Bang!
A gunshot.
Just as Abernathy ordered her bodyguards to provide support—demonstrating her professionalism and dedication—she moved while firing her precision-engineered [Kyubi] rifle, expertly taking down two Nomads at mid-to-long range and suppressing the brown-skinned cyberpsycho's allies. Taking advantage of the brief cover change to reload—puff! puff!
Pain exploded through her side. Her vision rolled back as blood sprayed from her chest, splattering across the sandstone.
The Director of Special Operations had fallen.
"Director!!"
...
"Hm?"
V's brows furrowed slightly. She lowered the barrel of her SPT32-Icestorm. Smoke still curled from the muzzle.
Through the scope, she saw Abernathy's torso half-blown open—it was obvious she'd hit her mark, but…
Abernathy seemed to have been struck by more than one shot?
Someone else had fired. Panam? No—the angle was wrong.
"Federal Intelligence Agency…"
The name Solomon Reed—Jackie had mentioned it earlier—made V's gut twist.
One of the NUSA's top covert agents, ranked among the deadliest in the Arasaka Intelligence kill files.
She'd love to kill him, but there was no time. Things were already critical—assassinating her superior's superior was something that could never be made public. Even if everyone privately suspected her, there was a difference between a sealed lid and lifting it.
Gritting her teeth, V dialed the line. "Jackie, target hit! Tell your crew to push one last time—confirm the kill… never mind, just move fast. I don't believe the FIA will save Abernathy. Clean up your tracks. Pull out now!"
...
"Well, well… interesting."
Ding. Crouched on the slope, Alex cycled her bolt and swapped mags.
Her chosen weapon—Tsunami Defense Systems [Nekomata] electromagnetic sniper rifle.
As a NUSA agent, she didn't have to play coy by using Russian or Euro-made weapons.
Through the high-powered optical anchor, Alex could see Abernathy's black-clad guards rushing to her fallen body. A clean hit—no doubt. But someone else had fired at the same instant. Each shot, aimed for the torso to guarantee a kill.
Nomads? Or an internal Arasaka crossfire?
No time to ponder—Reed's vehicle was approaching.
Abernathy's fall had thrown Arasaka's defensive line into momentary chaos. Suppressive fire faltered; several guards broke formation, running back. Even the exoskeleton-clad security officer stumbled, distracted.
Reed seized the moment to enter the fray. As expected—calculated. Professional.
Too bad the man was still a brainwashed bastard.
Bang!
After confirming the perimeter was clear with her spotter, Alex charged the railgun again, aiming. Zzz—bang!
One more bodyguard's head burst apart.
The corpse collapsed barely six paces from Abernathy's position, blood and lubricants spraying as the twitching body went still.
Against a six-array electromagnetic accelerator firing tungsten spikes, even subdermal armor and titanium bone plating meant little.
[Alex: Report surroundings. ETA on Arasaka reinforcements?]
[Sam: Estimated two and a half minutes. No aerial units detected. Countdown initiated.]
While continuing to snipe in support of Reed's retrieval op, Alex stayed linked with the FIA hacker team, updating reinforcement data in real time.
Everything seemed airtight.
But Alex had missed one crucial detail—the ground.
What if Arasaka's reinforcements weren't all arriving by air? What if some used faster, stealthier ground transports—quicker than standard wheel rigs, quieter than Basilisk hover armor?
One minute flew by.
At the site, Reed's team had already breached the downed Prospector transport.
As a veteran operative and model agent of the NUSA, Reed had prepared for everything. Bio-lock detonation, onboard failsafes—none were overlooked. After neutralizing three exoskeleton security officers, he tranquilized two injured guards from afar.
All by the book—efficient, precise.
He didn't yet know that death was closing in from below the ridge.
The air was thick with the stench of scorched metal and blood—acrid, suffocating.
Without sparing a glance at Abernathy's corpse—her chest torn open by sniper fire, half-buried in yellow sand, eyes frozen wide in disbelief—Reed entered the cabin. He pushed aside the charred remains of the netrunner slumped against the front of a large thermostatic container.
Beep.
The screen flickered to life. Beneath the reinforced glass, immersed in nutrient fluid, floated a hybrid tyrannosaur hatchling. Beside it, several cases filled with unknown injectors and custom crystal-sealed vials—resembling luxury cosmetics or supplements.
Reed's eyes narrowed.
"Take it."
After disarming explosives and scanning for anomalies, he signaled for his agents to lift the thermostatic container out of the hovercar.
Outside, a specialized off-road vehicle was already waiting. Within moments, the container was secured, cushioned with soft padding.
"Reed, you son of a bitch!"
As soon as he boarded, a holocall came through. On the other end, Maine's battered, blood-streaked face filled the screen. He roared with fury. Reed didn't react—his tone remained calm.
"Pleasure doing business, Maine. Once again, I'm extending an official invitation—join the Federal Intelligence Agency, serve your country. If you survive this, give it serious thought."
"Serve your—"
Click.
Reed hung up.
He'd deliberately spared Maine when ambushing the Arasaka security officer—not from guilt or sentiment, but as misdirection. Let Arasaka's reinforcements chase the wrong lead.
Would Maine dare to report this to Arasaka?
Reed bet he wouldn't. The man had bigger problems—like surviving the next few hours.
As for whether Arasaka would blame Militech or the NUSA… he snorted. With them, the outcome was always the same.
Whatever reached Arasaka's hands eventually became gospel truth.
Reed had long since stopped caring. The more dirt piled up, the less it mattered.
They could say what they wanted. Without hard proof, it was all accusation—nothing more.
Bang, bang!
A few final gunshots echoed—coup de grâce.
Reed tapped the vehicle door. "Move out."
Vrrrrmm—
The specialized off-road truck sped away, headed southeast toward the coastal mountains of the Jackson Plains.
The FIA maintained a transport station and tunnels within those mountains—perfect for exfiltration.
Boom! Boom!
Behind them, the scene went up in flames—multiple high-explosive and incendiary grenades detonating in succession.
...
"Phew… it's over."
Lifting her [Nekomata], Alex exhaled and glanced northward. She could already see the distant glimmer of incoming Arasaka hovercraft.
"Time to go."
She murmured.
No response.
"...Huh?"
Her sixth sense flared—danger.
She instinctively grabbed her SMG, pivoting to the rear—but zzzt!
A shimmer in the air—optical camouflage.
A strong, metallic hand clamped over her mouth and nose. A blade hissed—shing!
Pain. Burning. The heat seared through her chest.
The thermal wrist-blade drove clean through her back, piercing her heart and jutting out from her sternum.
"You… hhh—ckh…"
Her adaptive camouflage flickered and failed, revealing her true face as she stumbled, coughing blood laced with synthetic tissue.
Looking down, she saw the glowing blade dripping with her own blood, sizzling as it fell onto the sand—tss-tss-tss—each drop blooming into a dark crimson flower.
"You're… Arasaka family's… ninj—kkh…"
With effort, Alex turned her head. Reflected in her bloodshot eyes was the demonic mask of an Arasaka clan cyber-ninja.
At the edge of her fading vision lay her spotter—chest split, throat cut, sprawled in a pool of blood.
Schk!
The cyber-ninja coldly gripped Alex's neck, twisted his wrist—turning the vertical blade horizontal—and shredded her heart completely.
The second operative moved instantly, pressing a neural link into the port at the base of her skull. A virus upload began—the Puppet Daemon. Her personal ICE shut down under forced override. Trace engaged. Target marked.
"Data extraction complete. Location locked. Uploading now."
Thud.
Alex's body went limp, knees hitting the sand. Her vacant eyes stared at nothing.
Fuck you, Reed. Should've known better than to take your job… what a goddamn curse.
Her head tilted. Consciousness faded into darkness.
Beep.
[Reed: The package is secured. I've left the combat zone—initiating retreat! Alex, respond. Do you copy? Alex?! Damn it!]
Reed slammed the accelerator to the floor, his vehicle roaring across the desolate, storm-swept wasteland toward the southeast—straight into the forgotten thunderfields of the Badlands.
He tried calling Alex several times—no reply.
The good mood from securing the "cargo" evaporated instantly. His pulse quickened. Brow furrowed.
Then—Alex's comm connected.
"Mr. Solomon Reed, Director Vela sends her regards."
Reed froze for a second, pupils contracting sharply.
"Shit!!"
Bang! He smashed the steering wheel, swearing through clenched teeth.
...
Westbrook District — Charter Hill.
Outside, the garden was lush and green.
A gentle spring breeze stirred through blooming flowers, whispering around the golden-haired young woman seated by the veranda. Her sapphire-blue eyes shimmered like calm water as the breeze brushed past her ear—soft, melodic, almost like the chirping of magpies.
"Finally caught your tail."
Setting aside her silver-white gauntlet engraved with luminous tracery, Vela lifted a steaming cup of tea, blew gently across its surface, and spoke softly: "Target: Solomon Reed. Proceed."
Inside the veranda room, the electric flame of the ornamental fireplace flickered brightly. On the central holo-screen, third-person footage played: the scene of the brown-skinned blonde woman—Alex—being impaled through the chest by a cyber-ninja's thermal blade, twitching like a slaughtered animal.
Yes—Vela had deployed one of her personal cyber-ninja tactical squads.
They had been dispatched covertly the day before to Arasaka's southern border checkpoint near Night City.
No guesswork was needed—if the FIA acted, they'd be monitoring the hovercar's movements in real time. And in the Badlands, wheel-based vehicles were far too conspicuous—unless a sandstorm happened to cover their tracks.
So, Vela had equipped her ninjas with the latest ground-effect hoverbikes—fast, quiet, and nearly as swift as standard hovercraft.
The prototype technology originated from [Call of Duty]'s Atlas Military Industries. Arasaka's coastal automated plant, under Vela's supervision, had fully reverse-engineered it and begun production of the A-model batch.
The results were promising—the FIA had overlooked the ground approach, and her squad had ambushed Reed beautifully. Not an easy feat.
Vela took a sip of her tea, leaned back, and rubbed the porcelain cup between her fingers, her gaze gleaming with anticipation as she watched the holo-feed.
On the adjacent split-screen, mission data scrolled—Arasaka's reinforcements racing across the Jackson Plains wasteland.
The nearest units were the Dogtown garrison's rapid-response team, already reaching the crash site. Shared positioning data confirmed engagement—crossfire between Arasaka and FIA operatives was underway.
Another red marker moved in the opposite direction—northbound, returning to Night City. Its label read: SAT-6.
Special Assault Unit 6—the very unit where Vela had begun her Arasaka career.
They had just returned from an overseas anti-terror mission in Panama, having left Night City a week before Abernathy's doomed escort mission.
Vela had timed everything perfectly.
After all, Abernathy's southbound trip to Los Angeles left only a narrow window of opportunity. And all relevant backend data authorization… lay in Vela's hands.
Abernathy was bait.
Whether the catch bit or not didn't matter—if you never cast the line, you'd never reel anything in.
Success favored the prepared.
Vela never lost—her plans always left her ahead.
The internal strife between Abernathy and Jenkins had Arasaka's tacit approval. This period marked a sanctioned internal purge—a time when grudges were settled and ambitions tested. Each executive had free rein to act, to prove themselves in Arasaka's grand Darwinian hierarchy.
For Vela, every outcome was a win. Her preparations meant that success would be elegant—and failure merely costly in munitions.
That "munitions" referred to SAT-6's combat inventory, meant for counterterror and suppression operations—not bound by the Citywide Firepower Restriction Accords.
If SAT-6 crossed paths with the FIA task force—even by accident, even a hundred kilometers off course—it would be enough.
Beep.
[SAT6-CO (Commander): Yes, ma'am!]
South of Night City—eighty kilometers from the Jackson Plains corridor—a barren desert swept by dust storms.
With a deep mechanical roar, armored hovercraft bearing Arasaka insignia came to a halt. Each soldier wore full EX0-2 exoskeleton AST armor—elite assault gear.
Inside the lead vehicle, data flashed across the commander's cybernetic eyes in streams of orange code. He turned sharply and barked: "Tech officer—target locked! We have him! Data confirmed—fire!"
Clack-clack—
The heavy roof plating of the hovercraft split open.
From the recessed missile bay, four sleek hypersonic missiles activated in sequence. Ignition flared—their sharp nosecones cutting through the air. Rising in pairs, they streaked skyward, leaving white contrails that curved like blades through the stratosphere. The Mach rings glowed in their wake as they accelerated north.
...
Jackson Plains.
Tires screamed. The engine howled under full load. Inside the shaking cabin, tension was thick enough to choke.
Nearly three minutes had passed since the retreat order.
Reed gripped the wheel, face hard. The wreck site behind him still echoed with gunfire and explosions—growing louder, not fading.
He knew.
Alex was gone.
Another comrade lost.
He was human—he felt it. But there was no time to mourn.
"Multiple aerial contacts inbound—tracking speed increasing… 2.8 Mach… 4 Mach… approaching 5 Mach?! Shit—hypersonic missiles!!"
The shout from his tech officer snapped him back to focus.
Reed's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
Four streaks of searing light tore across the sky—homing in like vengeful ghosts. Mid-flight, the missiles split, blooming into dozens of submunitions that fanned outward like falling cherry blossoms.
BOOM!
Bathed in a burst of pink-white light, Solomon Reed's thoughts ceased—forever.