The dim yet spacious room was thick with the smell of concrete dust, mold, gunpowder, dampness, and blood.
Gun parts, repair tools, diagnostic equipment, charging cables, medicine, canned food, field rations, and crates of ammunition were stacked in every corner of the room, forming an impression of chaos that somehow remained orderly.
This was a safehouse set up by Arasaka's Intelligence Division in Santa Fe's western district before the "Songbird Defection Incident."
Now, it had been taken over and modified by SAT, serving as a temporary forward field base.
Clang, thud thud.
Dust trickled down as explosions and bursts of gunfire echoed near and far. Faint, uneven sounds of something heavy being moved could be heard upstairs.
"It's Tanaka and Martinez."
Beneath a dust curtain hanging like a bedsheet overhead, an SAT netrunner operating a fully reinforced military-grade computer lifted his head slightly.
Data cables were still plugged into the deep-dive socket at the back of his head. Surrounding him were multiple monitors, CPUs, switches, external coolers, and even a compact integrated server rack.
Undoubtedly, he was Arasaka's network operator for this zone.
[ID Verified]
Beep, kzzzt—
Access granted. The sentry turret lowered its barrel.
After fighting since midday with only brief mobile support, David Martinez and his team—finally finding a short window to breathe by nightfall—pushed the door open and stepped inside.
His exoskeleton armor was scarred with bullet marks, scrapes, and dents.
Inside, another SAT squad who had just finished resupplying stood up in unison, unplugged their charging cables, grabbed their freshly reloaded weapons, and after a curt nod to the grimy group led by David, walked out carrying tubes and launchers filled with heavy ordnance and ammunition.
"Make the most of the time."
The sergeant of the SAT command team stationed at the safehouse tossed a bottle of battery-infused liquor over, sparing his words.
Hiss. Lifting his visor, steam poured out like from a steamer basket. David said nothing—pop—just twisted open the bottle and gulped.
The electrified alcohol exploded down his throat, the numbing burn shooting up his nasal cavity, instantly sharpening his senses.
As he sat down, he passed the bottle back.
Katsuo Tanaka took it without hesitation. Despite the grime, oil, and blood smudging the bottle from David's hand, he raised it and drank deep. Once done, he too passed it back.
Having endured the baptism of real combat—different from urban security or special operations—and after the heavy losses at Hizawa, even the usually talkative morale-keeper, Suneo Kawakami, stayed silent.
After a swig of liquor, everyone silently checked their weapons and cyberware.
Beep beep. David tapped the PDA interface embedded in his forearm to set it to standby mode, then removed his scratched, battle-worn helmet, revealing a young face that had long lost its innocence.
The last few active sweat glands on his forehead strained to function. Sweat trickled from the tips of his punk-styled hair, marking his exhaustion.
But time was short, and the mission was urgent. Rest would be brief—David had to move fast.
Plugging a charging cable into the [EX0-2 Improved Model] exoskeleton, he drew a personal link from his wrist and connected it to the diagnostic module on the chair.
[Low-Intelligence Diagnostic AI: Beginning system scan.]
[Combat System Diagnostics: Adrenaline release control—normal. Pain editor—normal. Inertial control—normal...]
[Statistics: CNS/CPU response time...]
[Core System Diagnostics: Compatibility—98.7%. Primary memory block ready. Cyber components...]
...
As the progress bar ran along his retinal HUD, David simultaneously powered on the energy core for his body's cyberware—the micro battery receiver. The combat implants began charging.
Though Santa Fe, like Night City, was equipped with wireless charging stations that activated automatically when one approached, this was now a war zone—both sides had long since cut power grids as a basic precaution.
Moreover, no one dared to use an unknown wireless charger here. In Santa Fe, the enemy wasn't some ragtag force—it was Militech and Lazarus. Who could say if that wireless station wouldn't blow up mid-charge or infect your systems with a daemon virus?
This was no asymmetric war—it was total war.
Thus, the most reliable way to replenish their strength was still at their own field base.
While waiting for diagnostics and maintenance, David didn't remain idle—he tore into an energy bar with large bites.
"Hey, Martinez, relax. Your diagnostics are done. I'll run a quick maintenance check."
A tech specialist from the SAT support unit approached, tablet in hand.
He tapped on it a few times.
Whirr! Access shared. The drive core on David's back gave a faint tremor as the exoskeleton's plug-in panels unlocked. The mechanical arm attached to his chair extended sideways, pulling out modular devices to check backup energy cells and replenish stimulants, sedatives, suppressants, painkillers, and hormones.
That was one of the downsides of a full exoskeleton suit—it made self-injection nearly impossible.
After all, the metal framework was covered by an armored shell, and underneath was a high-strength polycarbonate fiber combat suit. With no exposed skin, drug administration had to be handled by integrated auto-medical devices connected to the exoskeleton's drive core—motor-controlled and internally injected.
Oral medication was another matter entirely.
The technician also performed maintenance on David's frequently triggered [Self-ICE (Intrusion Countermeasure Unit)], while the mechanical arm calibrated, cleaned, and lubricated the exoskeleton's electric drive systems. Even if it could still function, upkeep was mandatory.
Before long, the specialist's attention shifted away from David.
Katsuo and Suneo's diagnostics were done as well.
The four technicians worked efficiently.
Or perhaps, it was because wartime recovery procedures had been simplified and standardized—no detailed professional-level cyberware service like one would receive from a ripperdoc. Unless you were severely injured and lucky enough to still be breathing when sent to the rear.
Those coming here were all in similar condition.
The worse-off ones—amputated limbs, exoskeleton failure, cyberware malfunction—were sorted and stationed at other aid points according to severity.
In less than five minutes, David was fully suited again, helmet on, chewing high-caffeine combat gum while swiftly reloading magazines.
The room was quiet—aside from equipment hums and software pings came the rhythmic sounds of charging handles, magazines snapping into place, and chamber covers clicking shut.
Mixed in were faint noises of smoking, eating, and gulping.
After a few more minutes—"Graves and Caudell's team are back."
The netrunner suddenly turned his head.
David and Katsuo exchanged a look and rose to their feet.
Whoosh. The whole squad stood, weapons raised and launchers slung.
Beep, kzzzt—
Another squad burst through the door, covered in grime and fatigue.
Many were wounded, their armor slick with blood.
From the look of them, their situation was far worse than David's team.
"Watch out. Lazarus reinforcements might be inbound."
The squad leader who entered offered the warning.
"Copy that. Thanks."
David nodded, hoisting an M2067 Defender machine gun with one hand and a crate of anti-armor rockets with the other, following Katsuo out of the base.
They passed through the sentry turret's overlapping lines of fire and a web of hidden laser trip mines, reaching the checkpoint at the underground entrance. After exchanging codes with the surface sentries, the team emerged back into the open.
The closer they got to the surface, the louder the chaos became.
The thunder of gunfire filled the air.
Engines roared past, shells and rockets thudded in the distance, the creak of collapsing ruins mixed with the crackling of fires consuming debris—each sound layered into the orchestra of war.
Whoosh—
The night wind blew through the gaps of a shattered concrete wall.
Tonight in Santa Fe, the hot wind carried choking dust and the stench of smoke.
David leaned against a bloodstained wall whose marks would never fully wash away.
Everywhere he looked—ruin and devastation.
Just yesterday this place had been lively, like the old districts of Santo Domingo from his childhood memories. Now, only broken walls, burnt-out car husks, and blazing fires remained, painting the chaos in shades of red.
Their current position was on the first floor of a large shopping mall.
Dozens of deployed combat robots were fortifying the site under Barghest soldiers' direction.
Further west, what had once been an open shopping concourse was now filled with Barghest's anti-air emplacements, electronic warfare systems, and light rocket launchers—firing suppressive barrages toward an unseen target.
On the highway, armored vehicles and drone carrier trucks thundered past.
"Hackers, stay alert for counter-drone activity."
Katsuo glanced up at the drones whirring overhead, then pointed toward the seven-story office-commercial complex two blocks away—its engines roaring, explosions bursting without pause. He swung his arm sharply. "Move out!"
"Pfft."
Spitting out his gum and taking a hit of MaxDoc, David sealed his visor.
The squad moved swiftly, weaving through the terrain toward their target.
...
At the office complex, the firefight raged on.
Flare after flare streaked into the sky.
Outside, light armored vehicles clashed in dueling bursts of gunfire, while supporting infantry darted in and out of cover—each side exchanging rockets, grenades, and lead.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and smoke, bullet holes riddled every surface of the stairwells, and the heavy thuds of gunfire overlapped endlessly.
Men bearing the black-and-white spear insignia of Lazarus traded blows with those wearing the green hound's head of Barghest.
"Those green-muzzled mutts—digging their dogholes again? Damn good dogs."
"Ha! You East Coast rust-belt dumbass, dogs are man's most loyal friends, didn't you know that?"
"Loyal? A flunky of Kurt Hansen dares talk loyalty? You bunch of traitors licking Vela's filthy corporate drainpipe!"
"Eat shit! Who abandoned us first, huh? Now you're just rusted scrap fighting to polish that hag Myers' iron ass!"
"You mutt—I'll boil you alive!!"
"See? Now he's mad."
Amid the screaming and insults, gunfire ripped the air apart. Moans and dying cries echoed through the concrete halls.
One moment—a Barghest operative blasted a Lazarus trooper's skull open through the wall with an electromagnetic slug.
The next—a Lazarus grenadier lobbed a cluster of explosives, shredding the wall. A Barghest fighter, caught mid-dodge, froze as shrapnel tore through his armor—then, before he could fall, a high-caliber anti-material round struck home, tearing him into chunks of blood and composite plating.
Elsewhere, a Barghest soldier and a Lazarus marine collided head-on in a narrow corridor. They emptied their magazines, smashed each other with rifles, drew sidearms, exchanged close-range bursts that punched through armor but not flesh, then pulled knives—stabbing, slashing, grappling—until both crashed through a shattered window, tumbling down together.
Blasted exoshells, fried circuit boards, shorted-out combat bots, and heaps of destroyed drones littered every corner—machines and men, both consumed by attrition.
...
Life was as cheap as weeds.
Weapons and tech burned out by the minute.
This was the front line of a corporate war in the Cyberpunk world.
Even if this was just a fraction of the battlefield, even if the main forces hadn't arrived yet, even if the soldiers—hardened mercenaries, veterans with sharp reflexes and real combat experience—were elite by normal standards, here they were nothing but expendable pieces.
Chips on the table of corporate power.
The SAT was no exception.
Just higher-value chips—worth more than Barghest grunts, but still chips nonetheless.
"Die!"
A Lazarus officer, encased in a full Centaur-class exosuit, roared as he raised his thermal cannon. The charging hum rose—the searing red glow flared—whirr—BOOM!
The stairwell floor erupted into a gaping two-meter-long, one-meter-wide hole. Shattered debris rained down, and an unlucky soul fell through.
Half his body melted instantly, the gun and the [EXO–1] exosuit's frame deforming like a wax candle.
The Barghest officer who had just been trading insults with the Lazarus soldier was scorched by the blast, his pauldron burned off, his shoulder flayed open like a ruptured blossom. He collapsed, dragged away by a teammate.
"Shit!"
He spat blood and cursed in a Californian drawl. "Energy weapon? Fuckin' Rust Belt bastard!"
"Ha! Like you sneaky exosuit-swapping scum have any morals!"
Thud! The Lazarus officer's auxiliary limb slammed into the wall for balance. The heavy Centaur armor stomped forward, its alloy foot crushing the rubble beneath. Raising his shield, he signaled to nearby troopers to cover him while the thermal cannon's barrel charged once more.
"Die!"
He sneered.
Crackle! Sparks burst from his neural jack.
"Watch out—Arasaka reinforcements!"
His ICE defenses were still struggling against an intrusion.
The next instant—a tungsten-tipped, electrified round pierced straight through the exosuit shield the officer had just raised!
From the narrow window to the west—opposite building—sniper!
In that split second, he jerked his head aside.
The tungsten slug struck at an angle, shattering his faceplate and tearing a jagged wound across his cheek. Subdermal armor fragments burst free, his lower jaw snapped off, exposing a reinforced synthetic windpipe.
The pain editor suppressed the agony, keeping him conscious.
That was how he saw his assailant.
Above the narrow window, through a hole blasted open by a prior drone strike, a grappling hook latched into the brick wall. A fully armed giant vaulted up, the battle-scarred visor of his helmet glowing an ominous crimson.
The special assault team stationed in Santa Fe—?!
Too late!
The Lazarus officer tried to counterattack, but the newcomer was faster.
David activated [Sandevistan]. In an instant, he blurred—clang!
Metal clashed. A translucent red shield split apart. The muzzle of David's gun aligned with the officer's bleeding helmet breach—bang!—the head burst apart.
All within a single second.
As the remaining Lazarus soldiers turned in shock, David had already crushed their skulls. A bunch of grunts without exosuits—nothing more.
Ratatat!Boom! Boom!
The rest of the SAT operatives stormed the building, coordinating with Barghest defenders. In minutes, the Lazarus assault team was annihilated.
Glancing toward the retreating Lazarus remnants vanishing into the darkness under the flickering light of flares, David turned and called to the Barghest unit nearby.
"This mission won't be easy."
Carrying his [Nekomata] electromagnetic sniper rifle, Katsuo approached from across the street, his expression grim as he stared at the headless corpse inside the Centaur-class exosuit.
Being in a combat zone meant nonstop fighting or redeployment. With the Songbird extraction mission classified, Katsuo had no knowledge of the outside world's political storm—but his instincts told him this conflict was escalating fast.
Lazarus and Barghest were both doubling down in Santa Fe, and the number of FIA agents they'd taken out was already beyond counting…
Would Washington back down this time?
As for Vela—Katsuo Tanaka found that unlikely. Not unless the Board could gain something elsewhere.
"Forget it. Orders are orders."
Katsuo turned to David.
"Request engineering bots to reinforce the perimeter. We're holding this position until morning. By then, Mr. Hansen's main force will arrive. Whether it's negotiation or escalation—that'll be Washington's choice."
David nodded, then walked toward the wounded Barghest officer being treated for his shoulder injury. Just as he opened his mouth—
"Lieutenant, you—"
"Contact!"
The sentry's sudden shout cut him off.
"Lazarus reinforcements?"
David shifted positions, finding a small gap in the wall. To avoid sniper fire, he cautiously extended a micro camera probe to the east.
Roughly two hundred meters away at the street corner, a Lazarus convoy was rolling past—infantry, APCs, troop carriers… light tanks? Wait, that van-type armored vehicle—was that a mobile network hub for a netrunner?
Before David could finish the thought, the van's side hatch slid open.
From within the shadow, a massive humanoid silhouette—broad, hulking, its form almost grotesquely overbuilt—rose to its full height.
David's eyes widened. "What the—?!"
In the blink of an eye, blinding light burst forth. Steel roared. Flames jetted from its back, launching the monster skyward. It soared across two hundred meters of low altitude—
And crashed straight into the very office complex where David and his team were stationed.
BOOM!!
A thunderous blast.
One corner of the complex erupted in smoke and fire.
The next second, a torrent of metallic fury tore through the floors—ripping apart walls, spewing sparks, debris, fire, smoke, and shattered insulation panels in all directions. The cacophony of impacts echoed as something immense smashed through wall after wall.
"Damn it—powered armor units!!"
Katsuo Tanaka roared, "Evade! All units—scatter!!"