Time waits for no one; the seasons flow like water.
In the blink of an eye, New Year's Day of 2077 had already faded into memory.
Night City was the same as ever.
Corporate Plaza still stood tall in City Center.
The music and neon danced as always, the nightlife continued in both its literal and violent senses. The City Council argued endlessly without results, the Daily Body Lottery drew its winners as usual, the poor kept dying poor, the organ harvesters kept harvesting, and the criminal underbelly—overflowing with gangs and shady organizations—kept chasing its twisted dreams.
Even with the rapid construction progress of the new Arasaka Research Center in North Watson, the real estate boom in Heywood's Vista del Rey, and the NCPD's record-high budget allocations from the council… even Dogtown's reinstatement under city governance and its new trickle of investment—none of it could conceal the city's flaws.
Thus, shortly after the start of 2077, just like in the past few decades, Night City once again secured its unrivaled title as "the worst region in America."
Night City seemed to have changed—and yet, it hadn't.
Or perhaps, it had simply gained a few more "lucky ones."
As one of the few "bright spots" of Night City's recent years—its greatest driver of positive growth—Vela Adelheid Russell had spent her time after returning from Tokyo fully immersed in personal improvement and professional advancement.
By day, she buried herself in paperwork atop the Arasaka Tower; by night, she toiled in her lab, relentless in her research.
She wanted it all—and she had the capacity to handle it.
It was said she was reviewing and optimizing the failed classified projects led by Shinichi Tanaka of the Technical Development Division, identifying flaws and implementing corrections.
At the same time, she continued the [Jurassic Park Project], whose subprogram—the revival of dinosaurs—was already showing promising progress.
Even in such an overwhelming schedule, she somehow still managed to maintain full control over her military and administrative duties—and even had time to meet foreign guests.
To the regional managers of Arasaka North America, it was almost unbelievable.
"Damn," one of them sighed, shaking his head. "She really doesn't stop, huh? The woman's a machine."
Even Yorinobu Arasaka, all the way in Tokyo, fell silent at the news—choosing, for once, not to respond with his usual competitive posturing.
Yet while Vela methodically advanced her plans, beneath the glittering surface of Night City's lights, countless undercurrents were stirring.
From all directions.
Some within Arasaka, some inter-corporate, others between gangs, individuals, political entities—you name it.
It was just another day in Night City.
Only recently, the number of these "currents" had sharply increased.
...
At the same time, in Watson District—a bustling Little China street packed with crowds and noise.
At a small, unassuming roadside food stall.
Behind a makeshift table and foldable chairs that stretched into a narrow alley—bang! A dark-haired woman with slightly tanned olive skin slammed both hands on the round table and leaned forward.
"So you're saying this time, it's not some gig from that retired old hag Rogue—but your own job? You've got some nerve. You're seriously planning to go after Arasaka? And judging by your tone, your target's no small fry either? Did you hit your head on the doorframe, or are you just screwing with me?"
Panam Palmer frowned, her expression doubtful, voice lowered, tone sharp as she stared at Jackie Welles slurping his noodles across from her.
"That's all I can say for now," Jackie replied calmly.
He wasn't offended.
Having worked with Panam a few times before, he knew her temper.
In his experience, she wasn't a bad person—just wild, blunt, and sharp-tongued. Her honesty could easily rub people the wrong way, but that was part of her charm.
Whether someone could get along with her depended entirely on their own temperament.
For Jackie, though—it suited him just fine.
Same here! he thought.
Scooping up a few more mouthfuls of noodles topped with some unidentifiable meat paste, Jackie smacked his lips and turned to meet the gaze of the broad-shouldered man wearing tinted shades beside him—Maine. From the look in Maine's eyes, raised above his glasses, Jackie immediately picked up on the shared thought between them—
If not for Misty and Dorio, they'd probably both be trying to flirt with her by now.
While Jackie and Panam exchanged words, Maine quietly sized up the woman who'd earned even Rogue's respect—the so-called "Queen of Afterlife."
Dressed in plain entropy-style fashion—simple jeans and a cropped leather jacket—her dense, black, steel-like curls framed a face nearly untouched by cyberware. Her body was mostly flesh, her skin bare of tattoos, her brown eyes unadorned. Compared to the flashy style of the Mox, this Nomad woman was refreshingly… authentic.
"How long are you gonna stare, huh?!"
Annoyed by Maine's evaluating gaze, Panam snapped sharply, leaning forward. "Careful, or I'll rip your eyeballs out!"
Even against Maine's hulking frame—his massive arms and shoulders suggesting he could crush her with one swing—her tone carried no hint of fear.
"Whoa," Maine raised his hands slightly in surrender. "Spicy one, huh."
He said it with a grin, but his eyes flicked toward Jackie with a silent question: She doesn't even have implants. You sure she's up for this?
"She was introduced to me by Rogue," Jackie replied, setting down his empty noodle box. "We clicked right away. She's got a reputation on the streets—and once you see her handling that beast she drives, you'll get it. The Badlands are her home turf."
"Alright," Maine nodded. "If you trust her, that's good enough for me. For what we're about to do, trust and chemistry matter more than raw firepower."
That was the rule in Night City's merc world. A fixer finds the job, gives the orders, the mercs take them—and follow them. Trust was rare, but it was the one thing worth more than eddies. And if he had to choose, Maine trusted Jackie a hell of a lot more than Faraday.
"'Clicked,' huh? What's that supposed to mean, you two making heart eyes like a pair of greenhorns? Don't think flattering me's gonna make me buy into your pitch," Panam said dryly—but her expression softened with curiosity. "Still, I'll hear you out. Just say you're not dumb enough to go after Vela."
"I'm not like those Maelstrom junkies who've pickled their brains in narcotics," Jackie said with a shrug. "You know me—I only take jobs within my reach. I'm not dragging friends and family into the crossfire."
Going after someone like Vela was suicide. Unless the strike came with the protection of a higher-up—or was ordered by a rival megacorp—the retaliation would wipe out not just the mercs but everyone connected to them. Whole families erased from the registry.
"So if it's not high-level… we're talking mid-tier, huh?"
Catching the hint in Jackie's tone, Panam exhaled, half exasperated, half intrigued. "A mid-level Arasaka exec? Jackie, be real—how do you know they won't trace it back to us?"
She gestured toward the narrow slice of sky between the alley's rooftops—where the black spire of Arasaka Tower loomed faintly in the distance.
"Those corporate hounds trace everything. You don't think this could still blow back on our people?"
"As long as we succeed, there won't be a trace," Jackie said firmly. "That's how their system works."
"Their system?"
Panam's eyes narrowed slightly. She wasn't naive—just quick-tempered. Having led the Aldecaldos' convoys in the past, her political instincts were sharp.
"Office politics… of course," she muttered. "Now it makes sense."
"Corporate work," Jackie confirmed. "You know the type—highest payouts, tightest lips."
He straightened his posture, tone suddenly serious. "I can't share more than that. I trust you—but this is also to protect you. If you don't want in—"
He stopped, giving her time to think.
Silence.
Maine glanced sideways, half-expecting Panam to walk away.
Then she spoke.
"Out of all the gigs in this city, you just had to pick this one. Can't you let it go?"
"I can't," Jackie replied instantly, shaking his head. "This concerns a close friend's future. I won't stand by. If the risk's too much for you, I won't blame you. We never met tonight."
"…Then I'm in."
Jackie blinked, taken aback. "You sure?"
"Sure," Panam said with a grin. "You're doing this for a friend. And I—well, aren't I your friend too?"
Her grin widened. "When I first left the family and came to Night City, you looked out for me. The first real eddies I ever made after splitting from the Aldecaldos came from your gigs. Seriously, Jackie—you're too softhearted for a fixer."
"You're not the first to tell me that."
Jackie grinned.
Maine, meanwhile, waved toward the end of the empty alley.
Not far away, Kiwi and Lucy stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the scene, their expressions mixed.
"Looks like Mr. Welles pulled it off," Kiwi remarked. "The Nomad's in. Come on, Lucy—let's brief Maine on Pilar's intel collection results."
"Don't screw this up, Jackie," Panam said, glancing at the two netrunners descending the rusted fire escape. She gave Jackie a friendly punch to the chest, her grin wide. "So—when do we move?"
"No rush. We've got plenty of time to scout and prep," Jackie replied confidently, patting his chest before turning toward the approaching pair of netrunners.
"Hey, beautiful Ms. Kiwi—por favor—please add Panam to the encrypted channel."
At his words, an orange glow flickered through Kiwi's cybernetic eyes.
Beep-beep.
Panam pulled out her phone—one of those ancient models, the kind whose user base had dropped by ninety-nine percent by 2077.
Kiwi and Lucy exchanged a look. So old-school. Typical Nomad.
[ACCEPT INVITE]
[JOINED SUCCESSFULLY]
Panam entered the encrypted group channel immediately.
Scrolling through the latest updates, she saw the day's activity log:
Falco [Tight-Lipped Motel]: Sigh… Still no trace of Arasaka's main target. But we did spot a Militech executive sneaking out to meet his mistress. Poor bastard's lonely, I guess.
Rebecca [Japantown – Clouds]: Damn it! Why do I have to stake out this godforsaken place? You sure that old Arasaka hag's gonna show? With that kind of money, she's probably having sex dolls parachuted in citywide!
Pilar [Westbrook]: Been tailing a doll called "Angel." He went into a corporate residential zone in Westbrook—probably on contract with some corpo dog. Security's way too tight; couldn't risk going in. Took position outside with binoculars. If Jackie's intel's right, that's Abernathy's neighborhood.
Dorio [Corporate Plaza]: No movement here. Abernathy didn't meet her Kang Tao lover today. She and her husband—works for Zetatech—have been separated for years. They're basically a legal couple on paper. No point digging further.
Abernathy…
For any merc working the underground circuit, remembering which corporate bigshots not to cross was rule number one.
"Our target's Arasaka's Director of Special Operations?"
Panam took a deep breath, staring at Jackie. "Now that's a jackpot."
Jackie's eyes glowed faintly orange, data streaming across them. "We've got a shot. We've got someone upstairs helping us."
At that, a new message popped into the encrypted channel—sent from a doubly encrypted account.
[***]: This is a document recently issued by the Executive Board—Director Vela Russell's [Jurassic Park Project] and an attached notice regarding the internal reward system for Arasaka's distinguished employees: each eligible member may select a dinosaur pet as a bonus (see Attachment 1).
Abernathy, as the head of the Intelligence Department, won't just sit idle. Regardless of your current preparations, ready yourselves for a Badlands interception. This project involves the Channel Islands off the Los Angeles coast. My division will work to provoke Abernathy into competing for the assignment—try to get her out of Night City."