As the fighting in Night City's mutiny intensified and Vela prepared to return, across the East Coast—in Washington, D.C.
"...So, the individual who proactively reached out to us and repeatedly supplied internal Arasaka intelligence—was Yorinobu Arasaka himself?"
"What was his motive?"
The White House situation room was thick with smoke.
The air was a dense blend of cigarette haze, perfume, alcohol, coffee, deodorizer, and air freshener—a chaotic cocktail of scents.
Rosalind Myers, having just returned from a grueling 2.7 km dash from Capitol Hill after a heated debate, looked visibly drained from verbally sparring with political opponents. She held a slender cigarette between her fingers, her expression clouded with doubt as she glanced around the room at her inner circle—trusted aides, advisors, and military strategists who had been working overtime for days.
"Power corrupts the heart," one aide remarked. "Perhaps that woman—Vela A. Russell—drove him insane? Desperation makes men reckless."
"Unlikely," another strategist countered. "It could be related to the Relic 2.0 biocomponent—part of Saburo's life-extension program. We all know what that thing really is, don't we? A digital imprint of the dead. Every test subject used was an enemy of Arasaka."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Yorinobu may have intended to sell it to us. But he couldn't resist temptation—and used an early-stage prototype himself. Perhaps the data imprint of one of Arasaka's deceased enemies contaminated his mind?"
"Heh. Are you spinning ghost stories now, Councilor?"
"It's a plausible hypothesis," the man replied calmly. "Entirely consistent with the facts."
"Or maybe it's much simpler," another added. "As the Kang Tao saying goes: 'The heir's struggle is eternal.'"
"And what if this entire thing was a trap—staged by Vela and Yorinobu together?"
...
The room erupted into debate.
Tap, tap.
Rosalind's fingers drummed against the table. She took a deep drag from her state-issued cigarette, frowning as the smoke steadied her nerves.
"So, the most likely explanation remains an inheritance struggle?" she asked, still skeptical.
Even with Japan's long tradition of gekokujō—the lower overthrowing the higher—launching a coup amid such a high-stakes global confrontation was insanity. Yorinobu... was he fighting for power, or digging his own grave?
Even if we take the worst-case scenario—Yorinobu's mutiny succeeds, Saburo is imprisoned or killed, and Vela is defeated—the consequences would be catastrophic. The upheaval would shake Arasaka to its core, sow panic and confusion throughout its ranks.
A single misstep could turn victory at the front lines into a total collapse.
In such a case, Arasaka's meteoric rise would be halted. Even if Yorinobu seized control, the North American faction—Vela's faction—along with allied forces like the Free State Coalition and Barghest, would never recognize some "island-born princeling" across the ocean. Arasaka would fracture.
After all, Yorinobu was no Vela. Capable, yes—but not exceptional. He lacked her reach, her charisma, her ability to unify.
Add to that the stain of a coup, and whispers of collusion with foreign powers—his political footing would be crippled before he even began.
Most importantly—could Yorinobu even win?
What if this was all an elaborate trap set by that cunning bitch, Vela Russell?
Myers couldn't take the risk.
Her wariness wasn't born solely of political prudence—it came from bitter experience. She'd been burned before, outplayed and deceived.
And she knew one thing: Yorinobu, as Saburo's only living son, already had everything—wealth, influence, privilege—without the weight of true responsibility. Even if Vela rose to power, as an adopted Arasaka, she couldn't target him directly. She'd have to protect him for the sake of appearances.
Petty power struggles were one thing—like the 2075 leak of the Sonnentreppe Project, which Myers had since confirmed was Yorinobu's doing. But open rebellion? That was suicide.
By rebelling, Yorinobu had severed his golden parachute.
If Vela killed him now, it would be justified.
He'd have to be insane to do this. But for what?
Myers couldn't wrap her head around it.
Unfortunately, time wasn't on her side. Opportunities vanished in seconds.
The only thing she knew for certain was this: Arasaka was tearing itself apart, and Yorinobu had set the whole corporation ablaze. The mutiny was in full swing, and intelligence suggested the lower echelons of Arasaka were completely in the dark—each battlefront falling into disarray.
With Arasaka's armies faltering, Militech's global pressure—in markets, orbital facilities, and even lunar colonies—was beginning to ease.
Whether trap or not, this was a rare chance.
To bet—or not to bet—was no longer the question.
The question was: how much?
Rosalind Myers fell silent for several seconds.
Then, crushing her cigarette into the ashtray, she declared sharply, "We bet. And we bet big."
Her staff froze mid-breath.
"Activate every embedded operative," she ordered.
The others looked grim—but the Director of the Federal Intelligence Agency nearly leapt out of his seat in panic.
"Madam President, FIA—"
Myers raised a hand to silence him.
"I know. After Songbird's defection, the Federal Intelligence Agency's network on the West Coast is still reeling from the damage. But..." She leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—the convergence of Saburo Arasaka, Yorinobu Arasaka, Michiko Arasaka, and Vela in one place: Night City."
Who wasn't there? Hanako Arasaka. Not worth mentioning.
She paused briefly, then turned to the Militech Vice President stationed at the White House, her gaze burning. "After we officially pulled out of Night City, how much strength do we still have hidden around the city?"
The VP instinctively assumed she was referring to the strategic nuclear device buried beneath the Militech Offices.
"No." He shook his head immediately. "Before the war, Arasaka already treated us like thieves. After the conflict began, even though we technically retained ownership of the building, Arasaka organized a joint security task force with every major Night City corporation. Using our 'prior record' as justification, they conducted deep inspections of all Militech public facilities—including the headquarters itself. Every inch was searched."
"So it's gone?" Myers exhaled. "As expected. Arasaka learned from President Kress' playbook—they wouldn't fall for the same trick twice." She shifted her tone. "Then what about the safehouses, the black armories, the stored subnuclear ordnance?"
The VP's eyes narrowed. "Madam President, are you suggesting—?"
"An eye for an eye." Myers' tone was cool. "It's foolish to expect Arasaka to stumble twice in the same place. But we can take a page from Vela's book. While Yorinobu draws the fire, and chaos spreads through Night City, we'll unleash the subnuclear warheads—all of them. And activate every embedded corporate operative."
Dropping nukes in Night City's corporate district would provoke global outrage—do it, and retaliation would be guaranteed. But subnuclear bombs? Those were fair game. As long as they didn't hit City Center or North Oak, no one would dare complain. Casualties would be called "collateral."
"Time is short. Move, now."
"Yes, ma'am!" The VP sprang to his feet and hurried out toward the communications office adjacent to the situation room.
"Then, Madam President," a general asked, "regarding Yorinobu Arasaka's proposed joint operation—the ambush on Vela's convoy... are we still proceeding?"
"Of course we are," Myers said with a faint smile. "Ambush the convoy—if nothing else, it might delay her return. Don't engage directly. Let her make it back to Night City—and let her tear Yorinobu apart herself."
She tapped a document on her desk. "Also—Arasaka Coastal is preparing to ship liquid Sakuradite and Sakuradite bombs back to Tokyo. Tell Yorinobu I'm interested in his sincerity."
"If we can't secure the Sakuradite bombs, that's fine—but I want at least one vial of liquid Sakuradite."
Working with Yorinobu Arasaka? To make peace after victory?
What a joke. Cooperation was temporary—purely transactional.
They were just using the spoiled heir.
If it turned out to be a trap, she'd cut losses immediately.
Even if they took damage behind enemy lines, the front would remain stable—it wouldn't matter.
But if it wasn't a trap...
Then perhaps this was the moment for New America to endure—and rise again.
"For the prosperity of the New United States. Victory will be ours."
After rallying her subordinates, Myers finally leaned back into her chair.
She let out a slow, weary breath.
Was she truly as calm as she appeared? Of course not.
But as the wartime president, she had to be. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. The people needed certainty—and she was their anchor.
"Vela Adelheid Russell..." Myers murmured, closing her eyes in thought.
After the lightning assault on the Great Lakes, she had combed through every record she could find on that woman.
She had to admit—if she were in Vela's place, she couldn't have done what Vela did.
Brilliant, composed, sharp-witted. Educated, capable, even technically adept. She had risen fast yet remained grounded—no arrogance, no carelessness, no eccentricities. Step by step, with precision and grace.
If that were all, Myers could accept it. But Vela's first large-scale military campaign—commanding hundreds of thousands—had gone flawlessly. No hesitation, no learning curve. She'd simply... known what to do. Adapted instantly. Controlled the battlefield like she'd done it a hundred times before.
Could it really be as Arasaka claimed—that so-called "Heaven's Gift"?
Myers rubbed her temples, forcing herself to push the thought aside.
No. She couldn't rely solely on Arasaka's internal chaos. Countermeasures had to accelerate. The front needed pressure—more pressure.
Her gaze drifted to the holographic globe on her desk.
It rotated slowly... until she stopped it on one region.
Europe.
"Europeans," she muttered. "You wouldn't want to see Arasaka parading its dominance either... would you?"
...
Rumble—!!
Northern Badlands, outside Night City.
After a brief but fierce skirmish, burning vehicle wreckage littered the wasteland. The stench of charred cyborg corpses wafted through the scorched air.
"Commander, the area's clear. Secure."
"Mm."
Crunch, crunch. The sound of polished office shoes pressing into the soft desert sand.
Standing beside one of the attackers' bodies, Vela's eyes dimmed—the faint crystalline blue glow within her irises slowly fading. Her expression held a trace of a smile, but it wasn't amusement.
"An ambush? A delay tactic? Preserving strength? Hah... everyone has their own game."
No need for interrogation. With just a brush of her Geass, she had glimpsed enough fragments of their mental echoes to piece it together.
They weren't Yorinobu's direct subordinates—but almost certainly hired by him.
Turning away, Vela dialed a private line.
Contact: [Saburo Arasaka – "Old Man"]
Beep... beep...
Click.
AI: "Connection unavailable. Please try again later. Miss Vela, if this is an urgent matter, please leave a message."
Vela narrowed her eyes and closed the corneal display.
The family-linked communication program embedded in Saburo's central cyber processor had responded—which meant his life signal was still active. Alive... but likely taken hostage.
That was fine. Vela had already anticipated this scenario.
Yorinobu had endured humiliation and obscurity for years before striking out suddenly. Saburo, arrogant and careless, had gone to "discipline" his son with little to no precaution. There were only three possible outcomes:
Saburo was killed outright—Vela would avenge him by killing her second uncle.
Saburo was captured—Vela would rescue him, then kill her second uncle.
Saburo fought back or escaped—Vela would attend his funeral, or rally under his surviving authority.
The first was risky, the third incomplete. The second was ideal. Though Saburo's death would cause massive instability, nothing in this world came without cost—and even Vela couldn't control every thread.
If all else failed, she'd simply wring a little more productivity out of his Relic imprint—have the "digital old man" pull some overtime.
Judging by the current situation, Saburo was likely somewhere between outcomes one and two—probably unconscious, perhaps even implanted with a T-G-118-09 Fusion Virus variant of the G-type embryo by that inhuman bastard Yorinobu. Any further delay might mean death.
"Then, the old man's still savable. Time to move." She murmured to herself.
Vrrrmmm— The vehicle roared to life as Vela climbed aboard.
Through the swirling dust of the midnight wasteland, she could see—faintly—the shimmering skyline of Night City dozens of kilometers away. Towering skyscrapers, flashing holographic billboards piercing the night, and over the Arasaka Coastal Complex... the fiery spectacle of battle.
After issuing counterattack orders to James Thomas, Valerie (V), and Mizuno Masao, Vela placed her hand gently on the reinforced metal casing of the [Warframe System].
Beep, beep.
[Key / ID / Biometric verification: authorized.]
"Suit up."