Six days later.
Arasaka Tower, Tokyo.
2075/12/31
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Vela Adelheid Russell, Executive Director of the Night City Security Bureau and member of the North American Arasaka Tower Operations Council, for the year-end address."
Backstage, Vela observed the fully seated grand auditorium through a closed-circuit monitor.
Between the luxurious yet understated minimalist grey rows of seats sat Arasaka internal employees, all dressed in meticulously tailored dark corporate uniforms. No foreign media or journalists were present.
These were elite mid- and junior-level Arasaka staff from global branches, currently stationed at Tokyo headquarters for training, evaluations, or other temporary programs.
Even the lowest-ranking among them held supervisory roles back at their regional offices, managing teams ranging from a handful to a dozen employees.
In the very back rows, Vela even spotted students from the Tokyo Arasaka Academy.
There were all ethnicities present—clearly, these were top students recommended by regional Arasaka academies for study and advancement at Tokyo HQ.
Seeing them sit upright with solemn expressions, Vela felt a strange sensation.
As if it were another lifetime.
At eighteen, she too had stood among the crowd like a small fry.
Once, she had been one of the applauding spectators.
Now, it was her turn on stage.
"Director Russell." As Vela approached the backstage steps, flanked by bodyguards and agents, a mid-level Arasaka official who had just finished his speech descended and respectfully bowed.
"Mm."
Nodding, Vela cleared her thoughts and stepped confidently onto the soft, silk-like red carpet toward center stage.
She was familiar with speeches.
Standard pomp and formality, the voice loud, the vision broad—tailoring words to suit the audience.
At that moment, the auditorium lights dimmed automatically, leaving only the central spotlight.
When Vela, dressed in her finely tailored, expensive uniform, reached the center—
Whoosh!
There was no thunderous applause, no cheers, whistles, or screams like those at Militech or New American events. Everyone sat upright, watching the grand figure on stage—dignified, elegant, and composed, exuding an aura of power.
This was the Arasaka style.
Neo-militarism, understated elegance, and a commanding, orderly aesthetic.
"Good evening, everyone."
Vela's cybernetic eye module glowed faintly red. With a data-link conversion, her voice projected through the auditorium's integrated surround sound system—no microphone needed.
"I am Vela Adelheid, from Night City's Security Division in North America, and the person in charge of this 2075 Tokyo Arasaka Tower year-end personnel training summit. I hope we get along well—though that shouldn't be hard. After all, you are the tested, the excellent, and the loyal, aren't you?"
As she spoke, Vela's commanding gaze swept across the sea of newly minted Arasaka elites.
Unsurprisingly, no one dared meet her eyes.
Even those who accidentally made eye contact quickly looked away.
Including the mid-to-senior officials who served as second or third-in-command in their respective departments.
Such was the beauty of hierarchy, the sweetness of power...
Vela was not so arrogant as to believe it was purely her charisma and reputation.
If these were employees from Night City, she might indeed command respect—after all, that was her home turf.
But for these self-important "little emperors" from regional branches who were used to lording over their fiefdoms, what they respected and submitted to was Vela's current title: a member of Arasaka's regional national-level Operations Council and Executive Director of the Security Bureau.
Arasaka's most distinct and vital core value: strict hierarchical order.
No matter the situation, subordinates must strictly obey the commands of their superiors. Even Japanese domestic employees must bow deeply when speaking with their superiors to show respect.
For those from factions like Vela's Night City Tower, or others such as the Paris Tower in Europe, or from South Africa or Australia, the gestures may not be as exaggerated as in Japan, but surface-level respect was still a must.
Even if, behind closed doors, they plotted against their higher-ups.
"2075 marks the sixth year of Arasaka's return to North America. It is also the ongoing moment of Arasaka reclaiming its former glory."
Withdrawing her gaze, Vela lifted the corners of her mouth and got to the point.
"Most importantly, Lord Saburo Arasaka has returned to our side. It is time to carry forward the legacy, to sound the horn of counterattack, to follow the path of Lord Kei Arasaka, and to reclaim all that we have lost."
Taking a step forward, Vela deliberately positioned herself at a precisely calculated proportional angle.
From the audience's view, she now aligned perfectly with the emblem wall behind her—large blocks of black marble forming the iconic black-and-white aRaSaKa triskelion logo.
"We all know very well what led to Arasaka's decline half a century ago."
The holographic projector activated on cue, displaying a massive mushroom cloud rising over a densely built metropolitan skyline.
A burning sky, the collapsing Arasaka Tower.
Undoubtedly, it was Night City in 2023.
"The nuclear explosion at the old Arasaka Tower in Night City. Because of it, we lost that war. Arasaka lost a respected and outstanding employee—Kei Arasaka."
"Militech. A legend of the city."
Vela spat the words coldly.
"Some things we can never forget."
The imagery changed, casting down two rugged, defiant silhouettes.
One, a tall, muscular man with a scruffy beard, clad in a black high-collar trench coat, carrying an outdated large-caliber gun from the last century over his shoulder;
The other, lean and wiry, wearing sunglasses, messy hair, wielding an electric guitar—your stereotypical rocker.
If any fanatical "legend" followers from the Night City underworld—Afterlife, Clouds, and the like—were present, they'd be shouting now.
"Morgan Blackhand. Johnny Silverhand..."
Vela spoke their names.
Over half a century had passed, and the story was nearly common knowledge.
In 2023, rockerboy Johnny Silverhand, Morgan Blackhand, and other legendary figures led a team of mercenaries and netrunners, backed by Militech, to bomb the Arasaka Tower in Night City with a nuclear device. Over a million lives were lost directly or indirectly.
Then-president Elizabeth Kress of the New United States immediately blamed the explosion on Arasaka, despite Militech being the real culprit.
Amidst global condemnation and backlash, the already cornered Arasaka was forced into defeat. Its operations in the U.S. were immediately revoked. The board and employees were branded terrorists. Assets were confiscated or expelled from North America.
With Arasaka's return to Night City, more and more people began to suspect the nuclear bombing had been orchestrated by Militech. President Kress' lies had been exposed.
As for the megacorps—hah, they had their own channels. They knew the truth. Believing Militech's story would be absurd. It all depended on how much Washington paid.
"They—Washington—still think that with enough extortion, political pressure, and hitmen, they can stop us from restoring our past glory? That by assassinating specific individuals, by massacring workers within specific corporations, they can strip us of confidence and resolve?"
Vela's eyes, once half-closed, snapped open, flashing with defiance.
"No, we remain great. We have risen from the wasteland reborn in flame. We will forge the future. We will continue to lead it. From the Sonnentreppe Project, the Relic Project, to the Heavy Quadruped Thinking Tanks, the new class of ultra-heavy aircraft carriers, the massive aerospace cruisers, the Crystal Palace space station, lunar colonization, and Mars exploration..."
These were all publicly known. The Sonnentreppe Project's milestone R-618 'Rebirth' Compound was already in commercial trial runs with Biotechnica and the EuroBank. The Relic Project—an investment trap publicly pitched by Arasaka—was already marketing the concept of digital soul immortality.
As for the rest, Vela had coordinated some parts with Shintaro Takayama.
Some of it was real. Some of it was PowerPoint slides. Some didn't exist at all. But none of that stopped her from boasting, even improvising. Truth and fiction blended—let the "friendly competition" waste their time investigating. Counter-Intelligence and Internal Security would handle it.
"We will not forget. We will always remember."
"Debts must be repaid. It's only right. Try to deny it, and we'll repay it double."
"We will have our revenge."
Revenge—this was Vela's political stance and policy declaration since taking the stage.
An internal meeting was the perfect venue to let her voice resonate.
In a word: destroy Militech!
The NUSA must be fractured again!
Vela knew well that, whether for her personal interests or the company's, there was no reconciling with Militech or the New United States. They would never be friends.
Unlike the tangled web of competition and occasional cooperation with the EuroBank, SovOil, Kang Tao, Zetatech, Biotechnica, and others, the relationship between Arasaka and Militech—despite mutual product purchases—was one where true cooperation was impossible. Absolutely impossible!
Generational blood feud aside, geography also dictated that for either side to advance, the other had to be crippled.
Arasaka wanted to reclaim its former dominance over the Pacific, split North America, and control the West Coast. Militech wanted to unify North America, drive Arasaka out of the Americas completely, and fulfill Monroe Doctrine ambitions—"the Americas belong to Americans."
This was an irreconcilable conflict.
Arasaka and Militech were destined for a final battle.
And Vela's roots were in Night City, on the West Coast. Let Militech dare to destroy Arasaka Tower in Night City, tear down her home and headquarters? On this point, she was fully aligned with Arasaka's internal political correctness.
"History will remember this day. Saburo-sama has returned. Arasaka shall rise again. All Arasaka employees must open their arms, hone your will, sharpen your mind, and ready yourselves—your glory is coming."
As her speech ended, a tray rose silently from the platform. Vela picked up a tall champagne flute and raised it toward the audience.
"To 2076, comrades. Let's advance together."
Clatter! Arasaka employees from Night City stood up first and shouted in unison: "Arasaka!"
"Arasaka!"
Seeing this, the junior managers and academy students in the back rows immediately followed.
"Arasaka!"
Even the suited mid- and senior-level officials in the front row stood up one by one.
"Arasaka!"
Within seconds, the voice was unified.
"Arasaka!" ×N
...
2076/1/1, 00:01:24
Tick.
The [2075 Tokyo Arasaka Tower Year-End Training Personnel Summit] concluded.
It was now 2076. From her high vantage, Vela looked down upon the banquet hall, where corporate staff clustered in small groups—by branch, department, or unit—clinking glasses.
In the cyberpunk world, staying up late wasn't even called staying up. All-nighters were the norm. If you weren't still awake after 3 a.m., it didn't count as overtime or socializing.
"Director Russell."
"Commander Vela Adelheid."
Employees from Night City, South Africa, South America, and Australia came forward to offer formal greetings.
The highest-ranking among them were from the Security Division. Though not part of the main Security Bureau, they belonged to the Client Order Fulfillment Unit, which handled private security subscriptions—a closely tied department.
Vela, polite and composed, chatted and clinked glasses with them briefly.
Passing the Tokyo HQ assessment, it was clear they'd return to their branches with promotions and raises secured. She had no objection to forming a few positive connections.
She had no interest in becoming an abrasive troublemaker like Counter-Intelligence's Arthur Jenkins.
"However..."
Click!
A crisp sound. A blue flame rose from her lighter.
By the window-side sofa, Vela lit a slender cigarette with two delicate fingers. Taking a puff, the neon lights of Tokyo's skyline flashed against her profile through the transparent glass.
Stable, stagnant Tokyo—it wasn't her world.
Chaotic Night City was.
As for her war against Militech—she wasn't just talk.
"Director Takayama!"
Her bodyguard's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Commander Takayama."
Vela stubbed out the cigarette and turned to face the robust cyber-ninja.
Thanks to the Sonnentreppe Project's regenerative compound, this old loyalist of Arasaka even looked a little younger—more melanin in his graying hair.
"Vela, the Christmas present—was it to your satisfaction?"
Shintaro Takayama took two silent steps forward, as always.
"Christmas present? Ah, no wonder I got that special notice on the 25th. It was quite the surprise." Vela smiled faintly, a gleam in her eyes. "Since you're here, why not have a drink with me?"
"I'll pass."
Takayama looked at Vela with a mixture of sentiment and solemnity. "Saburo-sama commands it. You are invited to the Arasaka Family Compound. Lady Hanako is also waiting for you."