South of the Badlands' Jackson Plains, in the wide, canyon-like corridor stretching southeast, the sky was thick with hovercraft.
Across the barren wasteland, vehicles from Arasaka's Emergency Response Division, the Garrison Rapid Response Unit, Night City's southern border checkpoint, NCPD border patrol, Dogtown's Barghest mercenaries, and Trauma Team crowded the airspace surrounding the crash site.
Centered on the downed Prospector, a one-kilometer radius was littered with signs of fierce combat.
Destroyed vehicles, drone and robot wreckage still burning, golden kinetic shell casings scattered everywhere—magazines, guns, shrapnel, debris… chaos in every form.
David Martinez, a member of Arasaka's Rapid Response Unit stationed at the Dogtown garrison, was among the first to arrive.
Using combat data shared from the operations center—intel extracted by Arasaka's cyber-ninja from Alex's neural interface—they pinpointed the terrorists' positions. David's armored hovercraft opened fire immediately, pursuing one group fleeing eastward. The result was a storm of bullets and rockets.
Whirr… whirr…Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat—BOOM!
A beige off-road vehicle weaving through rocky ridges was torn apart, exploding into a ball of flame. Its burning frame flipped into the air, slammed sideways into a cliff, and scattered molten debris.
"Hold fire! One left—don't kill them all. We need prisoners. At least leave a body intact."
The side hatch slid open. A commander in full EX0-1 exoskeleton armor barked, "Burn out their systems."
"They're equipped with military-grade anti-intrusion modules—it'll take time."
Data streamed red across the tactical goggles of the netrunner as he tracked the smoking vehicle retreating into the rocks.
The FIA agents had no idea their encrypted comm network had already been breached by Arasaka's cyber-ninjas. Through one high-ranking operative's command node, their positions were fully exposed and locked in.
"Then cripple the vehicle. Lower altitude—prepare for assault."
The commander rose from his seat and turned. "Tanaka, Martinez, Kawakami—you're on suppression. Those bastards are probably Militech scum. Stay sharp and counter any hacks."
"Yes, sir!"
Bullets clanged against the hovercraft's hull. David, Katsuo, and Suneo steadied their rifles, replying in unison.
Though David knew he and his squad alone could easily handle the survivors below, he'd been with Arasaka long enough to understand his role.
Arasaka wasn't some merc band or Nomad clan—they operated under strict combat doctrine.
Obedience. No heroics. Coordination above all.
And as Director Vela often taught—the best way to minimize casualties was to stay cautious, always leave room for adjustment after unforeseen errors.
Winning clean meant fighting smart, not wild.
...
On the ground.
"Shit!"
Behind the wheel, Joseph cursed. He'd tried calling Reed and Alex repeatedly—no answer. His pulse spiked; the realization hit hard.
Sacrifices were part of the job. That was espionage.
Even the great Solomon Reed had been betrayed once—so what chance did he have?
Before being ordered to infiltrate Night City to reawaken Reed, he had assumed the man was long dead.
And the item codenamed "Gift"—the thermostatic container—was clearly more valuable than him. He was just a decoy to draw Arasaka's pursuit.
The thought made his jaw tighten until it hurt.
Anger, frustration—pointless. Reed had warned them all beforehand: "If necessary, some of you will die for the glory of the New United States."
Unlucky enough to be Arasaka's target, Joseph accepted his fate.
He would never allow himself to be captured alive.
That was his only thought now.
As Joseph turned to the co-pilot—Hizawa, clutching a portable anti-air missile with the same fury in his eyes—ready to buy a few more minutes before going out in flames against the Arasaka pursuit—suddenly, BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
A chain of thunderous explosions erupted without warning, deafening in their intensity.
Joseph's hands froze for a split second—nearly losing control of the vehicle.
"What?!"
"What the hell?!"
"A tactical warhead?!"
Inside the armored hovercraft, Arasaka troopers were equally stunned. They turned toward the southeast—where a massive, multicolored explosion bloomed like a candy-colored mushroom cloud.
Thick, rolling smoke rose in tangled plumes—white vapor from condensed moisture, black-brown fumes from missile payload chemicals, and brilliant waves of pink light shimmering through it all. It was dazzling, molten-bright—like a ruptured steel furnace, lighting up the wasteland for kilometers around. Even from Night City proper, the glow was visible on the horizon.
Then came the aftershock—a wave of scorching wind.
Whoosh!
Beneath their tactical visors, David, Katsuo, and Suneo tensed but didn't flinch, weapons steady. They'd seen plenty before—but still, the audacity of someone firing ordnance of this magnitude near Night City left them stunned.
This was a blatant violation of the Citywide Firepower Limitation Accord.
"Not a nuke," an old veteran grunted, his voice flat—the kind who'd seen the hell of the Metal Wars in 2069.
"New United States strike?" Katsuo guessed.
Before anyone could speculate further, the Rapid Response commander's voice came directly through their neural links: "Continue the mission. That was SAT-6. Don't interfere. Those poor bastards ran into our own Special Assault Unit Six returning from an anti-terror op."
Ah—so it was that SAT-6. The elite of the elite. Arasaka's own shock unit. If it was their fireworks, then all was well.
David exchanged glances with Katsuo and Suneo—the same eager gleam in all their eyes.
Next career goal: Raise the flag. They had to find a way into SAT-6's ranks, get that golden badge.
As for violating accords? What accords? They didn't see a thing.
If anti-terror munitions were used to wipe out terrorists who'd assassinated an Arasaka director—perfectly justified.
"Assault!"
The squad commander gestured sharply.
Beep! The onboard jammer surged to full power.
[Vehicle Lock Override]—hack successful. The netrunner turned with a nod.
Whirrrrr—BOOM! The armored hovercraft descended sharply. The assault team's EX0-1 exoskeleton thrusters ignited, venting cold vapor like steam. In a blur, the rapid-response soldiers leapt out—covering ten meters in a single bound. David and the others followed, firing bursts of armor-piercing rounds that tore through smoke and shredded the fleeing vehicle's wheel hubs.
As it skidded sideways, spinning out—thunk-thunk!—grappling hooks bit into the chassis. One soldier landed on the roof; another slammed hard onto the hood, the impact almost flipping the vehicle. The veteran's [Gorilla Arms] surged with power—he ripped through the windshield like paper.
"Steal from a Director and think you'll live?!"
The soldier's iron grip clamped around the driver's throat—a punk-looking man. He sneered as synthetic muscles flexed, tightening the hold.
"Joseph!"
The co-pilot shouted, raising his weapon to fire—but CRASH! The door ripped free with a shriek of metal. A black shadow lunged in, followed by a burst of gunfire and a strangled scream.
David aimed at the co-pilot—Hizawa—who was still clutching the launcher. The man tried to aim it at himself in defiance, but a storm of smart SMG rounds from other Arasaka troopers tore him open before he could pull the trigger.
As the last shot echoed, David's focus widened. The squad leader, kneeling among wreckage, called out: "Tanaka! I need evidence recovery here—fresh brain matter, cyber cores, whatever's intact from these wrecks. You three, continue pursuit! Intel shows several of the terrorists have entered the ridge caverns nearby!"
"Copy that."
Tanaka patted David on the shoulder. Both turned eastward.
In their Kiroshi optical HUDs, the shared tactical map displayed multiple red dots slowing down—flickering erratically.
They'd entered some kind of subterranean shelter. Signal interference—lag spikes—trace marks being erased.
A hacker was countering them.
A bigger fish, maybe?
David's eyes lit up.
—
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