At the right moment—Constitution Hill, rearmost position of the Crossfire Line, the Russell residence.
Gunfire like rain pattered on reinforced concrete, marble, glazed tiles, and fine hardwood, sending up choking clouds of dust. The air was thick with the burnt, fermented stench of war.
Lucy didn't like that smell. But she admitted—she knew it well. More than the incense, diffusers, and air fresheners in Arasaka's office towers, she was familiar with this odor—and perhaps, more suited to it.
"What's wrong? Is the house-trained little kitten reminiscing about her stray days?"
The teasing voice brought her back to reality.
"A little." Lucy turned toward her advanced instructor in netrunning—Song So Mi, a Korean hacker with rose-red short hair, kneeling before a chaotic control console. Her heavily modified cybernetic fingers brushed lightly over the keys.
"Because of your comrades-in-arms?" Song So Mi asked casually, adjusting the neural connector cable linked into the high-capacity port at the back of her head.
"Mm." Lucy nodded after a pause.
"Life loses its meaning because of loneliness," she said softly. "Luckily, I'm not." She glanced sideways at the blond, bob-haired partner beside her, dressed in the same black Arasaka uniform.
Catching that glance, Song So Mi smiled faintly. "Yeah. You're not." Knowing her student's tragic yet fortunate past, she didn't know whether to pity her or envy her.
Pity Lucy for having such a deranged biological father.
Envy her for gaining, through that same cursed life, a friend rare and precious in this rotten, chaotic world.
After all, Song So Mi's own family and friends had drifted away by the time she was thirteen, when she first dived into cyberspace—until nothing was left. She had chosen her obsession, and it had chosen her loneliness.
Lucy's story mirrored her own. That dreamlike childhood had split apart, all because of her fascination with the Net and her extraordinary talent for it...
So similar, Song So Mi thought, a glint of memory flashing in her eyes.
Tap-tap, tap-tap—
"Why so sentimental all of a sudden?" Kiwi, who was linked into the surveillance network, identifying friendlies and reinforcing intrusion countermeasures, tapped her keyboard. She turned her head, curiosity in her eyes, a cigarette protruding from the slotted iron mask on her face. Wisps of smoke curled upward.
"It's nothing."
Lucy shook her head, plugging in her own neural cable. In an instant, her eyes flared with crimson data streams, pulsing rapidly. "Kiwi, remember what you told me the first time we met? 'In Night City, don't trust anyone.'"
"Ha, who knows..." Kiwi squinted, unwilling to dwell on it, focusing instead on building temporary friend-ID and comms links.
A moment later, she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "I don't plan to die."
A clear-headed one, Song So Mi thought, letting out a soundless laugh.
Indeed, that line was best left unanswered—perhaps fitting for the streets, but never for the corporation.
For within Arasaka's deep sea, trust and distrust weren't yours to choose. Orders fell like mountains.
As for betrayal—without a new patron to shield you from the godlike authority of corporate hierarchy, rebelling within Arasaka was suicide. Betrayal of Vela's faction before dawn? Madness.
Kiwi wasn't stupid. Having finally found her footing, she wasn't going to throw it away.
"Everyone, prepare for net infiltration." After her brief laugh, Song So Mi's expression sharpened as she looked around. "Wait for the signal. When it comes, we'll open up Militech's ass."
The pre-battle chatter stopped instantly.
For a while, the monitoring room was filled only with the distant sound of gunfire and the rhythm of buttons and screens.
Before long, footsteps echoed.
A tall woman with red-black hair strode in, leading several subordinates. She wore an EXO combat exoskeleton, one side of her head shaved, black eyeshadow accentuating her wild aura. It was Valerie (V) from Counter-Intelligence.
"Yes, ma'am. Understood."
"Mission will be completed."
Her irises glowed with amber-orange light—she was in contact with her superior.
All the hackers maintaining radio silence turned their gazes toward her.
"Hah." Hanging up the call, V exhaled deeply, her tone steady but her eyes sharp as she glanced at Song So Mi and Lucy, both just slipping on their cyber goggles.
"Yorinobu's gone. Head's rolling on the ground. Commander Vela killed him."
"The situation at the coast is under control. Soon, regional comms and Arasaka's internal net locks will be completely cleared."
Her announcement was brief. She motioned for the excited room to quiet down, then added, "The internal rebellion's fools are finished—cleanup and appeasement are already assigned. But Yorinobu's outside allies are still around. HQ wants a counterattack, something big enough to make an impression."
"Song So Mi, your Team B is the hacking spearhead."
Adjusting her goggles, Song So Mi paused slightly. "Understood." Realizing instantly what V had in mind, she only nodded obediently.
"C1, on standby. Two minutes. Wait for my signal. We move together."
With that, V left in a hurry.
Lucy, Kiwi, and the rest of the hacker unit listened quietly. Their expressions didn't change—but the private chat channels were already exploding.
[Lucy: So… the Arasaka succession struggle is officially over?]
[Kiwi: Looks like it. Arasaka's future belongs to Vela. Good news—at least the purge won't reach us.]
[Lucy: Just like that? Yorinobu's grand rebellion—planned for years—ends in a single night…]
[Kiwi: Who knows. Maybe our new boss saw it coming, or maybe she's just that powerful—fearless. Either way, she's dangerous. Try to fool her, and you're dead. Simple as that.]
[Lucy: So this is what imperial family conflicts are like… So many dragged in, dying without a trace. The ones fighting for power aren't the ones paying the price. (sighs)]
[Song So Mi: Quiet. Less talk, less watching, less listening—more doing. You want to survive and keep your pay? Don't screw up and draw attention.]
The Korean hacker's calm voice cut in.
"The night before the war ends is always the dirtiest," she said. "Both sides rush to kill witnesses and remove rivals... This is the carnival of the ambitious, the gamblers, the opportunists." She patted Lucy's shoulder lightly. "That's what my FIA field mentor taught me."
"Ah—they're in position." Kiwi's metallic, mature voice broke the silence.
Song So Mi and Lucy snapped to attention.
On the wall of monitors, multiple surveillance feeds came online at once—accompanied by distant roars and flashes of fire. The crunch of armored boots pressed grass, gravel, and debris flat beneath them.
Multiple heavily armed tactical squads—some in EXO exoskeletons, others in AST combat mechs or full-body power suits—advanced in staggered formations through the smoke and electromagnetic interference of the firefight. Their weapons: kinetic, tech, and smart guns—all ready to kill.
Figures flickered across the courtyard walls. One officer, pressed flat against a barrier, scanned his surroundings while chambering a round. "C1 in position. Over."
Lucy scrolled through the feed—then spotted a familiar face.
A small, wild-looking girl among the gruff soldiers, her green twin ponytails swinging with each explosion—until she impatiently stuffed them under her helmet.
Rebecca. That was her name.
She was never fit for desk work—or hacking.
Remembering the Arasaka Academy AI instructor's evaluation of her personality module, Lucy smirked faintly: emotional, impulsive, unpredictable, and overly empathetic.
Pretty accurate.
After some consideration, V had decided to reassign the lucky little "tagalong" Rebecca back to Jackie—as an unofficial, paid field agent. Whether she worked as a merc, a Nomad, or an edge-runner didn't matter, so long as she was under control.
After all, the one Vela truly valued had always been Lucyna Kushinada—or rather, her Paris Tower background. Kiwi and Rebecca? They were just attachments—optional accessories.
Now, Kiwi had proven her worth, adapting well. As for Rebecca—descendant of the legendary "Father of the Sunrise," one of Night City's most infamous mercs—her talent and potential were undeniable. But her incompatibility with Arasaka's suffocating, rigid hierarchy was obvious.
If they wanted to break her in—reshape her into another corporate tool—they could. But really, why bother?
V had made it very clear when she consulted Lucy about the matter: should they keep her, or let her go? "She's yours," V had said. "You choose."
Lucy chose to let her go.
A forced bond brings no sweetness. A comrade who had shared hardship—why turn her into a stranger? According to the original plan Lucy and V drafted, after Arasaka's military training courses concluded, they would find an opportunity to send Rebecca to Jackie Welles, reuniting her with her brother Pilar and Maine's crew.
But before that could happen, a single blast echoed through Night City—Yorinobu's rebellion began. Orders from Vela came down swiftly. V's Counter-Intelligence Division was mobilized, and Song So Mi's Anti-M&FIA (Militech & Federal Intelligence Agency) response team was also activated. Lucy, studying under Song So Mi for advanced training, was redeployed back into Night City.
Are Maine and the others at Constitution Hill too? Lucy wondered as she lowered her gaze, her cyber goggles flickering rapidly with the red pulse of RAM and daemon-virus upload indicators.
"B2, in position."
...
Meanwhile, on the front line—
"Unit losses! Defensive line breached!"
The gunfire continued. Arasaka's Community Security Division comms channel was in utter chaos.
Small- and large-caliber weapons thundered; the roar of armored vehicle engines, the hiss of laser cannons, and the booming waves of explosions mixed with the sound of crumbling concrete and collapsing buildings. The air was filled with flying debris. Constitution Hill—once a symbol of comfort and safety—had become a battlefield more dangerous than even Pacifica.
"'Mrs. Westbrook,' huh? What a big name. I'll be straight with you, Wakako—don't get in my way."
In a deserted second-floor room, Crispin Weyland—"Pangolin," one of Afterlife's top hitters—finished purging the room's security system. From his pocket, he pulled out a MaxDoc Type-5 stim and a neural enhancer, handing them to Rogue, who was mid-call.
"..." Silence lingered on the other end of the line before an old woman's voice spoke. "You're leading everyone straight to hell, Rogue. You'll regret this."
"Not your concern."
Rogue's brow furrowed, her face growing darker.
"Remember, I'm still the best fixer in this city. The only reason your little side business still runs is because I allow it. I can change my mind anytime. Before Vela's dogs catch and hang me, keep your head down, and stay put in that pachinko parlor of yours, Wakako."
Beep... The call disconnected.
Rogue rubbed her temples, muttering, "Goddammit, Johnny… trusting you really was insane." She pocketed the encrypted phone, took a deep breath from the MaxDoc, and said, "Ask Yorinobu's men—and Militech's—what the hell's going on. The coast's reporting the rebellion's over. Is that broadcasted 'Letter to Officers and Soldiers' legit or not?"
"Boss," said Weyland, the tall, dark-skinned merc with two metal horns jutting from his head. "Looks like Yorinobu's about to lose. This gig's… burning hot."
"Hot? It's molten." Rogue waved him off. "But tell me—if we surrender, can we still lose just half?"
She knew exactly what was running through Weyland's head. This whole job was riddled with holes—more than a Kabuki brothel. It reeked of Silverhand-style recklessness, all 'fuck it, it'll work out.' But what's done was done—no turning back now.
"Johnny and Yorinobu—two lunatics with nothing in common, both gone mad together. No reason we can't join them." Rogue laughed bitterly. "Guess I've been soaking in the gutter so long, I forgot what being human felt like."
She recalled Johnny's words—burned into her mind the day he forced his way into her consciousness: No one can make you do anything. Not even the powerful. I don't know how this ends, but I know one thing—tomorrow or the day after, there's going to be a morning that shakes the world.
Rogue chuckled darkly to herself. Serves me right.
The endless regret of betraying the old Atlantis crew—it was time to end it.
Johnny, you bastard... I don't owe you anymore.
"It's time someone taught that golden child Vela a lesson," she growled. "These past years, Arasaka's been swelling—tech upgrades, army expansions, sycophants all around the Pacific. That's not good."
"Alright, boss. You're the one in charge."
As Rogue's comrade and old friend—the son of the legendary mercenary of the previous age, "Old Snake" Andrew Weyland—Crispin Weyland trusted Rogue completely. As far as he was concerned, work was work; beyond the pay, nothing else mattered.
That included how Rogue got lured into this mess by a biotechnical chip Yorinobu had sent her...
Johnny Silverhand's Relic engram?
"Yorinobu's men are diehards," Weyland reported. "They're ignoring all the rumors and going all-in. They've already breached the Russell estate. The Arasaka cyber-ninjas inside are fighting them to the death."
"Militech's pushing hard too. They've racked up hundreds of casualties trading blows with Arasaka Security's rapid response units. But, like you said, Nyx kept a card up his sleeve—there's a bunch of Militech personnel moving something, working on something... not sure what."
"I'll handle that," Rogue replied curtly. "And our people?"
"Mixed bag," Weyland said with a smirk. "For example, that fat bastard Dexter DeShawn saw how things were turning and started slacking off—barely fighting, keeping his stash ready to bolt. Some of the others couldn't hold it anymore—already looting the mansions."
A band of mercs who only knew how to fight when the wind was at their backs.
Rogue wasn't surprised.
Mercenaries—thugs with guns licking blood from knives. Even the so-called legends could barely keep a dozen or two under control.
"What about the other side?" she asked.
"The boys took out plenty of corpo dogs with the new toys," Weyland replied, folding his arms. "But Arasaka's brought in a lot of black-ops. Jackie Welles from Little Chinatown's fighting on their side. Arasaka reinforcements keep pouring in. That rockstar playing in Japantown—Kerry Eurodyne—won't hold them off for long."
"Welles... yeah, I'm not surprised he's with Arasaka."
Rogue's mind flashed to that solid-built young man with the gingko knot haircut. Her expression hardened. "Shit, the situation's worse than I thought. Still time for one more push. Weyland—watch for my signal. When I say pull out, we pull out. Got it?"
"Got it." Cracking his joints, Weyland turned and walked toward the door.
Rogue raised her binoculars, peering carefully through a blown-out section of bulletproof wall—once part of some corpo exec's bedroom. With her free hand, she pulled out her phone.
"This is Rogue. Militech command—what's your stance? If Yorinobu's finished, what's your plan? We're all in the same sinking boat, so let's be honest for once."
...
At the outskirts of Constitution Hill, tucked among the middle-class skyscrapers—
"Damn it!"
"Useless bastards! The fighting at the coast's dying down already? What are they doing out there?!"
"Tell Stout and Gilchrist to move faster—no, faster! Anyone who breaches Vela A. Russell's office or lab and brings results gets bonuses—from both the company and the White House!"
In the temporary command post, the Militech representative slammed his fist on the table, raging at Yorinobu's incompetence.
Then the phone rang. Seeing the caller ID—Rogue—he stopped, eyes narrowing to cold slits.
After listening to her biting words, he chuckled darkly. "Fine. I like dealing with smart people. Tell Miss Amandias this—an eye for an eye, blood for blood. Omaha's blood debt..."
Before he could finish—
"Damn it! It's Songbird! Song So Mi, you treacherous—!"
His shout cut into the Militech ops channel, just as red alerts erupted across the system—dozens, then hundreds of frontline units hit by simultaneous net intrusions.
Bang! The Militech rep smashed his control console. "Shit!"
Wasn't that traitor Song So Mi supposed to be in San Francisco? When did she get here?
He didn't know.
But one thing was clear—Arasaka was prepared. Reinforcements had arrived in force. Only a fool would believe Vela was reckless enough to risk deploying the FIA's top-wanted defector without heavy protection.
It was too late to seize Vela's research. There was only one option left—destroy it.
He gritted his teeth. "Jonathan—prepare the MOAB for detonation—"
But Arasaka's counterattack erupted in that very instant.
Ratatatatatatatatatata—!
Whoooosh—!
On the front line, the once-luxurious Arasaka residential district, its villas, green corridors, and the courtyard before the Russell estate erupted in chaos. Fire tongues, molten streams, rockets, laser beams, and plasma bolts burst forth like a storm.
Screams and grunts echoed through the smoke. In mere seconds, flesh was torn apart, steel twisted, overpasses collapsed, trees ignited, homes caved in, rubble and debris blasted across the air. Militech's offensive was abruptly halted.
Through the swirling dust and flying gravel, countless metallic silhouettes charged through.
Vrrrrrrr—! A 7.0-inch heavy Gatling gun roared point-blank, shredding the smoke with a metallic storm. Shells clattered, blood and tissue splattered.
BOOM! A rail anti-materiel sniper round tore through reinforced concrete—one shot, two kills. Exoskeletons, subdermal armor, and titanium bones shattered alike, the remains spinning through the air before slamming to the ground.
WHOOOM! A focused laser beam sliced through a light multi-legged vehicle as if it were tofu, igniting methanol fuel and ammunition. A chain of explosions followed, a pillar of flame rising into the sky.
THUD! Power-armor assault units equipped with antigrav stabilizers and jet packs didn't slow even for a heartbeat. They smashed through walls, barriers, and hedges, roaring into melee, sending blood blossoms bursting wherever they struck.
...
Inside and outside forces coordinated seamlessly—their tactics precise, their execution flawless.
"Holy shit!" In the corner of the firefight, crouched like a raccoon among fallen shelves, Jackie Welles watched in awe through the rain of bullets, his EXO suit shielding him from flying debris. "V, you actually made it!"
He turned to Falco, who was piloting a multi-legged armored vehicle, signaling Maine and the others to fall back slightly—giving Arasaka's rampaging soldiers space to unleash hell.
Then, from the Russell estate's loudspeaker, came a soft cough—a test of the mic.
"Yorinobu is dead. All Arasaka forces, heed my command: restore order. Eliminate the invaders! Do not let those foreign scum mock us."
It was Vela's voice.
Jackie had heard it before—on the news, in corporate briefings—but hearing it now, amplified across the battlefield, was something else entirely.
Dozens of holographic billboards flickered to life across the estate—each projecting the gleaming image of a silver-armored warframe, radiant under the flames.
He blinked, wide-eyed. "What the hell brand of power armor is that?"
Meanwhile, within the surveillance hub, Vela's expression darkened the instant she saw the chaos outside her own mansion. Through the network feed, she spotted several mercs with sticky fingers helping themselves to her belongings.
The fake mountain in the courtyard. The bamboo. The entryway's shoe cabinet. Even the potted plants.
Motherf— you're robbing me blind? In my own damn house?
—
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