"Huh."
"Lazarus deployed their powered armor unit?"
In the Arasaka Tower's Intercontinental Division President's office, which occupied half of the 120th floor, Vela, having just finished briefing Saburo at the Arasaka family internal meeting and taken a quick shower, stared at the holographic projector on her luxurious stone desk, her eyes focused.
The glowing hologram: strands of light intertwined and bent, outlining multiple armored figures. The black-and-white spear logo silently proclaimed their identity—the powered armor soldiers of Lazarus. These were three-dimensional replicas transmitted back from the Santa Fe front line.
In fact, the moment the defense line encountered Lazarus' powered armor units, the Arasaka SAT hacker responsible for the network management of that sector received the report and immediately transmitted an early warning to higher command.
After being relayed through several emergency channels, along with partial recorder footage from SAT operatives and Barghest mercenaries, the data finally appeared on Vela's desk.
The development was slightly faster than Vela had anticipated—but everything remained within her plan.
As for the losses of Barghest and SAT...
Well, war was cruel. Casualties were inevitable. Only the question of whether it was worth it mattered.
The latter, being Vela's direct subordinates, had continued to remain in Santa Fe after completing the operation to extract the defector FIA agent Songbird. Their presence was a deliberate statement—a show of solidarity with Barghest and a message that Vela stood firmly with her allies.
Their numbers might not have been large, but presence mattered.
"Notify Mizuno Masao (Head of the Foreign Affairs Ministry). Make the announcement public. Tell the global media—the one escalating this conflict isn't Arasaka."
After issuing the order, Vela lightly tapped the communications panel embedded in the desk, switching the call from [Foreign Affairs Ministry] to [War Room].
"Has Adam Smasher arrived yet?" she asked.
"Smasher's unit has reached Santa Fe," the War Room duty officer immediately reported.
"Also, the casualty report..."
He hesitated slightly. "Barghest's figures are still being compiled. On our side, SAT casualties total thirty-three. The first to engage was the newly-formed N Squad of SAT-6—only three of sixteen survived."
"Bury the dead with honor, comfort the families, treat the wounded generously, and promote the survivors with commendation and arms."
Vela sighed softly. "The list."
"Shinichi Tanaka, Katsuo Kawakami, Mark Wulai."
That was all.
"Hm?" Vela frowned slightly.
Wait, where were my roaming enforcers?
But soon, her expression eased.
Killed in action, perhaps?
Well, that was the fate of warriors. She wasn't omniscient—there was no such thing as perfection. Sharpening the blade always carried the risk of it breaking, especially when the grindstone was Lazarus' powered armor corps.
In the Cyberpunk world, the so-called powered armor—formally known as Assisted Combat Personnel Armor (ACPA)—was an individual combat system built on a standardized humanoid framework with external composite armor and an integrated control interface.
The humanoid form was chosen because the pilot was human.
After brain-machine synchronization and neural co-link calibration, most trained pilots found it easier to operate bipedal humanoid mechs rather than bestial or irregular forms.
Of course, non-humanoid types weren't banned—just costly to train for.
Generally, powered armor came in two categories: full-scale and non-scale.
Full-scale models matched human proportions, usually around 2.2 meters tall and weighing under a ton—classified as light models.
Non-scale models were larger, heavier, and far more destructive—mid-weight, heavy, or even ultra-heavy class. There was effectively no upper limit: as long as materials and engineering allowed, any size qualified as non-scale.
Each type had its advantages. There was no "best," only what suited the mission.
On the front line, however, the latter reigned supreme.
The SAT-6's newly formed N Squad fighting in Santa Fe had run straight into a Lazarus heavy-class powered armor assault detachment.
Such a valiant death was worthy of the highest commendation—beyond reproach.
"What a pity."
Vela shook her head slightly.
"Compile the combat logs from SAT-6's newly formed N Squad. I want the full picture—as soon as possible."
As she spoke, she placed down the towel she had been using to dry her hair and slid her fingers across the communication panel, about to change her contact.
"Ms. Vela."
The voice on the other end suddenly rose in pitch. "Data update—N Squad, four survivors out of sixteen. Just now, Adam Smasher reported that he's found an interesting consciousness."
"Manual scan confirms ID: David Martinez."
"Due to severe physical destruction, the central processor was destroyed and the signal generator had shut down, causing the field logistics AI to mistakenly mark his biological signal as offline."
"Status has now been corrected."
Beep—roster updated.
[David Martinez — ALIVE]
Tsk, what kind of feeling was this—losing something only to get it back?
Tightening the pure white bathrobe around her body, her pale golden hair left loose, click, Vela lit a slender filtered lady's cigarette. She walked toward the curved recliner near the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand petting the humming white albino miniature tyrannosaur on the cushion, the other holding the cigarette as she exhaled a smoke ring, eyes tracing the silhouette of heavy drones gliding past the window.
It felt like a dog that had gone missing for days suddenly came back filthy and wagging its tail.
...
A few minutes earlier, on the Santa Fe conflict front line.
A seven-story composite building—N Squad's defensive sector.
Boom—Bang—Ratatatat—!!
On the first floor, after an instant of blue light came darkness—then crimson.
The battlefield ruins: thick air reeking of blood, and beneath it the smell of charred flesh, concrete dust, ozone, even excrement and bile. The nauseating mix of acrid odors made anyone want to vomit on instinct...
But David didn't. He was gasping—breathing it in.
Because he was about to die.
Katsuo and the others... did they make it out?
With that question lingering, David's shattered body fell from the edge of an exploding plasma sphere, thud—hitting the uneven cement floor. The gun in his hand, its casing half-melted, flew off to the side.
"Run! Keep running, you little rat! Come on—keep using your [Sandevistan]!"
A thunderous crash shook the air as a three-meter-tall steel beast landed heavily, one massive iron foot stomping down viciously on the crippled SAT operative's knees.
Crack—Crunch!
The malfunctioning health monitor screamed a continuous alarm.
Including the EXO exoskeleton's metal leg frame, David's legs shattered below the knees. Synthetic skin, subdermal armor, artificial muscle strands, [Ankle Reinforcement], [Dense Bone Marrow]—all torn apart. Elastic cables whipped around, some sparking, some leaking blood and viscous fluid.
David's whole body tensed, and he screamed in agony: "Ahhhh!!"
Pain signals flooded back—he knew the [Pain Editor] module was failing due to external damage.
He tried to inject painkillers—his blood-soaked retinal HUD flickered: the integrated auto-med injector module was empty.
His body instinctively tried to move his fingers—to do something—but there was no response.
Only then did David remember—his left arm had been blown off earlier when he'd overclocked his [Sandevistan], dodging Lazarus powered armor fire while mowing down infantry. His right hand—the one holding the gun—had just been scorched and melted by a plasma blast.
Nothing on his body remained intact. [Sandevistan] had hit its limit.
Out of ammo, out of options.
This was the end.
"Hah... hahahaha..."
Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and David suddenly laughed.
"What are you laughing at?"
Bang! A single shot tore through the last intact arm at his shoulder, severing it clean. The lead Lazarus powered armor pilot glared down at him with killing intent.
"What the hell's so funny?"
"Like I'd tell you... bastard..."
"Tch!"
The pilot tilted the mech's sensors upward, sneering. "You were buying time for them, weren't you? Hmph. That little EMP trick? A child's game. Don't worry—they'll be joining you soon enough."
Clack, clack—the pilot aimed his laser cannon at the fallen David.
"Farewell."
Vmmm—
The cannon charged, blue light steadily brightening.
David closed his eyes.
Mom... sorry. I'm breaking my promise…
But then—
"Who exactly are you saying farewell to?"
The cold, mechanical, gravelly male voice tore through the building like a bullet.
BOOOOM—!!
The wall exploded. The Lazarus pilot hastily fired his plasma cannon, but the incoming figure's speed was beyond comprehension. A shockwave blasted through—clang! The heavy mech's arm was forcibly bent backward, metal screeching and twisting as the plasma blast fired wildly to the side.
BOOM! Plasma detonated, smoke and debris filled the air.
"You're—!!"
Seeing the newcomer's monstrous, over 3.7-meter-tall powered armor—black plating, crimson lines, the iconic horned helmet, and the Arasaka logo—the Lazarus pilot's voice cracked. "A new Daemon-class?! No... it's Adam Smasher!!"
"Annoying."
And then—BOOM!
With a sound that split the air, the terrifying black metal titan moved. One twist, one wrench—and the enemy that had overwhelmed both Barghest and N Squad alike was torn apart like paper. The horrified Lazarus pilot was ripped from his cockpit and crushed—his skull bursting like a melon.
Blood splattered across David's face. His mind went blank. Watching Adam Smasher tear through the three remaining enemies in mere moments, his last breath escaped him—his head tilted, and he passed out cold.
...
Interesting. Adam Smasher saved David Martinez?
How unpredictable. The world truly never ceases to amuse.
"Phew…"
Holding her cigarette between two fingers, Vela smiled faintly and stepped up to the vast floor-to-ceiling window. Through the adjustable polarized glass, she gazed down at the entire Corporate Plaza.
Night City was ablaze with its usual chaotic energy.
High above, Arasaka's new Scorpion-class heavy drones hovered outside the fortified, blast-resistant glass facade. Their jagged, mandible-like visors flashed warning lights, weaving alongside smaller patrol drones—together forming an image of Arasaka's cold, unrelenting dominance.
On the ground, the Plaza's resident agents and security forces clustered together. NCPD lights flashed furiously, AVs hung suspended in midair, and rows of weary officers formed barricades around the central transit hub—fully armed, ready to prevent any accidental corporate crossfire.
Among them were onlookers chasing the spectacle, opportunists delighting in chaos, and protestors waving banners calling for peace—voices against the ever-churning machinery of war.
"So then," Vela murmured softly, exhaling a final ribbon of smoke. "After the facade is built, what will your next move be, Myers?"