Several hours later, large-scale firefights in central Johannesburg had ceased.
Arasaka's military force had sealed off every exit from the city almost immediately. As updates from their pursuit operations kept rolling in, at a hidden Militech outpost in a forsaken town within Gauteng Province, encrypted communications were being sent regarding "Spring Operation."
[This is Gauteng Intelligence Division, South Africa. Spring Operation has failed. 'Southern Bird' and his netrunner attack group have been wiped out. The assault team, initially successful, was ultimately defeated by the arrival of Vela Adelheid. The interception team at Central African Bushrock was annihilated. 'Strike One' has been killed. The Sonnentreppe Flower and research samples have been recovered by the enemy.]
[Personnel trapped in Johannesburg—excluding a few support and recon agents—have mostly been cornered by Arasaka's rapid response forces and SAPS. Survival rate of remaining field agents is currently indeterminate.]
[This operation suffered from critical intelligence misjudgments. First, the Arasaka Industrial Park had, in addition to its regular guard units, a hidden elite security squad whose presence significantly delayed our actions. The mission shifted from infiltration to direct assault, wasting crucial time and directly contributing to 'Strike One' being caught.]
[Second, we urge North American HQ to re-evaluate the threat posed by Vela Adelheid. It is no longer that she could become the next Adam Smasher—she already has. Her netrunning capabilities demand urgent reassessment.]
[(Attachment: Battlefield data and bodycam records from agents); Upload Target: Washington, to Interlinked Intelligence Bureau Agent 'Nightingale']
...
As the dawn sky brightened again, the sweep across Johannesburg was still underway.
Military and police swarmed the streets. SAPS officers and Arasaka operatives patrolled every major thoroughfare in the city, hunting fugitives.
Undoubtedly, the chaos of the early hours and the shock of the morning would leave an indelible mark on the citizens of Johannesburg.
On television and radio, Arasaka publicly broadcast orders from Special Plenipotentiary Action Commissioner Vela Adelheid Russell regarding the "June 7 Johannesburg Terror Incident."
As the streetlights flickered and engines roared…
Following the priority lockdown of the city's borders, Arasaka's military transports, armored hovercraft, and even rare sights in South Africa like soldiers wearing partial exosuits, bipedal crab-like unmanned war mechs, 'Octant' heavy drones, and armored hover tanks all thundered into the urban core.
To media professionals, such scenes were priceless. For global news outlets—it was a frenzy.
Night City time: June 6, 11:00 PM (South Africa UTC+2; California UTC-7; South Africa is 9 hours ahead of Night City).
And yet, Night City was still Night City, unchanged by anyone's departure.
Corporate feuds and gang wars still flared across the skyline. The Body Lottery updated as usual. Criminals roamed the night, and cyberpunks drank the evening away in their bars of choice.
Watson District. Afterlife Nightclub.
Pulsing, multicolored light pollution danced across the ceiling. Strippers and sex dolls weaved together in projections. The air was thick with a cocktail of smells—biting alcohol, pungent tobacco, the sharp hit of drugs, mingling perfumes, and raw pheromones—all fusing into the decadent, almost rotten scent of cyber-nightlife.
At the bustling bar, mercs who had just completed contracts and edge-runners planning their next gigs gathered in clumps. After toasting with drinks named for bygone legends, they shot the breeze, bragging about the day's earnings and tomorrow's hopes.
Blasting music and the grating voice of everyone's favorite loudmouth Stanley were, of course, essential parts of the atmosphere.
"Good evening, Night City—"
"It's your old friend Stanley. Our city of dreams wraps up another explosive day. And no, I'm not here to peddle junk—this time, we've got something serious."
"When it comes to Night City, the world knows our name. People fight to get in, and we never back down from comparisons. But tonight, we gotta admit—someone else out there just went bigger. For now, at least."
"You all know South Africa, right? Yeah, a place called Johannesburg. Arasaka's industrial park just got bombed!!"
As Stanley's electrified broadcast echoed through the club, declaring that Arasaka got bombed, every seasoned merc not passed out drunk, zoned out on pills, or mid-thrust in a private booth paused.
The decadent atmosphere of the club briefly gave way to a subtle tension.
"Damn, that's nuts—bombing Arasaka?"
At the bar, a burly guy with a man-bun and a ruggedly gentle face stared at the holo-feed in shock.
"Yeah, real bold—except you missed the part where Arasaka's gone rabid. Those guys who pulled this off? Legends... probably already six feet under."
A female bartender with thick arms and no cyberware in sight glanced at the news. Surprised, yes, but far more grounded than her customer. As she cleaned a shaker, she said, "Even if they bombed Arasaka Tower, it wouldn't change a damn thing for us. What'll it be, big guy?"
"Let's hope not. I've got a close girlfriend fighting tooth and nail in that snake pit. Hmm... Vodka, ice, lime juice, ginger beer... Ah, just make it that for now."
"Ooh, trying to leave behind a signature drink? Not bad. One sec."
Elsewhere, in a corner booth, a tall, dark-skinned man slammed back a shot. His shades slid slightly down, revealing eyes filled with awe.
"Maine, this isn't our business. Corporate bloodshed as usual. Still, gotta hand it to them—they really pissed off Arasaka. Exo-suited troops, mechs, armored vehicles... even tanks."
The speaker, Kiwi—a golden-blonde with a short bob, masked face, golden-yellow sclera and crimson irises—puffed on a cigarette and gave a sidelong glance at the battle footage flashing across the holo-display. "You want to be one of those corpses?"
"Come on, do I look that reckless to you?"
"Just reminding you. You're the leader. Everyone depends on you."
"Haha... that doesn't sound like the Kiwi I know. You're piling the pressure on."
Maine laughed, hearty and easy.
This was the Maine crew. Fresh off a successful job and blowing off steam at Afterlife.
"...Piles of bodies, city torn apart. I wonder if they actually achieved their objective. What do you think, Lucy?"
Dorio, the muscular woman with blond side-swept bangs who had been watching the screen casually, suddenly leaned on Kiwi's shoulder. Her tone was light and careless, a sharp contrast to the carnage onscreen.
"I hope they did," said Lucy, a white-haired punk curled up in a corner of the couch, puffing on a slim cigarette. "Only a megacorp could pull off something like this. And when corps fight corps? Arasaka getting wrecked is a win, no?"
"Hey now, don't be so grim."
Dorio chuckled and handed her a cold beer, thumbs-upping her in typical Dorio fashion.
"Things like that are way too far from us. If they're dangerous, we just stay away from them. Once we save up enough, maybe you, me, and Maine can transition into a fixer team. By then, we'll have earned enough, and you could even go to the moon. Though I still don't get what goes on in your head that makes you want to go there. For now, forget those depressing things—let's just enjoy ourselves."
"That really sounds like something you'd say." Lucy let out a helpless laugh, popped the bottle cap off, and clinked bottles with Dorio. Gulp...
She took a hefty swig, savoring the icy coolness flowing down her throat. Lucy slowly shifted her gaze away from the Arasaka tri-foil emblem on the holo screen…
Let the past stay in the past.
Maine's crew gave her a long-lost sense of warmth. Kiwi, her guide; Maine, the big brother figure; Dorio, the team's older sister and mood stabilizer—they were all ordinary people, but people she genuinely enjoyed being around.
"Alright, enough about that. They fight their wars; we should focus on what we're doing next," Maine said, rubbing his big iron hands before grabbing a beer. "To you, hacker girl. With your skills, stooping down to—oww!"
Bang! A sharp elbow almost made Maine cough up his stomach acid. It was Dorio.
She looked annoyed. "What kind of nonsense are you spewing again? Making Lucy sound like an outsider." Then, lifting her beer, she broke into a smile. "Come on, to the team. Cheers!"
"To the team." Lucy smiled and raised her bottle. Beside her, Kiwi also drew out her cigarette from the mask port and grabbed a beer.
Just as they were about to clink bottles—
"What the hell! You started without us!"
Skinny-stick Pilar, whose arms were almost the same length as his body, and the rampaging short-stack Rebecca, who had only barely been allowed inside, entered the booth carrying several rounds of drinks.
"Yo, Rebecca, weren't you shouting about going to see the 'Queen of Afterlife' to gain some insight? Didn't see her?"
"How would I know? After the news about Arasaka getting bombed hit the airwaves, those old freaks all suddenly shut their mouths. A bunch of people left their seats, and I figured I better not poke the bear..."
...
Inside a private room on the second floor of the Afterlife nightclub—
An elderly woman wearing a yellow crop-top long-sleeve shirt and black leather pants, with a stylish ash-white asymmetric undercut, quietly sat at the center of a sofa.
If any young cyberpunks aspiring to be legends caught sight of her, most would gasp in recognition.
Because she was Rogue—the top underworld intelligence broker of Night City, king of fixers, owner of Afterlife nightclub, and the last living legend of Night City.
"We interrupt with breaking international news."
"In the early morning of June 7, South African time, a major terrorist attack occurred at Arasaka's Johannesburg Industrial Park. Arasaka is suspected to have lost important experimental assets, but the situation has reportedly been resolved."
"According to on-site reporters, student-in-residence Vela Adelheid Russell has been appointed Special Action Commissioner and given full authority to lead the investigation of this terrorist attack…"
Rogue sat with her legs crossed, expression complex as she stared at the holographic table display. The South African terror attack was being reported by major outlets.
Bombing Arasaka? She knew that move well.
But that was old history—more than half a century ago. Johnny Silverhand, the rebellious rocker boy, and Morgan Blackhand, the top solo merc, led a group of legends to assault Arasaka Tower. Such grandeur—that was true legendary material.
Sadly, Arasaka had returned with a vengeance and now ruled Night City from the shadows.
These days, Night City had no new Blackhands or Silverhands willing to provoke Arasaka's wrath. Forget blowing up Arasaka Tower—even protests or attacks on Arasaka convoys, or spying on Arasaka Industrial Parks, had become rare.
The Fourth Corporate War and the Net Crash didn't destroy the megacorps. They only made them stronger.
"Johnny... never thought a lazy, despicable bastard like you would end up being Night City's last shred of courage. After you died, the world became even more fucked up, more disgusting..." Rogue muttered.
"But Vela Adelheid... that name sounds familiar. Is it her?"
The next moment, Rogue's eyes turned red as she spoke firmly to the person on the other end of the call: "Find a way to get me the full picture on the South Africa incident. Money's not an issue. Anything related to Vela Adelheid—even the shittiest braindance fragment—there'll be countless buyers offering top dollar."
"Make it fast," she emphasized.
From mercenary to Night City's fixer queen, Rogue had an information instinct few could rival.
And this time, the world had just been introduced to Vela Adelheid on a global stage. There was no way only one party would take interest.
With professional calm, Rogue finished issuing her instructions and leaned back on the couch, the orange glow fading from her eyes. "Heh... If Johnny were still alive, I'd love to see how he'd react to what I've become..."
...
Arasaka Tower, Night City.
In the security department floors—
"Holy shit! Captain Jimmy, it's Supervisor Vela—wasn't she studying at Tokyo University? How'd she end up in South Africa, and now she's a Special Executive Action Commissioner? My God, that role means the entire South African security division has to follow our boss' orders!"
"Exactly. Border lockdowns, full city sweep, massive manhunt... Once the Supervisor's back, we're golden."
In the Special Assault Unit training facility, a dozen Arasaka squad leaders crowded around a large screen, all rushing to find Jimmy right after he'd reported to Deputy Director James Thomas, babbling excitedly.
"Alright, pipe down."
Jimmy clapped his hands to silence them. "Get back to training. Look how hyped you are." But the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth said he was more than pleased.
"Alright, don't just stand around. Spread the news to the others. Before Supervisor Vela returns, I want everyone on their best behavior."
"We're her direct subordinates—don't go stirring up shit outside. If we impress her now, it might help her rise even faster. You think she'd forget us then?"
...
Counter-Intelligence Division.
Arasaka employee workstation NC770416.
Beep-beep.
At her desk, a sharp-eyed woman with a dark red undercut looked up and answered. "This is V."
"V, got a job for you."
It was Arthur Jenkins, head of the Counter-Intelligence Division—her mentor and boss.
V's voice turned firm. "What's the op? Location, time, mission type?"
Jenkins: "Counter-intel. Spy hunting. Pack up and head out with your team right away—destination: Cape Town and Johannesburg. You know Vela Adelheid, right? She's your senior from Arasaka Academy. Her academic tour got hit by terrorists. Saw the internal briefing from Tokyo HQ?"
V nodded.
Jenkins: "Most of her research got wiped. She's probably furious. Killed nearly a hundred people overnight. After getting military authorization, she locked down all of Johannesburg—still sweeping the city..."
"Trusted, clearly. Typical of an elite second-gen." Jenkins couldn't help but marvel. "She suspects a mole inside the company, possibly from Militech. Tokyo is taking this seriously. It's also a golden opportunity for you. I'll send you the intel package shortly."
"That's all. Don't let me down."
Click.
Across from her, Harry, a Black man, poked his head over. "So, what's the job this time?"
V smiled and got up, already packing. "Counter-espionage in South Africa. Harry, this is the big one. Nail it, and we're set."
...
One day later—June 8th, afternoon, South Africa time.
Johannesburg.
The fires at Arasaka Industrial Park had long been extinguished, and the city's power supply was gradually returning.
"This is Vela... mhm, I understand. Gather all the dead terrorists' bodies for media coverage..."
"What? The bodies are too mangled? Have the city morgue's forensic teams and retrieval crews wrap them up in body bags. Count them by vertebrae and skulls..."
Using the half-blasted remains of the bio-research building as her command center, Vela was focused on fulfilling her assigned role to the letter.
That role? Counterterrorism.
She didn't dare start a war just yet. She didn't want to earn a rep for being an unhinged megalomaniac. But under the guise of counterterrorism, she had no problem deploying troops—exosuit soldiers, light armored vehicles, armored personnel carriers... she could manage that.
And she did.
It wasn't warmongering. No mechs, no powered armor, no MBT tanks, no low-orbit assault craft. It wasn't enough to provoke Arasaka's "friendly neighbors" in central Africa.
"Supervisor Russell."
As Vela calculated how best to capitalize on her temporary authority, an Arasaka logistics executive approached her.
"Latest word from the airport tower—Tokyo HQ's people will arrive in about half an hour."
Vela's eyes lifted slightly.
Looks like her debut on the world stage was nearly over.
Time to return to Tokyo—for her next round of chess with Old Saburo and even Older Saburo.