The recovery of the SAT's newly reorganized units, rotated from the Santa Fe front, was progressing smoothly.
By the night after the treatment's effects had worn off, several of the enhanced soldiers—including David Martinez, codename "Statue," and Jean Portman, codename "Whisperer"—couldn't resist beginning adaptation training with their new bodies.
Vela, as always, remained busy.
After visiting the injured and personally awarding medals and promotions to the four most outstanding soldiers, she shared dinner with attending Arasaka employees in the cafeteria. Once finished, she departed immediately—returning to the Arasaka Tower in Oakland to preside over an online military conference.
Tomorrow morning, she was scheduled to head to Sacramento to meet with Free States Alliance senators to discuss the deployment of the newly organized Allied forces across the Northern, Central, and Southern war theaters—and the soon-to-erupt Central Campaign.
David, meanwhile, after a brief encounter involving Song So Mi's "overly curious" inspection and a chance meeting with Lucy, spent the entire night at the training facility.
By dawn, he and the other three soldiers received a notification: their powered armor pilot qualification review had been approved.
Simultaneously, their central control systems—temporarily shut down for recovery—came back online after a night of neural calibration and full-body synchronization.
Beep-beep—
[Connecting to Arasaka Network restored // Updating contract data // Account access reinstated // System permissions elevated]
Then came the barrage of alerts—ding-ding-dong-dong-beep-beep—!
All the delayed, queued, unread, and pending messages, calls, and official memos came flooding in at once.
Information overload—not quite, but close. David's UI interface filled with pop-up notifications, message tones chiming nonstop.
He was used to it—this always happened after a mission. Only this time, the backlog was particularly long.
Pinned at the top were, of course, official administrative bulletins.
First came the mass announcement declaring that Arasaka and Militech were officially at war, followed by notifications regarding Vela's new military authorization and appointments.
Next were the internal updates from Arasaka Tower's Night City divisions.
As an SAT operative, David's main concern was the Security Division's reorganization:
"Emergency Militarization of Security Forces"
Sender: [Arasaka Board of Directors]
Supervisor: Vela Adelheid Arasaka Russell — [Director of the Security Division (Night City) / Chairwoman of the North American Executive Council / Executive Vice President, Intercontinental Division / Supreme Commander, North American Theater / Board Member Candidate]
Date: 2077/4/23
Summary of the Board's directive regarding 'restructuring':
No.1 — During wartime, Security Division forces will partially shift from private contracting, corporate security, and urban policing services to active military operations: field campaigns, urban sieges, interregional coordination, and mobile warfare.
No.2 — The Urban Excessive Firepower Convention is nullified; the Aerial Power and Heavy Armor Restriction Treaty is void; and the Powered Armor Prohibition Accord is abolished.
No.3 — Immediate activation of reinforcement and expansion management systems for high-intensity, attritional warfare.
No.4 — The reorganized North American Security Army's equipment and structure are to match those of the highest-level strategic military groups.
...
"Phew..."
Exhaling deeply, David scrolled to the end of the document.
The order had been issued three days ago.
Fortunately, SAT hadn't been disbanded or merged—they'd simply been restructured into a heavy combined-arms combat brigade.
Internally, the SAT designation still held meaning. Good—if they'd lost that elite unit status after all the hard work of "raising the flag," it would've been a real blow.
Still, what about Katsuo, Suneo, and Mark Wulai—the other survivors from their newly formed N-squad?
Now that he'd been promoted, he'd likely be leading his own tactical unit—and a powered armor combat group at that.
Katsuo and the others had probably received the same news by now.
Scratching his head at the thought, he began checking his private contact list, particularly to reply to his mother's message.
"I heard you took on a Lazarus powered armor unit head-on to cover your squad's retreat? Lucky you came back alive—what a miracle."
A familiar, clear voice spoke from behind him.
"So it's you, huh."
David turned and looked at the petite, pretty netrunner. "Morning."
Her pastel rainbow asymmetrical bangs—no matter how many times he saw them—were hard to forget.
Looking back, their meeting and the way they'd become familiar with each other really proved that old saying: life is unpredictable.
That night, she'd gone to fetch medicine for Maine—and he'd scared her half to death.
Back then, she was a street edgerunner. He was a corpo dog.
Through the Gloria–Maine connection, Maine bought the meds, Lucy fetched them, David delivered them. Their interactions were minimal—just acquaintances linked by circumstance.
Until that inexplicable ambush in the Badlands—where she'd screamed once and turned overnight into an 'Arasaka second-gen.'
Thanks to connections—and Commander Vela's personal intervention—she was saved, officially registered, and enrolled into Arasaka Academy for supplementary training. Now she laughed and chatted with big names in Counter-Intelligence, climbing ranks fast enough to make his head spin.
Damn. Didn't know it worked like that.
"Uh… morning," Lucy said with a small shake of her head. "I was gonna make a joke, say something dumb."
Then—click—she lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and continued, "Anyway, it's good to see you recovered—and promoted."
Her gaze flicked toward the brass Arasaka pin on his left lapel.
Didn't matter how many people he commanded—it still made him an officer now.
Even a minor rank was still a rank. For a pure civilian with no family background or corporate lineage, getting promoted just a year after graduation was impressive.
As for Vela—well, she was a league of her own.
"Maine and Gloria would've been proud of you."
"Thanks," David replied awkwardly, never good at small talk.
"So, how've you been…"
Before he could finish, V—who had been accompanying and monitoring Song So Mi during her neurological checkup at the recovery center—turned around.
"Since your last neural sync, you seem rather interested in him," she said coolly. "Because he's the first successful case of full neural recovery and enhancement?"
"In part," Song So Mi nodded, then shook her head.
"In that kind of extreme situation—facing an entire mech unit—he could've retreated without consequence. But he didn't. He traded his life for his squad's. That kind of person… is rare anywhere."
"Solomon Reed could've done the same," V commented casually.
The Korean netrunner's eyes lingered on David's broad, metallic frame. "I'm just curious about his future."
"His future will be decided by the Board," V replied evenly, dismissing the subject. "Anyway, it's almost time for your lecture."
With that, she turned and began walking away.
"Lucy."
"Director."
"Director V."
David bowed slightly.
After nodding to Lucy, V turned her gaze to David. Her pupils flickered with orange light.
[V: Do you know Jackie Welles?]
"Director?"
David blinked, then quickly realized it was a direct neural link.
[David: I've heard of him. Middleman around Watson's Little Chinatown. Maine said he's a decent guy.]
[V: Maine and Jackie were both my offline contacts.]
Leaving the implication hanging, V patted David's solid, cybernetic arm. "If you ever need help, come to me."
Then, motioning for Lucy to follow, she departed with her entourage.
David waved politely.
Before they were even out of sight—whirr... whirr...
The low hum of heavy hover-transport carriers grew louder.
Tap, tap—
"David!"
It was Katsuo's voice.
His prosthetics had been replaced and recalibrated, the bandages removed, his subdermal armor and synthetic skin fully restored—no trace of injury left. He jogged over energetically.
"Your hair?"
David blinked, noticing the difference.
Katsuo's usual bob cut was gone—now styled into his father's signature slicked-back look.
"That's not the point."
Katsuo grinned and punched David hard in the chest. "Nice one, man. Powered armor pilot? Your clearance got approved faster than mine."
Blessing and curse, perhaps. His own wounds had been light enough that, while Vela had praised him and awarded a battle medal, he didn't qualify for her full surgical reconstruction.
Too healthy for that.
"My dad just got the message—your non-scale powered armor unit's arrived."
Standing beside David, Katsuo crossed his arms, looking toward the training field's landing pads, where several massive hover transports were descending.
"Can I see it?"
"Of course. That one's yours."
Katsuo led him forward.
Hearing the commotion, the other three decorated soldiers and the recovering SAT operatives followed, curious.
Thud! Thud!
Each massive cargo module touched down.
Katsuo guided David through the guards, stopping before a scanning station.
AI: [Authorization confirmed. Welcome, pilot—David Martinez.]
Clank—!
The safety locks disengaged, the hatch opened.
Lifting his gaze, David silently took in the sight of his mecha.
Next time, he would ride it into battle.
Maybe it was some long-buried instinct, but he couldn't help raising a hand to gently touch its unpainted steel hull.
"Hello, my friend."
...
At that same moment, Vela arrived in Sacramento—a city she served but did not trust.
The Allied Forces' closed-door conference was already underway.
"...In summary, the central states are vast and sparsely populated—mostly agricultural. My proposal: the southern front will advance under the pretext of securing a land corridor with the Republic of Texas via New Mexico."
"The central front will proceed as planned—our main territorial objective—but the real breakthrough, where we'll deploy our mobile heavy forces, will be the northern line."
The holographic map shifted, the glowing lines on the North American tactical projection sliding northeast—finally halting over the Great Lakes region: northeastern Illinois, southern Lake Michigan.
One city.
"Chicago."