"Director! Hold on tight!"
The security officer shouted.
Boom!
Flames erupted—another explosion rocked the hovercar. For Susan Abernathy, this was the moment her life took a sudden plunge.
Who was it?!
Another corporation? The New United States? Gangs? Nomads? Freelancers? Or… Jenkins?
When had her itinerary been leaked? The EMP bomb buried in the badlands was clearly pre-prepared. How did the attackers know she would take the Jackson Plains route?
Abernathy desperately wanted to know the answer.
But there was no time to think.
Even though she had buried herself deep into the leather seat, tightened every muscle, and fastened her seatbelt, the violent tremors from the blast and the uncontrolled nosedive still made her dizzy—like a bearing spinning wildly in an old motor,.
Beep-beep.
Inside the dim cabin, now lit only by flashing red alarms, sirens wailed. The ambient lighting had failed.
The vehicle's AI, fried by the electromagnetic pulse, was throwing error codes and attempting to reboot.
The security officer switched to manual control, watching the readouts. "Altitude dropping—400 feet!"
"Release suspension! Stabilize gyros! Emergency reverse thrust—ignite!"
"100 feet!"
The security officer barked his final warning before the crash: "Brace for impact!"
A violent jolt. Then came a deafening crash—the hovercar's frame screamed as metal tore and twisted, sending shudders through the hull. Abernathy, strapped into her flight chair, was shaken so hard she felt her bones rattle.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity—after clattering, scraping, and shuddering—the wrecked hovercar came to a stop.
Almost immediately—
Click! The sound of seatbelts releasing.
"Report status! Prepare for engagement!"
Unlike ordinary corporate executives, who often had minimal combat modifications, the Arasaka Intelligence Division's bodyguards from the Special Operations Department were elite company soldiers—implanted with internal exoskeletons, reflex boosters, and carbon-fiber musculature. They recovered from the crash in seconds.
"You, you—83HY, 29SL, both squads stay and protect the Director! Staying put means death—don't hole up! The rest, follow me and counterattack! Technician, is the backup control panel online? The moment it boots, restart the defense protocol—deploy sentry bots and combat drones!"
"Recall the Octant units and unmanned transports—establish a defensive perimeter on-site!"
Fully armed, the lead security officer grabbed his [HJSH-18 Masamune] rifle, barking orders while manually unlocking the cabin hatch.
In critical moments, his authority even surpassed that of Abernathy—who was still reeling from the crash.
It wasn't about willpower or competence. It was a matter of physiology and professional specialization—letting experts handle what they were built for.
Creak—
The side hatch of the hovercar slowly slid open.
Then halfway through—clunk! It jammed, as expected, from structural damage.
Bang!
A mainline security officer—augmented with [Gorilla Arms] and an EX0-1 exoskeleton—punched the door hard, then forced it open. Hoisting a heavy riot shield, he charged outside.
Seven or eight more security officers followed in tight formation, moving with military precision.
"Ugh…"
The loud bang jolted Abernathy awake. "Damn it!" she cursed through gritted teeth, shaking her head as the dizziness subsided. Fighting the nausea, she unfastened her seatbelt.
Not every high-ranking corporate dog had the freakish endurance and combat ability of Vela Adelheid Russell—the so-called "Queen of Blades." Before Vela's rise, assassination attempts during field operations were common. Only after she took over the Executive Coordination Council had targeted killings decreased.
Seeing Abernathy stir, her four-person bodyguard unit immediately closed in. The leader, holding a black Arasaka Kevlar vest, asked with concern: "Director, are you—"
They wore plain clothes—the standard attire for Arasaka department heads' personal protection detail.
If the security officer's job was to escort the VIP from one city to another, then her personal bodyguards' duty was round-the-clock protection.
"I'm fine."
Abernathy waved her hand, inhaled a dose of MaxDoc calming spray, then swiftly took the black Arasaka Kevlar vest and put it on. From the weapon rack, she grabbed an assault rifle with a thick oval-shaped barrel shroud—the Tsunami Defense Systems [Kyubi]—snapping the safety off and chambering a round with practiced ease.
Though she wasn't from a combat-heavy division like the Security Bureau, nor had she climbed from field agent to executive step by step, as the head of Arasaka Intelligence in Night City, Susan Abernathy was far from helpless.
Surveying the damaged cabin, where sparking circuits crackled bzzt, she asked, "What's the situation outside? Did the distress signal go through—"
Before she could finish, BOOM!—something exploded outside. Smoke and dust rushed into the cabin, pelting the car's frame with debris that clattered clang-clang-clang.
Then came gunfire—single shots, bursts, full-auto fire blending into chaos.
"It went through," one of her bodyguards said, crouching to shield her. Leaning forward, he kept his rifle trained on the hatch. "But the signal's weak—keeps cutting out. The bastards might be using a jammer."
At that moment, the technician's panicked voice shouted, "Director! One of the Octant drones is down!"
"They're using military-grade surface-to-air missiles! Definitely not ordinary terrorists—these are black ops from another faction! Two unmanned transports have lost contact—it's a netrunner attack!"
As he spoke, the technician's portable terminal flashed red.
"Damn it! The control panel's being hacked!"
"Stay calm—counter it! Activate ICE countermeasures!"
Abernathy darted behind the technician, checking the exterior cams while saying with forced confidence, "Just a bunch of small-time thieves. Even if they have a jammer, this hovercar maintains a direct data link with Arasaka Tower's servers. If that link drops for more than two minutes, HQ will check the feed!"
As if to confirm her words, the roar of engines, explosions, and gunfire intensified outside.
Abernathy took a deep breath. "Just hold for five to ten minutes. Reinforcements will arrive. When that happens, it won't be us panicking—it'll be them. The advantage is ours."
She clenched her fist with composure—pretending everything was under control.
Bullshit.
Outwardly calm as a veteran, inside she was a storm of panic.
Abernathy had no certainty at all.
The attackers were prepared—every move precise, every step executed flawlessly. Her convoy's route had been fully exposed. There was a leak. Almost certainly an inside job.
As much as she wanted to storm back to Arasaka Tower and root out the traitor, she knew she had to stay calm. The priority now was morale. The "cargo" must not be lost—destroying it was better than letting it fall into enemy hands. Otherwise, even if she survived, with Jenkins and countless rivals eyeing her position, her career would be finished.
Gritting her teeth, Abernathy made a snap decision. "Hit me with a combat stim."
After the injection, she donned her gear, raised her rifle, and ordered, "We can't stay boxed in. Sure, the enemy probably won't risk using heavy explosives while the cargo's intact—but desperate men do desperate things."
Uncertain whether the attackers were targeting her or the cargo, Abernathy made her judgment: this ambush was both a disaster and an opportunity. If she could weather it calmly, it would prove her leadership under pressure—and earn her another promotion recommendation.
"You—set a timed charge on the cargo. Bio-lock it to our life signs. If we all die, it detonates."
She raised her rifle. "The rest of you, with me! Expand the defensive line and hold position. Reinforcements are coming. Once they arrive—this turns around."
Gun in hand, she strode forward.
A Director of Special Operations—must never lose face.