Watson North, a clear morning.
"Sweeping for threats."
"Sector 25D-30, cleared."
Across the desolate urban fringe, clad in Militech-style camo combat gear but adorned with fluorescent yellow-green graffiti, skull faceplates, and the snarling dog-head emblem, Barghest soldiers surged forward, engines howling as they tore through spike fences, slum communities, and Joshua tree-dotted wastelands heading north.
2076/2/27, morning.
A fully armed Barghest unit marched out of Dogtown in grand formation under the watchful eyes of WNS News, News 54, and Night City Today, among other major media outlets.
They departed Pacifica, headed north along the Santo Domingo–Arroyo Highway, passed through the Outer Ring Avenue under heavy public scrutiny, crossed Westbrook, passed through Japantown, and finally reached the northern badlands of Watson.
Escorted by NCPD and Arasaka city marshals.
It was essentially a journey from the city's southern tip to its far north—cutting across half of Night City.
Undoubtedly, this was a public political statement.
Not long ago, at City Hall, Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt had publicly announced that under Arasaka's benevolent mediation, progress had been made regarding the normalization of Dogtown. Barghest declared an end to its "closed-town isolation" and, as a Pacifica community and civic autonomous zone, accepted a city government-issued administrative directive involving a "funding allocation."
Their task: to contribute to the latest phase of Night City's urban infrastructure projects.
Specifically, to conduct secondary security sweeps of future development zones in the northern badlands—namely, the oilfield and minefield areas outside the suburbs.
Along the way, they would also intimidate the Aldecaldo nomads and the prowlers of the badlands—remind them to do their jobs properly and not get any funny ideas. And, of course, handle a few "classified errands" not meant for outsiders.
Arriving even earlier was a special ops team personally dispatched by Kurt Hansen.
Bang bang bang—
Sporadic gunfire echoed across trash camps beneath rusted wind turbines, within the ruins of collapsed old-world buildings, over the hills of the wastelands, and at mass graves...
Barghest scoured the badlands, digging three feet deep, carrying out executions based on intel and requests passionately provided by certain well-informed individuals.
Mingled bodily fluids soaked into the desert sands, staining the yellow dust a temporary blood-red.
Blood-soaked corpses tumbled with kinetic force, half-buried by sand in seconds.
Some were unlucky prowlers who stumbled into gunfire; others were Militech and FBI agents stranded in the minefields during Arasaka's long blockade; still others were unidentified individuals with no affiliations—some handed over by Arasaka, some captured directly by Barghest...
At a cleared minefield, Barghest troops executed over a dozen captives in front of reporters from WNS and Night City Today.
Bang!
Sparks burst from the muzzles, and with the flashes of gunfire and chunks of flesh scattering into the air, the captives slumped forward atop the sand dunes, heads buried in the dirt, bodies twitching.
Their clothing varied, but all shared one trait—obvious signs of cybernetic modification, many injured or dismembered, missing arms, cracked skulls, blankly kneeling without resistance. Some had bloody gashes where their neural ports once were—clearly damaged during violent data extraction.
Barghest soldiers coolly delivered finishing shots—two to the chest, one to the head.
The bloodstained scene was captured clearly on camera.
The act was indifferent, but the viewers took notice.
It was all part of a pre-written script—a live-action performance titled "Driven to the Brink." Barghest played the starring role.
Hansen didn't even need to guess.
These criminals handed over by Arasaka, marked explicitly for execution—each had robust bodies and high-functionality combat cyberware. They were the spoils from Arasaka's recent sweeps of the badlands, not New American agents, then Militech intel operatives.
Vela's schemes from Arasaka Tower could be heard all the way in Dogtown.
But—
"Congratulations, Colonel Kurt Hansen... ah, no, that's not quite proper—my apologies for being pedantic. Since the NUSA is long gone, it should be Director Hansen now."
It was Weldon Holt.
The slightly overweight deputy mayor, head glinting under the light, wearing vintage half-rim glasses, spoke to Hansen—who, for once, had swapped his eternal combat outfit for something more fitting.
At that very moment when gunfire echoed in the badlands, the old industrial zone in Watson North—now designated as part of Arasaka's new research district—was being cleared of its dilapidated factories. The rubble had been flattened, and the construction site bustled with building materials, heavy machinery, and crowds of workers. Amidst the spotlight and entourage, Hansen, suited and exuding the aura of a successful man, looked elated.
"Thank you, Mayor Holt."
Dropping the 'deputy' title on purpose, Hansen added, "Wishing you great success in next year's mayoral election. Dogtown and Barghest will always be your solid voter base."
Don't be fooled by his brute appearance—always in T-shirts and tactical pants like a man who only knows violence. Hansen's political skills were no joke. This kind of calculated flattery came easily to him.
Tap tap~
The sound of high heels on the leveled construction ground. Both Holt and Hansen turned to look.
Having just finished speaking with the new district's engineering heads, project managers, site security officers, and the Watson division chief of the NCPD, Vela approached, surrounded by Arasaka cyberninjas, holding a paper copy of the district planning map in one hand and waving with the other.
"Mayor Holt, Director Hansen, care to take a walk with me?"
Vela greeted them first, her voice still calm and soft, yet naturally exuding an unshakable sense of authority.
She stood at the center as if it were the most natural thing. Holt and Hansen didn't find it improper at all.
Michiko Arasaka had returned to Los Angeles.
Compared to cold, conflict-ridden Night City, the glamorous and ambiguous City of Angels—home of Hollywood—clearly suited Michiko's taste more.
Signaling the surrounding Arasaka ninjas and bodyguards to relax their guard, Vela walked with Holt and Hansen along the leveled road toward the far end of the construction supply depot stretching into the badlands.
"Of course. Ms. Vela, thank you once again for saving Night City. Last time it was urban security; this time, it's infrastructure and the suburbs. Ah, those poor lambs—they live in a city far from comforting."
With the smooth-tongued and quick-witted Weldon Holt around, there was never a worry about awkward silence.
This was where Hansen fell short compared to seasoned politicians.
"But none of this would've happened without you. Mayor, you have a keen grasp of the situation and a bold, reform-driven heart."
Vela smiled.
Truth be told, she found working with this flexible old politician quite pleasant.
He had a clear sense of boundaries. He knew which relationships in the city could be leveraged, and which should be left to the corporations.
"Haha... you're too kind," Holt replied with a restrained smile.
He, too, was quite satisfied with the working relationship. Sure, the biggest beneficiary of the recent policies was the corporation, but they had boosted employment. The improved security in Vista del Rey alone had dramatically enhanced his political reputation.
That was why, as soon as Vela hinted at legalizing Dogtown and Barghest in Arasaka fashion, Holt moved swiftly to handle everything—though it seemed fawning, he firmly believed this was just how Night City did business.
Besides, he himself had gained plenty from it.
Vela looked toward Hansen.
"I told you, you wouldn't be disappointed, Director Hansen."
That title—Director—was technically for the NCPD, yet not exactly accurate.
The full title was Director of the Night City Pacifica Dogtown Autonomous Zone Police Division. The prefix—Pacifica Dogtown—meant it was all Barghest territory. The directorship was a favor, not a central authority. A district director was not the same as someone from HQ.
Vela smiled faintly. "Mr. Hansen, welcome to the Night City family."
Hansen replied, "Your methods are always so impressive, Director Vela."
Vela didn't deny it.
"But you still chose to swallow it," she said.
"Yes."
Hansen nodded in acknowledgment.
"The price is that Barghest and I are now completely bound to Arasaka—or more accurately, to your war chariot, Director Vela. So this is what you call a 'mercenary contract'? Truly remarkable."
His eyes locked onto Vela's with a burning intensity.
"You had Barghest parade openly around the entire city on an assignment, then had your people dump those half-dead NUSA-FIB agents—after you'd extracted their intel—into our laps for execution. You even held back from attacking certain outposts, just so my men could storm them. I'm guessing Barghest's 'anti-crime sweep' in the badlands is already sitting on the President's desk in the White House, thanks to WNS."
WNS, like News 54, was a media giant—except WNS backed Arasaka, while News 54 leaned toward Militech.
"If you want revenge, you must pay the price. That's Barghest's will. I simply helped things along," Vela said, halting her steps and handing over the new district planning map. "Hesitation doesn't suit you, my friend. Or has President Myers invited you to change your surname back?"
"She did. I refused."
Stepping forward, Hansen took the map and said, "Actually, three months ago—when you were still in Tokyo—Myers reached out to me. Told me to clean up a mess. Said it'd be too messy if she got involved directly and might damage international perception."
"Certain people don't want to get their hands dirty, so they wire me the money to do it instead. Then on the evening news, they condemn my 'acts of terrorism.' Honestly, I've been holding back for a long time."
"Still entangled," Vela chuckled. "Seeing yourself clearly isn't easy. In fact, those who can't often live happier lives."
Being a boss was different from being a grunt. One should avoid tearing things apart completely, even if both sides couldn't stand each other.
She pointed at the rolled-up district planning map. "Take a look."
"What is this?" Hansen asked, stunned as he unrolled the paper.
"High-rise planning for the new district."
They arrived at the edge of the leveled road, atop a barren, wind-eroded plateau. Vela swept her gaze over the landscape below—bulldozers and other machinery buzzing in the distance—and gestured.
"Pick a spot."
"A gang will never be respectable. Ever consider restructuring Barghest into a company? Make the main business what you're best at—smuggling, black markets, mercenary work."
She looked directly at Hansen.
Thump thump.
His heartbeat suddenly quickened. His breathing grew heavy.
Vela smirked internally.
Once a person has needs and attachments, they become leverageable. Herself included.
"As everyone knows, Emile Lazarus was just a retired NUSA colonel when he founded the Lazarus Group. Interested, Colonel Hansen?"
The Lazarus Military Operations Group—one of the world's best-known heavy labor and mercenary corporations.
If the honorary title of director soothed Hansen's military pride, the real prize was the semi-legalization of Barghest.
As long as it complied with the Extreme Firepower Restriction Act and had backing from a major corporation—and if Hansen could smooth the channels—he could absolutely reorganize Barghest into the Barghest Mercenary Group.
And major corporations? They were a class above.
What Vela didn't say aloud: the reason Lazarus succeeded was because he had the personal support and friendship of then-Militech CEO Donald Lundee.
Hansen, of course, knew those stories. He looked at Vela, eyes filled with a mix of awe and emotion.
"If you back me, I won't lose to Emil Lazarus."
In Vela's ivory-toned face, he saw a cautious pride and an overarching ambition.
She was comparing herself to Donald Lundee.
"Then, those frayed ties... shall we sever them completely?"
Vela smiled gently, like a breeze on a spring morning, and simply asked.
Hansen furrowed his brows.
He had already made his pledge.
There was no going back to New America or Militech.
Straddling the fence had looked glamorous from the outside, but for the past six years, he'd been struggling to balance the factions within Dogtown—barely surviving between giants like Arasaka and Militech, leveraging every single external advantage he could find.
He was exhausted. Truly...
At this point, he might as well pick a side for good.
Vela had driven him to the edge, and he couldn't even complain. This kind of righteous coercion was the hardest to defend against.
Taking a deep breath, Hansen's gaze turned resolute in an instant.
"No more ties. Director Vela."
Not Arasaka's executive director—but the future director of the Barghest Mercenary Group.
Clap clap.
Hansen's answer made Vela applaud softly.
Under the noon sun, she pointed at the expanse of commercial development land at their feet.
"Pick a foundation for your future HQ. I'll provide the policy, political, and media support. The rest is up to you."
She patted Hansen on the shoulder and walked away with Deputy Mayor Holt.
Leaving Hansen alone atop the flat summit.
He stood silently for a long time, staring at the blueprint in his hands, then at the wide swath of land on the horizon—waiting to be leveled and solidified.
Eventually, he chuckled.
"What a terrifying woman."
With a bitter laugh, Hansen tapped his own forehead with the rolled-up blueprint.
"Completely led by the nose… Why does it feel like I'm a rookie standing at attention with my pants down... She's not even twenty-five yet... Did that old bastard Saburo teach her this?"
"Whatever... that's Myers' headache now..."