Night City, Arasaka Tower.
Present day.
...
On the 110th floor's atrium garden, where vivid flowers bloomed in perfect competition, the air was warm and fragrant with the gentle scent of incense.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon along the West Coast—three hours behind Washington time.
Steam rose from the teacup on the small round table. Vela, dressed in a formal suit with a black-gray diamond-patterned vest, sat with her legs crossed, reading through a stack of official documents. Not far from her seat was a small fountain, the sound of trickling water adding to the serenity of the moment.
As the gentle flow murmured in the background, she swiftly read through the entire document—Washington's official ultimatum to Arasaka and its allies.
Closing the folder filled with diplomatic jargon, she smirked faintly.
"Myers is desperate—cornered animals always bite."
A playful smile flickered across Vela's face.
Just one look at those clauses was enough. If she were to comply, she'd instantly lose the Hawk Faction's support.
James Thomas, still digesting the contents of the ultimatum, read aloud thoughtfully: "Surrender the defected agent Songbird, withdraw from New Mexico, cease anti-American operations along the West Coast, and establish a demilitarized zone in Arizona…"
After a pause, he added meaningfully, "She's trying to divert domestic tension."
"Of course," Vela replied with certainty. "She's run out of room to retreat. The Lazarus mercenaries violating the 'Second Alvin Accord' will be only the first step in Myers' open defiance."
There was nothing new under the sun—ancient or modern, East or West. Showing a strong front abroad to distract from internal turmoil was a time-honored political strategy: consolidate one's power, inflame nationalist sentiment, and use external conflict to extend one's political lifespan.
Thomas glanced at Vela, offering a polite reminder. "About that WNS interview earlier… you do realize that a single misjudgment by a public leader can harm credibility, don't you?"
Vela smiled calmly and turned her head. "No rush—I'm still young."
She understood his concern perfectly. Appearing on TV and declaring that Myers would back down, only to be proven wrong minutes later, didn't look ideal.
But then again, what was wrong with a young leader making small, harmless mistakes while gaining experience?
"..."
Thomas fell silent.
Indeed—youth itself was power.
Whenever he spoke with Vela, he often forgot her age entirely, treating her as if she were Michiko Arasaka's peer… which, legally speaking, she was. Yet one was nearing seventy, and the other wasn't even twenty-five.
Against a veteran politician like Myers, a few slip-ups were natural.
One fall, one lesson learned.
"Strategically, underestimate the enemy; tactically, take them seriously."
Vela spoke lightly. "I made a mistake—then I'll stay humble and focused."
"And besides," she added, "my mistake makes Arasaka look more innocent, doesn't it? Washington becomes the aggressor in the eyes of the public. Propaganda still works."
Taking a sip of tea, she stood up. "Reputation is nothing worth worrying about."
Besides, this wasn't something she'd done without approval.
Her retinal HUD displayed her encrypted private family contact list:
[Saburo Arasaka – Head of Family]
[Shintaro Takayama – Retainer]
[Michiko Arasaka – Sister]
...
Tap, tap.
Walking to the edge of the floral garden, Vela leaned forward and reached for a hanging eco-birdcage suspended from a branch.
Chirp, chirp.
The golden canary inside chirped brightly, unafraid, gently pecking at Vela's fingers.
These caged birds lived far better lives than their nearly extinct cousins in the wild.
Heh… and as for the "Songbird" caught in her snare—why would she ever let it fly free again?
No, she would build it a grander, more gilded cage—to mock the decay of its old home.
As she adjusted the feeder outside the cage, Vela waved her hand slightly, beckoning the Foreign Affairs officer who had been waiting respectfully beyond the security line.
"Reject it," she said without turning her head.
Click. After hand-feeding the canary a mix of seeds, Vela opened the cage, letting it perch on her index finger. As she gently stroked its head, she spoke without looking back. "No need to wait for their deadline. Respond to the White House immediately. Their conditions are an insult—one that no self-respecting, independent political entity would ever accept."
"Hai!"
Mizuno Masao, the Arasaka Ministry of Foreign Affairs' senior official stationed in Night City—who had once accompanied Vela to the Austin Conference in the Republic of Texas—bowed deeply twice.
"...You'll lead the press conference," Vela continued. "The focus isn't you or me—it's the former FIA agent, 'Songbird,' who was persecuted by the FIA. This is your area of expertise. I trust you know how to make the most of it."
"And contact Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt and the NetWatch bureau. Coordinate with the Barghest, MaxTac, and NCPD—set up an operation and wipe out those netrunner bastards trying to punch holes in the [Blackwall] in Pacifica."
As Vela issued her instructions, still idly petting the bird, the newly appointed Director of Counter-Intelligence, V, stood waiting humbly among the ranks of Special Operations officers gathered in the atrium.
It was her first time standing this high—on the 110th floor of Arasaka Tower.
As one of the heads of a specialized intelligence division, she had come with the secretary of the new Special Operations Director, Jimmy Warren, to receive Vela's orders.
Why the secretary instead of Warren himself? Because the Director was currently in Sacramento, overseeing operations and coordinating the Free States coalition forces in their efforts to cut off the New United States' West Coast intelligence network.
To V, this felt like déjà vu—like her first days at Arasaka.
Twenty-three years old, standing stiff as a recruit.
Damn—officials everywhere. Every time she saw one, she had to stand at attention.
If she followed Tokyo's etiquette standards, she'd have to bow so often her back would break.
But she had no choice. The Counter-Intelligence Division was only one of several departments under Special Operations.
Even though both divisions had privileged status and operated under dual authority from higher agencies, their rank still couldn't compare with the "Three Flags" elite departments—Security, Manufacturing, and Banking.
Aside from its classified internal security authority, the Counter-Intelligence Division's administrative level was roughly equal to that of the Technology Department under Manufacturing—both secret dual-subordination units.
And here, aside from servers and security personnel, there were no low-level staff present. Seated were Vice President James Thomas and the heads of Foreign Affairs; standing were department heads waiting for instructions… people like her—just small fish.
"V."
The secretary's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
No further prompting was needed. Seeing Mizuno Masao hurrying out, V followed the secretary into the inner area. Beside her were the Directors of External Intelligence and Internal Affairs—her counterparts in other intelligence branches under Special Operations.
"Even though I said on television that Myers would back down," Vela said calmly, "your work remains critical. Watch the White House, FIA, Militech, and our internal channels closely. Myers can't afford to lose. To stay in power, she'll use every means possible."
V and the two other directors nodded firmly.
After outlining several key directives, Vela returned the canary to its cage and cast a long, deliberate glance at V.
Red hair, brown eyes—though her recent promotion had pushed her appearance closer to the cold aesthetic of the neo-militarist elite, she still radiated a wild, feral energy. A fighter who could chew through steel.
"Valerie, the safety of 'Songbird' is your responsibility. I'll have the Security Bureau—SP—cooperate with you. Any questions?"
V immediately replied, "No, ma'am. Counter-Intelligence will ensure the target's safety."
"Good. Don't disappoint me. If you need hardware, go to R&D and find Shinichi Tanaka."
Vela waved her hand, signaling the end of the briefing.
Afterward, she spoke briefly with the heads of Administration, the Network Information Center, and Arasaka's military garrison about the likely escalation of the situation. Then, after spending a few quiet moments feeding the canary and playing with the small, docile pet raptor kept in her private menagerie, Vela's brief afternoon respite came to an end.
She slipped on her coat and prepared to leave the atrium.
"Just now, the Adam Smasher unit has mobilized. The fighting in Santa Fe is fierce—several districts have already been reduced to rubble. Rahm is requesting deployment. Your opinion?"
Thomas stood, poured a cup of warm tea, and handed it to her.
"Let him go. The New Mexico front needs a commanding officer who can control the situation firsthand."
Taking the cup, Vela downed it in one go and flicked the empty porcelain lightly with her finger. "Where's the Adelheid?"
"It's patrolling off the coast of San Francisco."
"Tell Katsutoshi Murata—the carrier's commanding officer—to stay sharp. We're not getting caught off guard again."
As she handed the cup back to a nearby attendant, Vela continued walking while speaking.
"I'll be speaking with Saburo-sama soon to discuss the full scope and consequences of the Santa Fe conflict. We need Tokyo to be ready. We've shouted about war and vengeance for years—this time, it might actually be closer than ever. Unless Myers pulls something unpredictable. But that seems unlikely…"
Ding.
Vela and Thomas stepped into the elevator together, ascending to the upper levels of Arasaka Tower.
...
That night—
Night City's neon lights painted the sky. In Pacifica, long forgotten by the NCPD, an unprecedented crackdown was suddenly underway.
Reports flooded in—NCPD deploying heavy units, Barghest and MaxTac moving in coordination, and even the elusive NetWatch showing their hand.
But what truly electrified the media wasn't the police operation—it was the confirmed arrival of the defected FIA agent, Songbird, in Night City.
As the Santa Fe conflict continued to escalate, and under the subtle orchestration of Arasaka and certain unseen players, Night City's media swarmed like flies to a corpse, descending on Corporate Plaza en masse.
In a blinding storm of flashes and camera shutters, a visibly exhausted Song So Mi—her expression heavy and eyes distant—was escorted from an armored convoy by Arasaka security toward the press conference venue.
From countless angles, footage and snapshots were uploaded across fractured media networks, each accompanied by sensational or fear-mongering headlines:
"Tragedy in Santa Fe: Washington's Political Opportunism and the Lazarus Atrocities at the Crossroads of Peace."
— World News Service.
"Arasaka Rejects Washington's Proposal—Conflict Escalates: Will the Defected FIA Agent Ignite War?"
— Network 54.
"The Wolf Returns?"
— Night City Inquirer.
"Arasaka vs. Militech—At It Again?"
— Diverse Media Systems.
"The Secret Past of Former White House Agent 'Songbird': What We Didn't Know…"
— New Century Broadcasting.
...
Some serious, some sensational—each outlet twisted the story to fit its stance, saturating the networks in a storm of media noise. Amid the information warfare, in the eye of the storm—Santa Fe—the real war only grew hotter.
Arasaka and Barghest. Militech and Lazarus. Both sides kept raising the stakes at the table, pushing their chips further into the open.
This was disparity made manifest. If the rest of the world still felt the conflict as distant rumblings, then in Santa Fe, it was no longer on the brink—it was in full blaze.
BOOM—!
Chunks of shattered concrete flew through the air. Beneath the choking dust, David Martinez lifted his head, staring blankly at the ruins that had once been an entire city block.
"War, huh…" he muttered quietly.