BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—!
After the blinding flash and the earth-shattering tremors, a roaring wave of muddy fury swept across the land. A massive mushroom cloud rose into the sky over the red desert wasteland east of Santa Fe City—visible for dozens of kilometers in every direction.
There was no doubt—it was a nuclear detonation.
A blood-red sky, swirling ash, collapsing buildings, panicked crowds, burning twisted vehicles, mangled corpses.
The scene froze on the wide-angle frame of a remote media feed.
"Nuclear War? Fifth Corporate War – New Mexico Front: Second Nuclear Detonation Reported!" — Independent Correspondent, Night City Inquiry.
...
Noise. Damp cold. Shaking. And that annoying drip-drip-drip sound.
The instant consciousness returned, David Martinez's eyes snapped open.
His cybernetic lenses focused—onto a translucent shield glowing softly above him, silhouettes moving around, fragments of shattered walls shifting. As his hearing adjusted, the chaotic noise grew clear—so loud, yet oddly familiar. Whirr! The hum of a hovering vehicle engine. A sound that calmed him.
Right… the defensive line at Building 536. The Lazarus mechs that came charging in. His squadmates. The cover fire. Capture. Execution pending—then blackout.
Memory reconnected. David's pupils constricted—then eased.
He remembered now. Adam Smasher had saved him.
That monstrous black silhouette tearing through the ruins like a butcher. Terrifying—but not an enemy.
Thank god. At least he wasn't captured.
"I… excuse me—cough—uh, hahh…"
Seeing the Arasaka logo on the EMTs' combat uniforms, David tried to speak—but his entire body, from the inside out, erupted in sharp pain. He clenched his teeth hard.
"Martinez. If I were you, I'd shut my eyes and get some rest."
The EMT turned his head. "Tanaka—he's awake."
Soon, the medic carrying the stretcher on the right stepped aside. Shinichi Tanaka, his forehead bandaged and his arm in a sling, limped over. Despite his exhaustion, his expression carried a faint, genuine relief.
Before David could ask, Tanaka said, "The war's started."
He sighed. "But our part in it is on hold—for now."
"Of SAT-6's newly reorganized Ν-squad, only you, me, Suneo, and Wulai survived. Everyone else… gone. I got off the lightest. Suneo and Wulai are in worse shape than you."
"Don't talk. You're weak as hell. And don't even think about calling anyone—your central processor's been locked by the medics. Just rest."
Then he turned toward the horizon—toward the towering mushroom cloud.
The airship's altitude rose abruptly, expanding his view.
David realized he'd been loaded into a heavily armored medical AV.
Instinctively, he turned his head.
"That is…"
His eyes widened.
Dozens of kilometers away, a gray-black pillar of smoke, wide at the top and narrow below, loomed over what had once been the city's eastern outskirts—now reduced to smoke and flame. Dust and concrete ash rained down like snow. The dim red glow in the sky refused to fade.
That city was gone.
"It's a nuclear detonation," one of the EMTs said. "Tactical class—roughly twenty kilotons of TNT."
"Word from up top is, 'an eye for an eye.' Payback for the San Francisco strike."
Seeing David's confused look, the medic elaborated while pushing the isolation stretcher into place.
"Our Seventh Fleet carrier group nearly took a nuke at San Francisco. Golden Gate Bridge's gone."
"Oh…" David nodded slowly, his expression clearing.
Then, belatedly, he glanced down at himself.
What the hell...
He was a wreck—a pincushion of tubes and wires. A literal meat-and-metal ragdoll.
He managed a strained smile.
If his mom could see him now, she'd faint for sure.
Thunk, thunk.
Tanaka was the last to climb aboard the AV.
Seeing him seated, the EMT team leader—bearing a Life Star insignia—gave a hand signal. "Go."
Whirr—! The AV's four vector engines roared to life.
Altitude rising. Hatch sealed.
David took one last look at the devastated city where he had fought with everything he had.
It was like an ant nest kicked open—countless refugees fled in every direction, lives as fragile as weeds, pitiful beyond measure. From west to east, the autonomous soldiers and armored columns of Barghest advanced against the tide.
Soon after, David was placed inside a vehicle-mounted cryogenic medical pod. As the life-sustaining solution—a mix of lipids, amino acids, and glucose—flowed into his veins, exhaustion overtook him, and he closed his eyes once more.
War was never beautiful.
...
Night City
Watson District – Afterlife Club Underground Shelter
Network 54 News was airing live.
"Ms. Vela, can the Santa Fe nuclear explosion be interpreted as Arasaka's rebuttal to the White House's claim that the San Francisco incident was caused by so-called 'former legends re-employed'?"
"No. The Santa Fe detonation has nothing to do with Arasaka. If Arasaka ever chose to respond with nuclear warfare, the entire North American continent would be reduced to ash. Regarding San Francisco, Arasaka maintains a cautious stance—but as for Santa Fe, the answer is simple. 'Give me liberty, or give me death.' Those are the words of Patrick Henry, one of old America's founding fathers. President Myers' actions have clearly wounded the hearts of those who cherish freedom."
"Uh… Ms. Vela, could you put that more plainly?"
"The Santa Fe explosion was a tragic accident caused by emotionally extreme reactions from western cowboys disillusioned by the White House's announcement of the Second Metal War."
"Tch."
The Queen of Afterlife chuckled bitterly. "Twisting the truth, lying through her teeth, whitewashing death…"
Rogue muttered the words like a curse. "Same corporate filth, all of them. Johnny, you goddamn bastard…"
"Back then, I must've been blind to fall for you—and to believe the crap that came out of your mouth. Blowing up Arasaka Tower not once, but twice—and for what? Nothing changed… not a damn thing."
Her voice softened as her gaze lingered on the screen. The blonde woman there—calm, eloquent, sharp—answered questions with measured precision.
Rogue lowered her head, her tone faint and weary.
"Can't even rest in peace, huh? Still being dragged through the mud after death…"
President Myers' attempt to pin the San Francisco nuke on the so-called "legends of Night City" had left Rogue feeling disgusted and hollow.
For days, Washington's propaganda networks had been spewing nonsense online, claiming that the nuclear device wasn't launched by NUSA or Militech but was one of the two tactical nukes stolen by Johnny Silverhand and his crew back in 2023.
Bullshit.
As someone who was there, Rogue knew there had been two nukes—but only one had been detonated.
The other? Lost forever. No proof left—no witnesses, no evidence. Everything was erased in the blast.
And now, half a century later, Militech had twisted that ghost story into a weapon—again.
She'd been used. Thoroughly.
Fortunately, Arasaka hadn't even dignified the slander with a response.
Rogue looked up as the TV showed Vela concluding her brief interview and walking off.
"...Hah."
A long sigh escaped her lips.
She downed her glass of whiskey in one gulp, then leaned back on the couch.
She was tired. Deeply tired.
Maybe it was time to retire for good.
"Johnny… if you were still alive, would you have stopped?"
The thought came unbidden, then she shook her head and laughed.
"No. You'd have gone and blown up Arasaka Tower again—probably with me in tow. Hell, maybe you'd add the White House to the list this time."
Still smiling, she poured another shot and drank it down.
...
Arasaka Tower
After finishing the Network 54 interview, Vela walked through the increasingly fortified central atrium.
[Vela: Based on the example you gave, I refined the justification for the media. Your turn to handle cleanup.]
[Kurt Hansen – CEO, Barghest: Understood. So, we'll say it was a spontaneous act by a few ex-NUSA veterans from Texas—deeply involved in Operation Midnight Storm. The deeper they once loved, the deeper they now hate. Once supporters, now bitter opponents—driven to extremes by Washington's renewed push for war. How's that sound?]
Hearing Hansen's half-joking tone, Vela's lips curved upward.
[Vela] Polish the phrasing a bit before publication.]
[Hansen: Sure thing. And the warhead's origin?]
[Vela: I don't know—and neither does Arasaka. But you've been running Dogtown's black market long enough to know how it works. Tell me, isn't it perfectly believable that some 'antique black nukes'—cold war relics from Eastern Europe, the Middle East, or Ukraine—might have been smuggled out and passed through your territory?"]
[Hansen: Understood.]
Beep-beep.
Connection terminated.
"Prepare the itinerary—destination: San Francisco Bay Area," Vela instructed her cyber-ninja aide. "We'll depart after my afternoon strategy briefing… hmm?"
Her iris glowed red.
A new encrypted message had just arrived—from the Arasaka Security Division's SAT units.
[Report: SAT forces on the Santa Fe front have completed rotation.]
[Attachment: Personnel List]
She opened the document:
[SAT-2, Reorganized M-Squad] – [Expandable]
[SAT-5, Reorganized K-Squad] – [Expandable]
[SAT-6, Reorganized N-Squad] – [Expandable]
— Shinichi Tanaka, David Martinez …
Vela's eyes flickered.
Beep-beep.
[Update]: Recovery zone reassigned: Night City → San Francisco Bay Area
"Add the Bay to the itinerary. Increase the security escort—include a transport ship," she said, turning to her aide.
"Also, after the meeting, I'll be stopping by my home in Westbrook and the Arasaka Coastal Weapons Research Facility."
"Yes, ma'am."
The cyber-ninja bowed and withdrew.
Ding.
The exclusive elevator ascended toward the upper executive floors.
"San Francisco Bay…" Vela murmured to herself.
So familiar. Intimately so.
As Arasaka's Supreme Commander of the North American Theater, it was only natural she relocate closer to the West Coast's operational center.
Night City, for all its value, was too far south. The Free States' political and military capital, Sacramento, lay barely a hundred kilometers from San Francisco—close enough that she needed to keep watch personally.
Besides, if she didn't leave Night City at precisely the right time… how could she clear the stage for others?
...
The next day.
Across the Pacific—Tokyo, Japan.
Yorinobu Arasaka finally received confirmation: Vela had departed Night City.
And soon, she would be based in the San Francisco Bay Area—for good.