"The Blackwall... that damned place is crawling with out-of-control murder AIs that'll fry your brain like a medium-well steak. You're not seriously considering breaching it as a solution, are you? With all due respect, I don't see this gamble paying off..."
The Deputy Director of the NUSA Federal Intelligence Agency rubbed at his temples, which throbbed as if from a migraine. His brows were deeply furrowed, and a thoughtful look was beginning to cloud his eyes.
In his mind, only three types of people ever actively approached the Blackwall: the insane, the reckless, or the unwilling.
Given the woman's current status within Arasaka, aside from the core family members—no, only Saburo Arasaka himself could give her direct orders. That old devil wouldn't be willing to sacrifice her on a Blackwall run.
"Ms. Songbird, is this the judgment of the White House Intelligence Advisory Committee?" he asked, turning toward the East Asian woman seated across the table.
Though still officially within the agency's structure, Songbird's status as the President's favorite and her standing as a top-tier netrunner placed her effectively among Rosalind Myers' closest advisors—half a White House staffer in practice.
"Partially."
Ignoring his biased view of deep-diving netrunners who crossed the Blackwall, Songbird's expression remained calm. She didn't deny it.
"In that case..." The Deputy Director raised his head, tapping the table with his thick fingers, his voice solemn and low. "Then it's settled. If President Myers has issued orders, that's all we need."
"Let's assume, just assume, those sealed and outdated intelligence reports are correct—not disinformation or bluffs planted by Arasaka. Are we then saying that in AI control, deep net penetration, and specialized netrunner cyberware development, we're already seriously lagging behind Arasaka..."
"Or to put it another way..."
He shot a shadowy glance at the operations planners and intel analysts seated around the room.
"Vela Adelheid... that fucking bitch. Is she really the lovechild of Adam Smasher and Rache Bartmoss or something?!"
To claim that Vela had reached the legendary level of the late "God of Netrunners" Rache Bartmoss would be blatant exaggeration—and probably an attempt to excuse his own intelligence failures.
But as one of the primary heads of West Coast intel operations, he was no stranger to Vela's absurd net-combat capabilities.
Operation Spring in Johannesburg, South Africa... what a beautiful setup that was. Sonnentreppe, the flower of the project, was within reach. But just when they were about to grasp it, that Arasaka witch caught on and ruined everything. Not only did they fail, they lost assets too.
Every time Arasaka celebrated the massive success of the Sonnentreppe Project, everyone involved in Operation Spring couldn't help but gnash their teeth.
Damn it, watching them profit hurts more than watching myself lose.
Why hadn't they gone all-in and deployed a few more netrunner support teams? If they had delayed her for even one more minute—even thirty seconds—the package could've been safely extracted!
Sigh...
"Back when Vela Adelheid first surfaced in Night City, my predecessor... never mind. Not worth bringing up. We didn't take her seriously back then, and now it's too late."
With a subtle deflection of responsibility, he waved his hand.
"That's the situation. What we need to figure out now is why she keeps running back into the data-bombed ruins of the Old Net. What's she after? Don't tell me, like our field informant claims, she's out there playing PvP with rogue AIs to boost her processing power."
What kind of nonsense is that? With that kind of skill, your dead parents must be clapping in their graves.
A glimpse of the full picture—and the gap was laughably massive.
Songbird turned to the holo-display, now showing a profile marked with the highest danger level.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Impeccably sculpted features with a sharp edge. Dressed in Arasaka's custom dark uniform. Her indigo irises always seemed like still lakes—calm, undisturbed. A faint smile played at her lips. Her aura was both commanding and reserved.
That face, if nothing else, was the textbook image of a New Militarism poster girl.
Vela Adelheid Russell.
Though she hated to admit it, Songbird knew exactly what she was feeling.
Longing... envy... hope... jealousy...
After each new iteration of her netrunner hardware, after every mission across the Blackwall, her body had been increasingly replaced with cybernetics. The trauma to her neural system was irreversible—even her memories were beginning to blur and fade.
She, too, had crossed the Blackwall countless times.
So why did she end up like this, barely human, while Vela remained so pristine, so dazzling? No excessive cyber-mods were visible on her—only faint, almost decorative muscle lines that enhanced a sense of cold elegance.
Songbird couldn't understand.
All she knew was that this path would kill her.
"Freedom..." she mouthed silently.
Rosalind Myers truly had been her benefactor.
Thanks to her, Songbird was granted unrestricted access to all prototype tech developed by the FIA. Myers cared for her, in a way. But at the end of the day, Myers was a political creature.
To her, Songbird was the ultimate tool for breaching the Blackwall—a walking, talking cybernetic WMD. Not once had she truly cared about what Songbird felt.
"Change." She wanted to break free from Myers' leash.
A strange emotion began to stir inside her. The desire for freedom birthed a dangerous idea—a mad thought slowly taking shape.
She grew more clear-headed. Colder.
The timing wasn't right. Not yet.
She raised her head and looked quietly at the NUSA eagle crest hanging in the conference room.
The caged songbird's eyes sparkled with new depth.
"Cross the river by feeling Arasaka's stones."
Unaware of this barely perceptible shift, the Deputy Director leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced as he resumed chairing the meeting.
"Vela Adelheid's actions are indeed unusual. We can't rule out the possibility that she's uncovered or obtained something beyond the Blackwall. After the Net's collapse and the AI uprising, Rache Bartmoss—that arrogant lunatic—ruined everything. But if the White House is now fully committed to deeper incursions into the Blackwall..."
"NetWatch is easy to deal with," he said.
Go for the low-hanging fruit. Just get something done. Anything solvable with money isn't a real problem. But the key question was:
"Will our breach attempts be 'conventional' or 'unconventional'?"
The Deputy Director cast a knowing glance at Songbird.
It was almost pity.
For the megacorps, "conventional" meant piling bodies high—mass-producing netrunners to swarm the Blackwall and mine the Old Net.
Arasaka, and every other corp, followed this path. The elite volunteers were a different matter.
"Unconventional" meant sending in rare, highly-skilled netrunners as spearheads—maximum perks, extreme enhancements, brute-forcing results with quality over quantity.
Street kids who played with deep-dives like they were death games. Mercenary netrunners. Gang-backed hackers with resources. A few gifted individuals backed by corporate megafunds.
The disparity in outcomes was enormous.
Naturally, the ideal was to possess both: the mass ('breadth') and the elite ('points'). It all depended on which approach the higher-ups favored at the moment.
Judging by how President Myers had nurtured and continuously upgraded Ms. Songbird over the years, it was clear she leaned toward the latter—and had seen considerable returns.
"Both."
Songbird's tone remained cool and professional, her face as expressionless as a finely tuned automaton.
"Before operations begin, Deputy Director, the President requires you to rebuild the transit station and re-establish intelligence penetration into Dogtown as quickly as possible."
"Do not interrupt the latest round of material support for 6th Street. The President has authorized the phased deployment of NUSA veterans to Night City. Coronado Farm in Santo Domingo must not be lost. That's the bottom line."
Before long, after discussions on whether to obstruct Vela's security policy pilot program in Vista del Rey, sabotage Arasaka's foreign intel posts, plant moles in Arasaka's new research zones, push the expansion of Night City's border outposts, and allocate more black budget funds for hiring cyberpunk hyenas...
Songbird stepped out of the meeting room.
"So Mi."
Just as she was about to leave FIA HQ—ring ring—a private holo-call marked from the White House came in.
Beep.
[So Mi. Good news. The Advanced Research Program Agency has produced a new prototype-grade system. Your processing power is about to reach new heights.]
Songbird's eyes pulsed with a crimson data flash.
[Song So Mi: Understood, Madam President. I'm on my way.]
...
Night City.
Aerial route from Corporate Plaza to Westbrook.
Blue and purple hues dominated the skyline. Dazzling neon, towering skyscrapers, and colossal ad screens filled the view.
An Arasaka convoy of armored AVs.
At the center: a luxurious red-and-black interweave skycar. The body—streamlined, gleaming with silver cloverleaf motifs—suspended amidst a fully armed aerial escort like a majestic phoenix parading through a dark urban sky.
Ring ring.
As the call signal beamed to the onboard holo-display, Vela exited her net-dive. She removed the scorching-hot headset relay and sat up from a reclined seat made of memory foam and smart fibers, feeling refreshed.
[Caller: Kurt Hansen]
Beep. Connected.
"Hope I'm not interrupting you, Director Russell."
Same old look—T-shirt on top, combat pants below, a tactical belt with a sheathed dagger, dog tags, and a classic American buzz cut.
Hansen glanced at Vela, who looked slightly disheveled, hair tousled like she'd just woken up, adjusting her clothes as she replied.
"Not at all." Vela lifted a steaming cup of black tea from the minibar, took a sip, crossed her legs, and leaned back with a languid smile. "But if Mr. Hansen is reaching out to me directly, I presume it's something important."
"The parent project of 'Neural Matrix'—the 'Project Cynosure.' Important enough?"
No hesitation. Hansen played his trump card immediately.
"Oh? That's definitely important."
Vela's pupils narrowed slightly. A hint of curiosity flashed behind her composed expression. "You got the access keys?"
"Knew it. You always know everything."
On the projection screen, Hansen gave a wry, resigned smile. "So I take it you don't need a rundown on what the 'Project Cynosure' is."
Vela chuckled.
"No such thing as too much intel."
"Good." Hansen didn't hold back. Beep beep. New message. Encrypted data file attached.
Vela skimmed through it.
The "Project Cynosure"—one of the top-tier classified projects of the New United States and Militech.
Initially developed in the early 21st century, its goal was to use captured AIs in cyberspace (Old Net) to enhance military tech and support netrunners, primarily to counter Arasaka's Soulkiller.
But by 2017, before the DataKrash, it was mysteriously abandoned. Its legacy: a 'Neural Matrix' hidden deep in a server and maintenance bots—Barghests—wandering the Cynosure bunker site.
Hansen had already dug up most of it.
"What do you want?"
Since Hansen was being so direct, Vela had no reason to waste time with theatrics.
"A guarantee," Hansen said, arms crossed. "Or more accurately, a friendship. Yours. A true alliance. I'm inviting you to a gala at the Black Sapphire in Dogtown."
Naturally, he'd heard about what went down in the Badlands.
Arasaka had struck hard against the FIA and Militech.
Rumor had it they fielded new gear—even Adam Smasher was impressed. And with 6th Street undergoing significant structural shifts, Hansen could tell that corporations were starting to shed their masks and enter the game directly. He needed an equal force to back him.
"Sure. I've been meaning to experience Dogtown's local flavor for myself. But—"
Vela's tone shifted, and a curious smile curled on her lips.
"I have a condition too."
"Tomorrow, I'll be inspecting the new Arasaka R&D district in northern Watson. There are still 'bandits and criminals' lingering in the Badlands. Nomads can't be fully trusted. For perimeter cleanup, I'm authorized by Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt to contract Barghest for the job. How does that sound?"
She raised her teacup with a serene smile.
"If we're going to abandon the old 'sealed-town' policy, then let's abandon it thoroughly."
Yes. Just as Hansen wanted her to endorse Barghest on behalf of Arasaka, Vela intended to completely eliminate any chance of Dogtown returning to the NUSA fold.