Adam Smasher's rescue of David Martinez was only a minor incident—it didn't delay Vela for long, nor could it slow the steps of Lazarus and Barghest. As reports of both sides deploying their heavy powered armor forces at the Santa Fe front began to spread, it was clear that the accelerator for North America's destabilization had been pressed.
When Vela sat in the executive chair of her Arasaka Tower 120th-floor office for the Americas Division, contacting her subordinates, colleagues, and allies to discuss full combat readiness and listen to their counsel with open sincerity, the Barghest reinforcements reaching the outskirts of Santa Fe—under the command of Kurt Hansen—launched their retaliatory assault against Lazarus' "dishonorable tactics" from thousands of kilometers away.
Though Arasaka and Militech had yet to completely tear off the mask of civility, each sending hypocritical ultimatums that appeared firm but were hollow, and despite peacekeeping mediators tirelessly working to de-escalate tensions, the true rulers of the world—the megacorporations—remained silent.
And silence was itself a statement.
In Night City, those attuned to the winds of change had already begun to quietly transfer assets and flee with their families.
This was not an isolated occurrence. For example, political fixers and donors who had funded Vice Mayor Weldon Holt were already expressing intentions to seek refuge abroad.
Likewise, among the Nomads—particularly the Aldecaldo clans gathered near the northern Arasaka Research Center's construction zone—division had begun. Many foremen and clan leaders chose to suspend work and lead their people away from the city to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
But all the external chaos could not shake Song So Mi, the spark that had ignited this entire conflict.
The next day.
Beep.
[AI: Visitor authentication complete and approved. Director Valerie, Ms. Song So Mi.]
In the quiet corridor of the 120th floor, Director V of Counter-Intelligence escorted the red-haired woman through the scanning tunnel. After nodding to the security chief standing watch nearby, she turned and said, "Thanks to you, I finally got to visit the 120th floor. The Director wants to see you—go ahead."
After a brief period of rest, medical checks, and refreshment, Song So Mi looked much better. She took a deep breath. "Thank you."
After expressing her gratitude to V for the protection, she proceeded toward the executive office, her every move under discreet observation.
The gates opened, and after announcing her arrival, she entered to find a cyber-ninja attendant dressed like a servant expertly preparing tea.
The atmosphere wasn't particularly tense.
"Dōzo (Please)," the attendant said softly, gesturing for Song So Mi to take a seat in the reception area. "The lady is currently presiding over a security affairs meeting."
He said "lady" instead of "director"—a mark of servitude and loyalty.
Song So Mi knew exactly what that meant. These attendants came from the Arasaka Family Compound in Tokyo.
The same rank as the cyber-ninja elites who had extracted her from Santa Fe and protected her during the escape from FIA and Militech operatives.
To employ such elite lone wolves as mere attendants—how extravagant...
Still, she was from the White House. She wasn't easily intimidated.
Crossing one leg over the other, she took a sip of tea to moisten her throat. As she waited for her summons, her thoughts turned again to Vela herself.
Back at the White House, she had seen plenty of Militech and FIA schemes directed at Vela—even before she rose to power.
Surveillance, bribery, assassination—the usual methods. To turn the then-young "promising Arasaka Security Division recruit," Militech intelligence operatives had even resorted to a honey trap, sending a charming male agent to flirt with her at a high-end bar in the City Center.
The result? Complete failure.
Once they realized she was likely a conservative, steel-willed straight woman, they tried every tactic imaginable.
Sigh. They really went through the wringer—testing her preferences with men of every race and type: pretty boys, mature men, muscle-bound brutes, even women, lolitas, and those who swung both ways.
In the end, they reached a conclusion: the target was possibly asexual, with signs of obsessive cleanliness, a tendency toward violence, high rational dominance over emotion, extreme focus, tireless energy, strong ambition for power, moderate narcissistic personality traits (not vanity, but lack of empathy and concern for others), and obsessive-compulsive tendencies (fixation on order, perfectionism, and control).
For a career corporate operative, such evaluations weren't insults—they were compliments.
As Vela's career advanced, the early analytical dossier drafted by a mid-level Militech intelligence officer in Night City eventually made its way onto the Resolute Desk of the White House.
Song So Mi had the privilege of reading it.
How to put it—she thought, the woman was practically a mirror of Rosalind Myers.
Aside from not being quite as ruthless, less experienced, and lacking some polish, everything else was clear: superior hardware across the board—younger, stronger, more academically gifted, taller, prettier—and perhaps a touch more emotional, more inclined toward gratitude and reciprocity...
Well, no wonder one of the White House advisors had privately joked: "Fuck, give her a few more years of seasoning and I swear it'll be like watching a young President Elizabeth Kress all over again."
Elizabeth Kress, Myers' predecessor—born into a military family, an Air Force colonel, former Militech CEO, and nine-term President of New United States. During the Fourth Corporate War, she defeated Arasaka, crushed Kei Arasaka, and was the person Saburo Arasaka hated most. She also secretly backed legends like Morgan Blackhand.
In short—Myers, upgraded.
So, as for her own circumstances, Song So Mi didn't dare to hope for much.
To stay alive. To avoid being over-augmented or consumed by the [Blackwall].
Freedom? That word didn't belong to weapons or tools.
If she ever truly gained "freedom," Myers' hounds would surely come for her.
As for switching sides—leaving Arasaka wouldn't guarantee anything better. The Moon? That unreliable option was only for when all else failed.
Half-imprisoned—Song So Mi could already foresee the long stretch of her foreseeable future.
Not only for her own safety, but as a precaution.
Tap, tap.
While she was still mulling over how to prove her value, the cyber-ninja attendant approached. "Ms. Song So Mi, the lady will see you now."
Snapped from her thoughts, Song So Mi nodded and stood up.
Following the attendant's steady steps, she passed through two security gates and entered the executive office.
Soft morning light streamed in through the window lattice, leaving narrow, fragmented streaks across the floor. The black-gold marble reflected the ghostly glow of the holographic display projected from the long table.
Before the vast floor-to-ceiling window stood a single figure.
Dressed in a neatly tailored suit, her golden hair gathered into a simple low ponytail, eyes sapphire-blue, features striking and composed. She exuded both grace and authority.
Her presence was undeniable.
At her sight, both the attendant and Song So Mi stepped forward and bowed respectfully.
"Lady / Ma'am."
"You've both done well," the woman said gently. "This isn't Tokyo. No need for such formality. Welcome to Arasaka Tower, Song So Mi. I'm Vela."
The blonde woman's voice was soft but clear. She gestured with her hand. "Please, have a seat."
The attendant understood, pulling out a chair.
Once Song So Mi sat down, the attendant silently stepped back to the corner, standing motionless.
After a few brief pleasantries, Vela shifted directly to business.
"I've reviewed your medical report. It's a mess, but it can be treated."
Hitting straight at the heart of her subject's concern, Vela spoke with precision.
Song So Mi's eyes immediately sharpened with hope.
"Two issues—one difficult, one simple. Let's start with the hard part. Your brain, affected by the [Blackwall] protocol, shows signs of possible AI indoctrination virus implantation. That'll require careful, long-term rehabilitation. A brute-force purge could reduce you to a vegetable—and I doubt you'd agree to that."
Vela smiled faintly. "You defected to me of your own will. The least I can do is perform better than Myers, don't you think?"
"As for the simpler matter—the rejection reactions and psychological instability from excessive cybernetic integration—my plan is to use byproducts from the [Sonnentreppe Project]'s R-618 'Rebirth' Compound to synthesize targeted immunosuppressants. Meanwhile, your cyberware will be gradually replaced with newer-generation models designed to minimize rejection."
That was no bluff.
Vela could actually do it.
From the [Ghost in the Shell] branch—the "other me" she referred to—she had already assimilated a significant portion of their advancements in optics, cybernetics, and biotechnological integration.
"Whew…"
Song So Mi exhaled slowly, not yet swept away by what could still be a gilded trap.
"And the cost?" she asked calmly.
"The cost," Vela said with a faint smile, "you've already paid."
Vela took a slow sip of her tea and said casually, "Or perhaps you'd rather follow Arasaka regulations—employees must serve twenty years of loyalty before qualifying for the newest cyberware upgrades?"
"Is… that not required?" Song So Mi hesitated.
Years in the political tides of the White House had taught her well—anything labeled 'free' was the most expensive kind of trap.
Free things always came with a cost.
"Of course it's required."
A faint blue shimmer of Geass glinted in Vela's eyes as she smiled.
"But you've done Arasaka a great service by exposing the White House's scandals and corruption. Thanks to you, we dismantled the FIA's West Coast intelligence network far sooner than expected. You've earned an exemption from the twenty-year contract. I'll personally handle your surgery—and preserve your netrunning capabilities."
"Don't underestimate yourself, So Mi. You're valuable."
Then, her tone shifted, her gaze locking on Song So Mi.
"Or perhaps… you'd rather be ordinary?"
Ordinary—meaning, have her implants removed, lost limbs replaced with flesh instead of chrome, no new augmentations. After removing the ticking 'bomb' in her brain, Vela could fulfill her promise and move on, without further investment.
She'd simply be kept under light supervision, protected from Militech assassins, shown to the public occasionally as proof that Arasaka didn't discard its assets. Once Arasaka won, perhaps she'd be released—funded to live a quiet, comfortable life until the world forgot her name.
If the NUSA triumphed, well… all bets were off.
The alternative—remaining within Arasaka—meant becoming one of their company dogs.
But not just any dog—a decorated one. From Myers' "trusted asset" to Vela's "favored subordinate."
In truth, there was only one choice.
Song So Mi gave a bitter smile. "No."
She shook her head. "Ordinary life isn't for me."
"Good."
Snap. Vela clicked her fingers lightly, her smile brightening. "Then it seems you've made the right choice."
As she spoke, her fingers brushed the polarized holographic display on the desk. She flicked through several projections, grasped one file from the air, minimized it, and snapped it toward Song So Mi.
Ding.
File received.
[Medical Report and Diagnostic — 'Songbird' Song So Mi]
"What's this?"
Glancing at the pop-up in her cybernetic HUD, Song So Mi blinked in confusion.
"Your treatment plan," Vela replied smoothly. "Within three days, I'll perform your initial procedure myself. Don't forget to follow your prescriptions. Even conservative treatment will ease your condition."
Then, with a faint smirk, she added, "I look forward to seeing your performance at the official press conference."
With that, Vela waved her hand—signaling the end of their meeting.
"Ms. Song So Mi, this way please," the cyber-ninja attendant said, stepping forward.
Clang—
As she exited the office, Song So Mi's expression was one of dazed awe—an act, of course.
Having spent years as a senior field operative, she wasn't so easily shaken.
Besides, she'd already glimpsed Vela's truly terrifying side beyond the [Blackwall]. This meeting had been far more pragmatic. The classic carrot-and-stick routine—efficient and unpretentious.
The carrot: a personal medical report and treatment plan.
The stick: Vela's simple gesture had overridden her ICE without any prompt or resistance. Clearly, during her "recovery," Arasaka's backdoors and control protocols had already been implanted.
The reminder about the press conference? A warning. Her performance would determine how much of the 'carrot' she'd be fed—and whether she'd stay useful.
Old tactics, but executed with textbook precision.
"Miss Songbird."
V stepped forward as her charge emerged.
"Just call me Song So Mi," she replied. "Songbird was the FIA's codename—and the media's label. Perhaps we'll be colleagues soon, Director V."
V raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "That would be rather nice."
She took Song So Mi's extended hand for a brief, measured handshake.
The onlookers caught every moment of the exchange.
"What's next on the schedule?" Song So Mi asked.
"The Ministry of Foreign Affairs," V replied. "We shouldn't keep Lord Mizuno waiting."
...
"Such a clever little bird. Haa..."
Closing the surveillance feed and exhaling a stream of white smoke, Vela slowly turned around.
Song So Mi's loyalty?
Heh—she wasn't that naive.
After all, empathy was a luxury she didn't possess. This was merely a bond of mutual interest—each taking what they needed.
They might turn on each other one day, or they might not.
For now, though, Song So Mi needed to live. And she couldn't be trusted. What Vela needed to do was extract every ounce of value from her—after the press conference, while treating her condition, she'd have her strike at Militech's intelligence web in Night City.
Thinking this through, faint red data flickered across Vela's indigo eyes as she opened a channel to the Arasaka Security Division.
"Keep her under surveillance."
Then, glancing at the mirrored surface of the floor-to-ceiling window—rippled with faint distortions—she saw silhouettes in constant motion. All of them working—for "her," for "me." All except those resting in the dark... and that one reckless fool gambling in a conventional-world casino.
"Emotional data received."
Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the thrill of that gambler's high, the fleeting rush providing a strange sense of catharsis. Extinguishing her cigarette, Vela turned back, summoned her personal UI terminal, and buried herself once again in endless reports and operations.
One war council after another. One administrative document after another.
To wear the crown is to bear its weight.
If she wished to lead Arasaka to crush the New United States, to dominate Earth, and ultimately reach for the stars—she would have to bear the responsibility and the pressure.
At least she'd had some rest. Myers was far more frantic now.
...
That same day.
World News Service Broadcast — Arasaka Tower, Night City.
"...In the reports from those so-called media outlets, Washington's power brokers have freely edited and fabricated whatever narrative suits them. Lies and disinformation have replaced truth, leading directly to the tragedy now engulfing North America."
"That is why I came to Arasaka. That is why I stand here today. This was the hardest decision of my life. But now, I will speak openly and reveal the truths buried by history."
"On the night of August 20th, 2023, at 11:45 PM—right here, in this very place—what truly happened?"
Behind her, the backdrop displayed slides of declassified FIA documents.
On stage, the red-haired defector straightened her posture, scanning the room with her deep brown eyes as the press cameras flashed.
"The 2023 Night City Arasaka Tower nuclear detonation... was carried out by Militech and the New United States."
Gasps erupted throughout the hall. Reporters shouted over each other, the crowd descending into chaos.
Ignoring the noise, the nearly full-body cyberized netrunner continued to speak, calmly stating her truth—along with just the right amount of bias and guided emphasis, exactly as instructed.
"Then-President Elizabeth Kress, faced with a deadlocked war and both internal and external crises, chose to fund cyber-mercenary units led by Morgan Blackhand, Spider Murphy, Lyle Thompson, and Johnny Silverhand—to execute a tactical nuclear strike..."
...
White House, Situation Room.
Watching her former "trusted agent" reveal classified New United States secrets live on a foreign broadcast, Rosalind Myers only smirked.
Anger? Of course. But she'd already exhausted her rage hours ago—during the morning's grueling presidential misconduct hearing, enduring the probing and ridicule of those congressional parasites. She was long past fury. Old scandals like these? Whatever. Fleas don't bother the dog that's already infested.
The real question now was how to strike back.
"Let them laugh," Myers said, scanning the room of advisors and strategists. "The final victor is the only one who matters. Have we confirmed the location of that damn carrier?"
"Confirmed," said one official, rising to report. "The Vela Adelheid is operating 100 nautical miles off the San Francisco Bay exclusion zone. Global Strike Command confirms our hidden anti-ship missile batteries in the Nevada Range are ready."
"Excellent."
Myers took a deep breath.
"If Arasaka insists on pressing forward, then we'll gamble everything. Just as President Kress defeated Arasaka before, we can do the same. The spirit of America's founders is watching us."
"But..."
One cabinet minister wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Starting a Corporate War—"
"Do you have a better idea?" Myers' gaze turned glacial. "Should we keep retreating while Arasaka devours us piece by piece? Step down quietly, let them pin the blame on us, and leave behind a legacy of cowardice?"
"I... I understand." The man's voice faltered. Finally, he lowered his head.
"Good. Then we're in agreement."
Bang! Myers slammed her fist on the table, leaning forward, her eyes burning with cold resolve.
"Send Arasaka our final ultimatum. And from this moment—I declare the New United States under full martial law!"
"All political and congressional activities are suspended. Any criticism of the state or its leader is prohibited. Deploy Militech troops to Capitol Hill—arrest every opposition leader."
"Order the western-state anti-ship missile units to target the Vela Adelheid. Launch a saturation strike. When war begins—sink it."
Fifteen minutes later, the Situation Room monitors showed live feeds of Militech soldiers storming Capitol Hill. The atmosphere grew heavier.
"Madam President."
Under the tense gaze of every official, the military liaison swallowed hard and stood. "Anti-ship missiles are armed and ready. Awaiting your command."
"Fire," Myers said.
"Fire!"
...
At that same moment, during a network briefing in Arasaka Tower, Vela suddenly raised her head.
Beep—beep!
A blood-red alert pulsed across her display.
[INCOMING WAR ALERT]
—
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