Santo Domingo, Rancho Coronado District — Military Tech Safehouse.
Despite being called a "safehouse," this place was more like a courtyard boxed in on three sides by surrounding buildings. The Militech unit that had just raided Crescent Street was currently stationed here. Right now, the Militech soldiers were busy tending to the wounded and organizing the intelligence they had collected during the mission.
A black Regalia Imperial drove into the courtyard. Plainclothes Militech sentries instantly snapped to attention and saluted. A man who appeared to be in his fifties stepped out of the vehicle.
"At ease, soldiers. You can relax a little. This is a safehouse. If you don't want to blow your cover, you need to act more like civilians."
A woman in combat fatigues stepped forward to greet him.
"Meredith Stout?"
"Yes, sir."
"You did a good job this time. Those Arasaka bastards really got what was coming to them."
"Thank you, sir."
"Mind introducing me to the brave soldiers who made it happen?"
"Of course. Please follow me."
As they walked, the man greeted each of the wounded soldiers warmly, offering personal words of sympathy and asking about their injuries.
Then he climbed atop a pile of ammunition crates and shouted to the gathered troops, "Brothers and sisters, I suggest we begin by honoring those who gave their lives in this operation."
He lowered his head in silence. The soldiers followed suit, bowing their heads in respect for their fallen comrades.
After the moment of silence, the man raised his voice again. "Now for the good news. Yesterday, we did a damn good job—we kicked Arasaka right in the ass!"
"Yeah!!"
"Hell yeah!"
…
When the cheers died down a bit, he continued, "Command is extremely pleased with the results of this operation. But that's not the important part. What matters is that every one of you who participated is getting a half-month of paid vacation!"
The troops erupted in cheers.
"And that's not all! You're getting a seven-day beach trip to Miami—and it won't count toward your regular vacation days. The company's footing the entire bill!"
The cheers grew louder than before.
"Still not done, folks! Every one of you is also getting a nice fat bonus!"
The noise in the room reached a fever pitch. The soldiers practically blew the roof off with their roaring cheers.
"All right, all right, calm down. Rest up while you can. In two hours, a convoy will come to take you out of Night City. After that, your payments will be processed. So get ready to enjoy your well-earned vacation!"
The man jumped down from the crates. "Come with me, Lieutenant Stout."
The two entered a quiet office.
"Nice speech, sir."
"Thanks. But let's get to the real business. What were the losses from this operation?"
"Sir, here's the report. The commanding officer was KIA. One netrunner was also killed. Alpha team had one severely wounded. Beta team: one dead, three lightly injured. Gamma team had no casualties. Delta team... none survived."
"So Delta team suffered the worst losses? Give me a detailed breakdown of the situation."
"Yes, sir. Based on the scene, Delta team was likely hit by high-grade fragmentation grenades. Because of their tight formation, none made it out alive."
"What makes you so sure?"
"All of Delta's bodies were dismembered. They were burned, but we could still identify signs of high-temperature slicing on the remains."
"Could it have been a thermal mantis blade?"
"Highly unlikely, sir. Delta team was the best-trained unit in this operation. Even top-tier Arasaka ninjas would've struggled to take them out quickly. No known Arasaka agents with such capabilities were spotted in Crescent Street. And we have no reports of high-threat Arasaka agents entering Night City recently. We're also starting to suspect that whoever wiped out Delta team... wasn't from Arasaka at all."
The man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Go on."
"After eliminating Delta, this unknown individual used one of their Nekoma rifles to open fire on the Arasaka agents at the target site. Then he posed as a Delta operative and tapped into our communications. Once he located the commanding officer... only then did he fire on us. If he were working for Arasaka, there'd be no reason to shoot their own."
"Which means Arasaka was ambushed by someone else before we arrived."
"Exactly, sir. And there's more. We managed to recover two corpses belonging to high-ranking Arasaka agents. Both showed signs of extreme netrunner interference. The individual who pulled this off managed to neutralize both without leaving a trace—and he hacked our communications without any of our netrunners noticing. That speaks to an extremely skilled hacker."
"Headquarters already suspects that a third party got involved. The current theory is that the NetWatch may have acted."
"NetWatch? Why them?"
"'NetWatch doesn't interfere in corporate disputes,' right? Save it. The only reason they don't step in is if they don't see any benefit. You know why this operation was even authorized?"
"A high-ranking Arasaka executive tried to sell us intel—something internal about the 'Blackwall.' But the agent they were supposed to meet never got the data. As it stands, the only possible person who might know where the intel is now... is the fixer from Crescent Street."
"Exactly. And the reason the handoff failed is that our intel division tried to pull a fast one. Let's be honest, that Blackwall-related intel? Anyone with half a brain knows Arasaka was probably tunneling behind the Blackwall. We were just trying to get solid proof."
"So how does NetWatch factor into this?"
"In this world, if anyone obsesses over the Blackwall, it's NetWatch. No one else comes close. And the way both Arasaka and our netrunners got taken out—completely, without a trace? Only someone with NetWatch-level skills could've done that."
"Understood. So, what happens next with the mission?"
"Headquarters says the operation ends here. Our primary objective was to expose that intel. There's a good chance the data is already in the right hands. Now it's Arasaka's problem."
"I remember the intel division hired a bunch of mercs for that file."
"That's their mess. Even if headquarters comes knocking, it has nothing to do with us."
The man suddenly asked, "Lieutenant Stout?"
"Yes, sir?"
"How many missions have you been on?"
"This was my fourth, sir."
"Your first time commanding solo?"
"Yes."
"I remember you served before. But didn't you major in management in college? Why'd you join frontline operations?"
"My parents both served in the New American Army."
The man nodded silently.
"Command is pleased with your performance. You'll be promoted soon. But they want to make the most of your skills—they're moving you to an administrative position. There's a high chance the Night City branch will become your new post. Your transfer orders will be arriving shortly. Stay on standby here for now. Don't waste this opportunity."
"Yes, sir."