June 8th, afternoon. After an hour or so of command handover and wrap-up work, Vela rose from the leisure terrace beside the rooftop landing pad of the Johannesburg International Grand Hotel.
She had already changed out of the combat uniform that bore dust, bloodstains, and the marks of war. Clean and refreshed, she now wore a crisp white shirt and black slacks—no tie, a pair of mid-cut casual boots on her feet. From a fearsome battlefield killing machine, she had transformed back into the stylish and sharp face of a corporate operative.
Crunch...
Holding a South African-style meat sandwich wrapped in wax paper—grilled spiced meat and fresh vegetables tucked into bread—Vela took a leisurely bite, chewing with puffed cheeks as she looked toward the horizon in the direction of the international airport.
Several black dots were enlarging quickly, racing toward her.
Her private aircraft had arrived.
"Supervisor Russell, our deepest apologies. Due to our negligence and complacency, your academic visit to South Africa was marred by such an unpleasant incident."
A slim, slightly balding middle-aged white man with sunken eyes stepped forward, speaking with sincere remorse.
This was the primary supervisor of Arasaka's Johannesburg branch. He looked visibly fatigued—clearly the major terrorist attack in the early hours of the 7th had brought tremendous pressure and accountability from his superiors.
"I assure you, the Johannesburg branch will provide a satisfactory response. Perhaps we can't guarantee catching those terrorists who fled Gauteng Province and the municipal jurisdiction—but as for the rats still trapped within the city, I will hunt down every last one and grind them into paste!"
He was serious, his tone biting as he made this vow to Vela.
On the surface, Vela appeared satisfied. She nodded, saying her anger had subsided. After all, this unfortunate incident wasn't entirely the Johannesburg branch's fault—multiple factors had come into play: a sudden shift at border checkpoints, local Central African warlords acting up...
But inwardly, Vela shook her head.
Heh.
No matter how deferential the man appeared now, she could almost hear him cursing her out inside—blaming her for choosing his jurisdiction to conduct some risky research and drawing hostile attention. Why not go to Cape Town, Pretoria, Tokyo, or back to Night City?
Vela could easily call him out, lash out, crush him with words. He wouldn't dare talk back.
Who was she, and who was he?
This was South Africa. Even the Arasaka offices in Cape Town were called "buildings," not "headquarters" or "towers."
There were only three Arasaka Towers globally: Tokyo in the Asia-Pacific, Paris in Europe, and Night City in North America. Unspoken rule—employees from those towers were inherently half a tier above the rest.
Let alone the fact that Vela's special plenipotentiary status hadn't been formally rescinded yet. No matter how you sliced it, the terror attack had happened in his jurisdiction. He was the primary person responsible.
Vela could even fire him in a fit of rage and report it later.
But there was no need.
They had no personal grudge. Her identity and nature of work meant she didn't need to be all spiky and confrontational to prove she was not to be messed with.
Because she really wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.
Unless your last name was Arasaka—or you were a top-level head of a major intercontinental division.
As Vela chatted idly with the branch personnel—hinting she might lift the city lockdown at her discretion—
Vrrr... Vrrr...
The largest black dot—its shadow massive and oppressive—drew near. Its engines roared, kicking up intense air currents as it approached the landing pad, drowning the terrace in noise.
Clang!
The multi-role armored gunship hovered near the landing zone. Its underbelly detection system activated with a thud, laser beams swiftly outlining a bright red landing safety zone that filled Vela's field of vision.
Oh ho?
Vela eyed the steel beast with its claw-like appendages and menacing frame.
Massive in scale and thickly armored, the gunship was equipped with heavy anti-gravity modules, vector thrusters, hover stabilizers, radar beam emitters, and an arsenal of weaponry: missile pods, multi-barrel Vulcan cannons, electromagnetic railguns, particle laser cannons, and large-caliber kinetic artillery…
Tch. Even with just the most basic of these weapons, a single shot could reduce over 95% of the global population to steaming, shredded meat.
This was no civilian model like Night City's NCPD units, no "Manticore" tactical hovercar used by riot squads, and definitely not some beat-up "Basilisk" APC scavenged in the Badlands. Only a handful of cutting-edge heavy combat vehicles—like those hoarded by the NUSA rebels in Dogtown—could compare. This was a true military-grade Arasaka main battle vehicle.
One of the prideful products of Arasaka's Manufacturing Division—the third pillar alongside Banking and Security.
These heavy weapons platforms were never promoted like service goods or light consumer products. They were rarely offered for public use.
Because their only customers—could only be—major corporations or a handful of governments and state-level authorities with command rights.
Completely and utterly prohibited items.
Machines of war that, if driven into Night City, would instantly trigger diplomatic panic, escalate tensions, and possibly ignite full-scale conflict.
This was one of the rare agreements between megacorps like Arasaka and Militech: strictly control distribution, prohibit sales to unstable individuals or groups.
Clack.
With a heavy mechanical whir, the gunship's steel doors slowly parted to either side.
Under Vela's rare scrutiny, several pairs of full-cover scarlet visors lit up. A squad of Arasaka soldiers in form-fitting, high-spec exoskeleton armor descended with weapons at the ready.
"Supervisor Russell."
At the edge of the landing zone where it met the leisure terrace, Vela stood like a luminous beacon—immediately identified by the incoming unit.
"That's me."
Vela nodded, then took a few more bites of her meat sandwich, finishing it off with ease. She casually handed the grease-stained wrapper to a hotel staff member and gestured for the Arasaka soldiers accompanying her to hand over her research results.
With a swift shfft shfft shfft, the branch soldiers marched past her, transferring the cold storage units containing infected specimen hosts, Sonnentreppe flower samples, and Progenitor Virus extracts to the Tokyo headquarters team.
"Everything's ready. Let's proceed with the handover."
Vela folded her arms, speaking with natural authority.
After scanning the metal crates and cold units with multi-function scanners, the exosuit-clad elite soldiers from Tokyo gave her a nod.
Their tone was measured, indifferent.
"Supervisor Russell, per the resolution passed by the Tokyo Operations Oversight Committee, your special military authorization is hereby revoked."
...
As the rooftop's main landing zone was entirely taken over by Arasaka Tokyo's Special Assault Unit, another, much smaller armored hovercar touched down on the secondary pad.
Inside were investigators, counter-intelligence agents, and interrogation officers—also newly arrived in Johannesburg.
"Tokyo's folks arrived with us? Damn, look at their efficiency—not to mention the specs and security detail. V, if HQ's putting in this much effort... wouldn't be surprised if Commander Vela becomes our boss's boss soon."
A burly, good-natured-looking Black man named Harry widened his eyes, carrying a task-case as he muttered quietly to his partner V.
"Harry… that's for the bigshots to worry about. Let's just focus on doing our jobs. Lots of eyes on this. If we do it right—promotion and a raise might not be a dream."
V stayed calm and composed.
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Still, about the assignment… with so many people after it, aren't you curious what's inside those metal crates?"
"The more you know, the quicker you die, Harry. For people like us, curiosity is a good thing—it helps us discover new things, see from different perspectives. But that same curiosity can also lead us straight to the grave." As she spoke, V patted her friend Harry on the shoulder and looked toward the main landing zone.
There stood the striking blonde figure, surrounded by a crowd of Arasaka operatives and deep in discussion with exosuit soldiers from Tokyo.
Vela Adelheid Russell.
Any Arasaka employee working in Night City would be hard-pressed not to recognize that name. A rising star, a future VIP—or even a super-VIP in the making. A true powerhouse. For her, entering the Arasaka Security Division was as natural as returning home...
And thanks to her rise, the status of Arasaka employees in Night City had improved significantly.
Not because the company's stock price skyrocketed, but due to a subtle, intangible kind of deterrence.
Big corps always carried deterrence—but under Supervisor Russell, Arasaka's deterrence had become especially swift and brutal.
Many habitual corporate exploiters, gangsters, cyberpsychos, fringe mercs, and their teams had been relentlessly hunted down and wiped out by Arasaka security forces under her command.
As a result, the payout threshold for Arasaka-related gigs skyrocketed across Night City's underworld and among fixers. An unspoken testament to Arasaka's rising intimidation factor.
It might still be confined to Night City for now, but even the scraps from that shift were enough to feed a whole class of vested interests.
V thought of an old friend—someone who used to run with the Valentinos.
A rare find in Night City: a true friend who valued loyalty, family, and friendship above all else.
According to him, he'd gone solo after leaving the Valentinos and worked as a lone merc for years, dreaming of becoming a Night City legend, a big name in the merc world.
V didn't quite buy into the dream—but she still helped however she could.
Leveraging her rising status as an Arasaka corpo, she advised and backed him indirectly, helping him land a few well-paying gigs. According to his latest message, he'd finally gotten into Afterlife? Either way, he was ecstatic.
Whew. That's what bigshots do.
Even unintentional gestures could ripple out and change countless lives. V hoped that one day, she could be like that too.
Ding ding. A new message alert pulled her back.
[Notification: Supervisor Vela Adelheid Russell's special military authorization officially revoked...]
"So she's leaving." V looked up.
Those mysterious metal crates had already been loaded onto the gunship. After saying goodbye to the senior execs from the Johannesburg branch, the blonde woman boarded.
Vrrrm...
The doors sealed. The anti-gravity modules hummed to life. The blue flames of the vector thrusters flared, lifting the massive iron-gray craft skyward. It accelerated, vanishing into the sky en route to Cape Town.
V looked away.
"Let's go, Harry. Time to get to work. Step one—screen all the rapid-response personnel who accompanied Supervisor Russell during her tribal ruins research trip..."
...
One day later.
International flight from Cape Town to Tokyo.
AI: [Supervisor Russell, we are approaching Tokyo Haneda International Airport.]
Inside the supersonic Arasaka jet marked with the tri-clover logo on its tail, Vela opened her eyes from a shallow nap and rubbed her temples. She accepted a glass of iced water from the service bot, took a sip, and gazed out the window at the evening skyline gradually coming into view along the horizon.
Tokyo. She was back.
Thirty minutes later, Vela's Arasaka aircraft touched down at Haneda International Airport.
Thunk thunk~
Heavy footsteps thudded against the tarmac as exosuit soldiers—still fully armed even after transferring to the private jet—descended the gangway. Their attention was focused solely on transporting the metal crates containing the Sonnentreppe flower samples, as though their mission to escort Vela had concluded.
Before she even reached the bottom of the gangway, Vela spotted a hover convoy rapidly approaching from the distance.
The first to arrive at the base of the gangway was a Japanese man of medium build, sporting a full beard and inexplicably white hair tied in a topknot. His face, neck, and hands all bore extensive signs of cybernetic augmentation.
"We-eelcome back to Tokyo, Super-visor Russell."
Ah. That deep, magnetic uncle-voice—and that cursed awkward accent.
Vela silently activated the adjustment feature of her language plug-in.
"I'm Vela Adelheid," she said as she stepped down, already aware of who the man was. A slight smile played on her pretty face as she extended her hand.
"A pleasure. I am Goro Takemura."
The personal bodyguard of Saburo Arasaka, Goro Takemura spoke with his signature accent, offering a courteous finger-touch handshake that broke contact immediately after.
"Lord Saburo wishes to see you, Supervisor Russell. This way, please."
Stepping aside, he gestured toward a high-end hovercar of an internal model Vela couldn't identify—it had already docked, doors open.
"Much obliged," Vela replied with a slight nod. She didn't ask any questions.
With total ease, she boarded the vehicle.
Takemura's eyes flickered slightly, but he said nothing further. Raising a hand, he joined her, and the hover convoy began its journey toward the Arasaka Family Compound in the Tokyo suburbs.
"Supervisor Russell, do you know what it means to be permitted within the Arasaka Family Compound walls?"
As the sprawling estate came into view—complete with its feudal-style manor, surrounded by greenery, shrines, sakura groves, ponds, and flowing streams, like a shogun's cyber-age keep—Takemura suddenly spoke.
"It means trust. And the fact that I'm standing before you... well, I'd say I'm qualified for that, wouldn't you?"
Turning to him, Vela's eyes shimmered with a different light.
"Let's hope you don't disappoint Lord Saburo, Supervisor Russell."
"Wait and see," Vela replied, not directly answering the question, but giving Takemura a meaningful look. "Perhaps we'll meet more often in the future. Who knows—we might even become friends."
"I am Lord Saburo's blade. I have no use for extraneous emotion."
"Is that so." Vela only chuckled.
Her schemes were already brewing. Someday... perhaps he'd come begging.
As for Yorinobu Arasaka—oh, did she have quite the gift prepared for him.
"We've arrived," Takemura announced.
Vrrrm...
Touchdown. The door opened. Takemura stepped out first.
A breeze brushed through the estate, carrying rare notes of birdsong and floral scent. Vela reached up, tucking a few stray golden strands behind her ear. She could feel it—dozens, maybe over a hundred cyber-enhanced guards had all turned their eyes toward her in an instant.
"Please."
Takemura stepped aside and gestured.
Clack clack clack...
Their footsteps echoed on the solid wood of the long corridor. After countless twists and checkpoints, Vela followed Takemura to a modest pavilion.
"Stop."
It was a familiar voice—Shintaro Takayama, whom she had met many times.
Vela halted. She was still at least twenty paces from the pavilion.
But she could already see the hunched, aged figure in the wheelchair beneath it.
Saburo Arasaka.
Seeing you, old man, is never easy.
Vela knew—this was it. Time to serve up the big picture.