. Footsteps approached.
Vela lifted her gaze toward the doorway.
A sharply dressed older man entered—white hair slicked back neatly, aquiline nose, sharp eyes like a hawk's. His face was lined yet firm, the air of authority unmistakable.
Vela dabbed her lips, raised her glass, and rose to greet him.
"Have you eaten yet, Uncle Thomas? Care to join me for a drink and a bite?" she asked in her warm Kansai-tinted tone.
"Well, I'd be rude to refuse," he replied with a chuckle, taking a seat.
Without being prompted, the attendants and chef prepared a fresh set of tableware. Appetizers and drinks appeared on the table in moments.
Sizzle—
Cooking resumed.
As the head chef worked on a new dish, assistants moved efficiently. Some fired up the teppanyaki grill, searing foie gras, sashimi assortments, and wagyu caviar rolls. Others plated fresh vegetables, pickled greens, and fruit-infused kimchi for balance.
Amid the mingling aromas, Vela and Thomas raised their glasses and toasted.
After a few light exchanges about company affairs to ease the mood, Vela suddenly said, "I've decided to have Jenkins retire for health reasons. The handover will be completed within a week, but the Counter-Intelligence Division's purge will be postponed."
Thomas, pausing mid-bite with his fork still holding a piece of foie gras, frowned slightly. "Why?"
"Someone reported Jenkins."
With a playful curve at the corner of her lips, Vela picked up a slice of pickled radish and bit into it gracefully.
"Someone from Counter-Intelligence. Ever since Abernathy's death, Jenkins has been acting more erratic—his madness for power has terrified his subordinates."
"May I ask who?" Thomas said thoughtfully.
"V."
"V?"
Hearing the name, Thomas' cybernetic eyes flickered a faint orange. "Valerie… Graduate of Arasaka Academy's Special Division, age twenty-three. Impressive record. But wasn't she one of Jenkins' protégées? Rumor has it that if Jenkins had been promoted officially, she would've taken over as head of Counter-Intelligence. Can she be trusted?"
As Vice President of Arasaka's Americas Tower, he wasn't directly involved with intelligence work—but pulling an internal dossier wasn't difficult for him.
"She can."
Vela's answer was immediate, confident.
"Oh?"
Thomas raised an eyebrow, surprised. He could tell she was in a good mood about this matter—an unusual sight that piqued his curiosity. What exactly had this woman, this 'V,' done to impress the brightest gem of Arasaka's Night City branch?
"You intend for her to succeed Jenkins?"
"Mhm."
Vela dipped a slice of Norwegian salmon into wasabi and soy before replying calmly, "I told you—I want to minimize the negative impact."
"The feud between Jenkins and Abernathy isn't exactly a secret in corporate circles. But we absolutely cannot let the outside world know the truth behind Arasaka's internal power struggle—the reality of this gekokujō. Therefore, defining Jenkins' retirement as a disciplinary action for 'failing to unite his department' and 'causing division due to personal grudges' would be the most appropriate approach."
"After all, unity is Arasaka's pride."
She tilted her head slightly, swirling her enameled tea cup with a faint smile.
Unity…
Thomas gave a dry chuckle. "Fitting."
He knew Jenkins well enough—competent, tireless, and efficient like all the best madmen in Arasaka. A capable intelligence officer, yes, but far too solitary, unpopular, incapable of team-building.
And that was his fatal flaw.
In the intelligence field, isolation and mistrust were assets—but at higher levels, leadership demanded cohesion. Those same traits became shackles.
Unless one had powerful backing—or caught a major shift in the corporate power structure—there was no advancing beyond the mid-tier.
Thomas now fully understood Vela's plan: Jenkins would first serve as Acting Director of Special Operations, then, once deemed unfit during evaluation, he'd be demoted and quietly retired. Soon after, he'd "pass away due to health complications." A seamless and politically clean replacement of Arasaka's intelligence leadership.
Thomas had no objections.
After all, Jenkins' gekokujō had been too crude, too reckless.
In his youth, Thomas had committed his own gekokujō—it was part of corporate culture, after all. But his methods were refined: submitting improved operational plans to higher-ranking executives, or discreetly exposing his superior's corruption.
Direct assassination, though tacitly tolerated, was short-sighted—mortgaging one's future. After all, even upper management were human. Who would ever truly trust an unstable killer like that? People like Jenkins were always used like disposable rags.
"And who will replace him as Director of Special Operations?" Thomas asked, sipping his honey tea.
"Jimmy," Vela replied smoothly. "My former assistant adjutant."
"And the First Deputy Director of the Security Bureau?"
"Old man Rahm will be reinstated and promoted," she said casually—referring to her former SAT supervisor, who had stepped down due to genuine health issues when Vela rose to power.
"Ah—?!"
Thomas froze. That was unexpected. Then, realization struck. His pupils contracted sharply as he leaned forward, his tone urgent. "You've cracked the cyberware personality erosion network problem?"
His voice was almost breathless.
Vela merely smiled faintly—offering no direct answer.
"Almost. To say I've completely solved the mental and personality disorders caused by hardware implants and behavioral software modules would be unrealistic—but reducing the incidence of cyberpsychosis to a minimal rate? That's not hard."
A gift from the [Ghost in the Shell] world.
After several months of adjustments and refinements, Vela—serving as a GSG 9 German Border Brigade technical exchange officer to Japan—had collaborated with Public Security Section 9 on several complex cases. During the process, she managed to introduce many offensive cyberware systems. Together, they developed, refined, and perfected particularly dangerous combat implants notorious for causing cyberpsychosis within the Cyberpunk world.
In truth, Vela already had multiple working models on hand. She simply hadn't deployed them yet—saving them for when maximum effect would be required.
"Old man Rahm's been nagging me about returning to the frontlines, hasn't he? He's written to me more than once. I remember."
Rahm—an old Arasaka veteran—had voluntarily stepped down when Vela was promoted to Head of the Special Assault Unit. His deteriorating neural stability had forced him to retire from active duty, his combat cyberware dismantled.
He had been Fred Russell's comrade-in-arms—Vela's father's old war brother. Without his recommendation and voluntary resignation, Vela's rise would not have been nearly so swift.
That debt, she remembered well.
"I'll personally perform the rejuvenation surgery and reinstate his combat augmentations."
Vela said seriously as she finished a bite of vegetable salad.
"That recommendation and his sacrifice," she added, "will be the best investment Rahm ever made in his life."
Thomas exhaled softly, visibly moved.
Vela smiled, saying nothing.
She gestured lightly, and the attendant ninja stepped forward, presenting a finely crafted square case.
Vela handed it across to Thomas.
"What's this?" he asked.
"The latest prototype of my rejuvenation compound. Formulated according to your biological profile, Uncle Thomas."
Vela raised her glass with a soft smile. "As I've said—this glory…"
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "…I will not keep to myself. Not before I rose, and not after. Uncle Thomas, I still need you by my side."
"Hah-hah…"
Thomas chuckled three times in genuine delight, taking the box with visible emotion. "Reward without merit, eh? Seems this old body of mine has no choice but to stir up some trouble alongside our 'Golden Jewel of Night City.'"
Since the deaths of Fred and Mia, Thomas had looked after Vela for nearly a decade. Their bond had only grown stronger, reinforced by loyalty, gratitude, and shared ambition.
Glancing back, he thought briefly of his own son—no scoundrel, perhaps, but still… some comparisons were better left unspoken.
Clink.
Their glasses met once more.
Draining her cup of persimmon-honey punch, Vela set it down and spoke solemnly:
"Uncle Thomas, please inform Jimmy, Bryan, Laurie, Shuntaro Matsumura, Philip, Shaw, and Shinichi Tanaka. Meeting in the conference hall this afternoon. The company's 'renewal phase' is over."
Her eyes gleamed like tempered steel.
"It's time we look forward."
—
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