It all happened in an instant.
The badlands, under the scorching midday sun, stretched out in a sweltering sandy yellow.
In the distance, thick columns of black smoke rose from what must have once been an abandoned border town—billowing into the sky like grotesque fungi.
Buffeted by the moaning desert wind, the smoke swayed erratically upward—dense, dark, and unmistakably far beyond what a small Nomad camp or ramshackle hut could produce.
"Looks like the Intelligence Agency took a heavy hit this time..."
A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood like a statue atop a barren, wind-swept rocky hill, coldly surveying the scene below.
Through gaps in the smoke, he could just make out Arasaka's armored AVs and swarms of heavy drones skimming past the ridge. He recognized a few Octants and Surveyors.
"The liaison... intercepted by Arasaka's pigs? Even the underground transit station got blown open. Fucking hell. What the hell is Washington doing..."
Cursing under his breath, the man turned to look south—toward Watson, where feverish construction was underway.
In the bright blue sky, automated blimps patrolled lazily, dragging long holographic advertisements behind them. The feeds announced the establishment of the new Arasaka Research Center district and showed scenes from Konpeki Plaza, where Vela Adelheid, Michiko Arasaka, and Weldon Holt signed a joint land acquisition agreement.
Arasaka was returning to its peak.
Sighing, he walked over to the worn, dust-covered custom-modified car parked beside the hill.
He opened the door—vmmm...
As the window sealed shut, his skin tone shifted from white to black, then from black to tan.
His previously drab, dusty outfit transformed in an instant—thanks to surface nanite particles—into a garish, trendy streetwear ensemble. From Nomad to street punk in a blink.
Had any intel operative witnessed the process from start to finish, they would've shouted it on sight: nanomesh camouflage and adaptive mimetic cloak.
"Six years... six damn years... Here's hoping I make it to the day they 'wake' me."
The man pulled on a baseball cap, started the car, and drove off.
His low voice faded into the dusty wind.
...
—Night City Arasaka Academy 2076 Spring Graduation Ceremony—
Invitation...
Beep.
Vela only skimmed through the report from Arasaka Academy before setting it aside. Instead, she pulled up the latest NCPD crime statistics from Vista del Rey in Heywood, enlarging the chart. She closed the Academy's official site and projected the data and related visuals from the central holoscreen onto the virtual grid of her cybernetic eye.
[Night City Arasaka Academy 2076 Graduate Security Division Candidate Roster:]
Katsuo Tanaka.
Suneo Kawakami.
Gian Morishita.
David Martinez.
Conan Henry.
...
Vela glanced over the list.
Huh, not bad scores all around.
The Arasaka Academy board members spared no praise in describing this graduating class. In particular, they waxed lyrical about Vela's inspirational speech delivered during her visit in the summer of 2074—borderline sycophantic.
Of course, a Director on the Arasaka North America Executive Oversight Council based in Night City wasn't the same as a board member at the Academy.
According to comparative data compiled by the AI classroom instructors and subject advisors, this class scored more than ten points higher on average than previous years. They were hailed as the best batch in recent memory.
(2070's intake didn't count—they had a so-called "legend.")
This spring cohort produced no shortage of top-tier talent flagged by internal Arasaka departments.
Among them: David Martinez.
He ranked third in overall performance among students with purely organic bodies. Of the top ten, only two—including him—were born to non-corporate, civilian families.
At this stage, even without Vela's personal instruction, the Security Division's evaluation officers and HR administrators had already placed David Martinez on the preliminary hire list. His internal, non-public medical report was exceptional.
All that remained was for him to turn eighteen and graduate. Once his body reached full maturity and he joined the company, Arasaka's incentive package would hit him all at once: a full set of heavy-duty combat gear and weapons, a low-interest combat cyberware loan, and a generous salary contract.
Once he passed probation and proved himself, even more advanced combat implants would be made available.
The price? His life would be completely bound to Arasaka.
If terminated, the company reserved the right to reclaim everything.
[Approved.]
Vela annotated her approval on the Security Division's incoming candidate list from the Academy stream. Those from Arasaka Academy were one of the company's most important sources of loyal future employees.
[Internship]→[Oversight duty on outsourced projects at the new Arasaka Research Center zone]
Beep.
Sent.
Read.
After reviewing the last message on her PDA, Vela drained the rest of her black tea, rose from her ergonomic cyber executive chair, and gave a small stretch.
She stepped forward and casually swiped across the central holoscreen. The engineering progress charts for the research zone slid aside, replaced by NCPD crime data projected onto a 3D map of Vista del Rey in Heywood.
So, the results of the crackdown?
There were results, no doubt.
Barely enough to be considered "good."
Thanks to the efficient joint efforts of the NCPD and Arasaka Sheriffs over the past weeks, criminal activity in the area had been effectively suppressed. Even the locals admitted as much. They still cursed the corp, sure—but when it came to this, they had to admit: Arasaka and the NCPD had finally done something almost... humane.
As for completely eliminating crime? No. Absolutely not.
Vela didn't even dare imagine it.
There were just too many idiots and would-be legends in Night City's streets.
There would always be some suicidal punk committing crimes in broad daylight.
Imitating cyber-idols from black braindances, chugging booze, popping stims, flying on Leaf, shouldering a gun, shouting "I'm king of the world!" and ready to launch a new crew.
But it's all relative. Compared to nearby neighborhoods like Wellsprings, Arroyo, and Santo Domingo—Vista del Rey had indeed been effectively restrained.
After Barghest beat down 6th Street, no new gangs had filled the power vacuum. The Valentinos were warned directly by the NCPD's MaxTac, the Tyger Claws' boss was summoned by Arasaka for a private talk, the Mox just didn't have the power, and other gangs were too far away to intervene.
Scavs—nicknamed the Kidney Cutters—had no ideology, no consistency. They were like street trash—showing up randomly everywhere. No leader, no hierarchy, just a general term for people with the same goals: bodies and eddies.
Arasaka's attitude, same as the NCPD: sweep them off the street on sight.
Vela understood her position within Night City's power structure. Arasaka was the biggest piece—but not the only one.
That's why she needed allies. She wouldn't hoard power or fight solo before her base was solidified.
So, she reached cooperative agreements—with City Hall, the NCPD, and Biotechnica, currently enjoying a honeymoon period—with the aim of turning Vista del Rey into a "model zone."
Barghest did the dirty work. Arasaka used the opportunity to promote personal and family security services.
City Hall and the NCPD wanted fewer complaints—and something positive to add to the official Night City tourism brochure: safe, affordable places to visit.
Biotechnica, playing nice with Arasaka, took the chance to secure a safer commute zone for their low-level employees packed onto the subway every day. And of course, that made them easier to exploit.
More people meant more presence. Vela could then wave the flag, expand her influence, and pull more into her camp.
Next up—Trauma Team.
They didn't touch politics, and Vela didn't plan to talk politics with them either.
From a financial perspective, sure—Trauma Team's frontline medics used high-end gear. But the work they did was brutal. Charging into fires, saving lives... for a salary that barely matched that of a cabbage-seller.
Their pay was among the lowest of the major corps—worse than some mid-sized ones. And where did those lower-rung employees live after shifts? Heywood. They had a need.
Then there was SovOil.
Word had gotten around that Arasaka was building a "model security zone." The invitation they received was less a gesture of goodwill and more a polite warning: no more gang-funding stunts. Take that money elsewhere. Once SovOil learned this was formerly 6th Street's turf—and saw how many other forces were involved—they grudgingly agreed.
Vela still planned to invite Zetatech, Kang Tao, Kendachi...
Was she forgetting someone important? The second-largest power in Night City?
Didn't matter.
She continued browsing administrative bulletins.
The holoscreen switched to [Counter-Intelligence Division]
—Counter-Intelligence Division Spring 2076 Promotion Candidates—
Vela's eyes sharpened.
Harry.
Frank Nostra.
...
Valerie.
A headshot appeared: red hair, undercut on one side, sharp eyes, radiating hostility.
The key point? Jenkins was pushing to promote her directly to Deputy Director of Counter-Intelligence—two ranks up.
[Information Analysis Unit:
Agent V successfully exposed a corporate infiltration ring suspected of being hired by Militech near Arasaka facilities in Watson during Q1 2076; ongoing Operation Fishhook has made substantial progress in purging clandestine espionage operations near Arasaka Seaside and is actively monitoring underground mercenary networks suspected of contracting with hostile entities.
...(expand)...]
"So it's her, finally making her move... V."
Vela murmured quietly, tapping her index finger against the polished desk, her invisible gaze shifting into a contemplative intensity.
There was an unspoken rule inside Arasaka: if you cracked a Militech conspiracy, your performance rating jumped an extra level.
[Approved.]
Arms crossed, Vela stared at the spring promotion roster of the Counter-Intelligence Division. Her deep indigo eyes gleamed with a certain gravity.
Time to begin planning…
Dingdong. Her thoughts didn't linger long.
An administrative staffer from Arasaka Tower arrived at the war room.
"Director Russell, Mr. Aleksei from SovOil, Ms. Julian from Zetatech, and Mr. Huang from Kang Tao have arrived at the helipad on the 80th floor."
He asked quietly, "Shall I direct them to the diplomatic reception lounge on the 99th floor?"
"Yes," Vela nodded, turning toward the door. "I'll be right there."
She adjusted the dark Arasaka-style uniform she wore, pinned on a silver brooch from the desk, and walked out.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
Just then, a highly encrypted satellite video call came in.
Beep.
[Jimmy: Director, after recon confirmation, my unit has made contact with the secret special ops group originally established under the old 2023 Arasaka Tower in Seattle. I met their elders. They acknowledged your authority.]
Surrounded by her elite cyber bodyguards, Vela had just stepped into the express elevator when she received the message from her loyal subordinate—Jimmy, commander of the Special Assault Unit.
[Vela: Maintain contact and remain alert. Convey my deepest respect for their loyalty and endurance. Militech is watching closely—I can't leave for now. If possible, invite them to Night City for a covert meeting. I want to speak with them personally—to plan retribution for what was done to Arasaka-sama and Miss Michiko in Washington. Blood for blood.]
[Jimmy: Understood.]
Beep—beep.
Vela smiled faintly.
The first step was always the hardest. But she had taken it. And with this, her succession of Saburo Arasaka's "legacy" was now on steadier ground.
With Michiko Arasaka's tactful cooperation, their outward image before the media was one of perfect sisterhood—mutual praise and unity. It was Michiko who told her about the secret ops group in Seattle.
Though Arasaka had officially lost the Fourth Corporate War, in the years prior, at the peak of its power under heir apparent Kei Arasaka, the company had poured vast resources into North America—establishing countless hidden weapons labs, covert agencies, and intel outposts.
In the 2040s, Michiko had founded Danger Gal Investigations, a private detective agency for the elite. Many of the seemingly bizarre cases they solved were in fact tied to the elimination or takeover of old Arasaka assets.
That was the price President Elizabeth Kress demanded in exchange for allowing Michiko to keep her New American citizenship.
And Michiko had honored that deal.
Luckily, she had inherited Kei Arasaka's cunning. She knew when to stop. Quietly, she preserved several of the larger Arasaka facilities.
Still, that very same cautious instinct became the core reason she could never fully inherit her father's political legacy.
Fine. She was the dove. Vela would be the hawk.
Vela would claim the rest—what Michiko could not hold.
Once reactivated, these dormant pieces could unleash devastating consequences upon Washington and Militech.
Vela needed them.
Ding.
Arasaka Tower, 99th floor diplomatic reception hall.
The elevator doors opened. Vela straightened her posture, flashed a poised, elegant smile, and stepped out.