Arasaka Tower, Counterintelligence. Lights low, air cold and filtered.
V stands before Jenkins's desk. A slim datachip clicks once against polished wood, then slides toward him. He slots it and watches lines of itinerary populate his retinal view: Mali Pharmaceuticals executives, security rotations by hour, hotel floors, room assignments, plates, drivers, and a neat conference timeline—business cooperation meeting with Arasaka confirmed.
V doesn't speak. The meaning is obvious; he waits for Jenkins to say it.
"This chip records their arrangements for cooperation with Arasaka. Use the information," Jenkins says, voice even. "Before the agreement is signed, stop them from reaching the table. Your method."
V's heartbeat ticks faster. He has run black work before—quiet removals, clean floors, no loose ends. Mali Pharmaceuticals looks small on paper; taking a few executives off the board would usually be routine. But this time, the goal is to ruin a cooperation project tied to Arasakf. If he were told to kneecap Militech, he'd sleep fine. Against Arasaka, who stands behind him if it blows back? No one, unless Jenkins decides to shield him. If exposure comes and Jenkins steps away, he's finished.
After a beat of silence, V asks, "You said this request is personal. Can I refuse?"
"You can," Jenkins replies, unbothered. "I can't force you. Have you truly thought it through?" He taps the desk, then continues. "Since you joined Counterintelligence, I've valued you and handed you hard jobs. You delivered. Everyone knows I'm preparing to promote you. You're excellent—just not enough yet. If you want to climb, show value and sincerity."
A small hologram flickers above the table—upper approvals already stamped. "Remember the transfer? The approvals are in," Jenkins says. "What I didn't tell you: the final decision is mine. Accept this task and do it well; the transfer will be complete. Then you rise and become my right hand, benefits align with you, and power follows. Refuse today and walk out that door, and you have nothing." He kills the holo and points at the door once, then waits.
V weighs it. The read is clear: accepting means boarding Jenkins's ship; refusing means his career stalls; reporting is a dead end. "Okay. I accept," he says, "but I want the reason." He takes the chip. The risk looks worth the return; the mission doesn't demand assassinating Arasaka personnel—only dealing with a small firm's executives. Even if the cooperation collapses, it can still be contained.
"A wise decision." Jenkins's mouth lifts. "Mali Pharmaceuticals—a domestic U.S. company. Recently, they developed a strong immunosuppressant, several tiers above current military-grade stock. It's key for multiple experiments. Originally, it had nothing to do with us. As a local company, they were set to cooperate with Militech. Then, the women in Special Operations used certain means to pull them to Arasaka. If this deal lands, she adds another trump card, and her seat gets harder to shake. I don't want that."
"Special Operations?" V asks.
"Director Abernathy," Jenkins says. "A personal grudge."
"Understood. I'll handle it." Relief loosens V's chest a fraction. This is an internal knife fight, not a war against the company. So long as he doesn't target Abernathy herself, even exposure won't destroy Jenkins—and won't take V down with him.
"Relax," Jenkins adds. "The cooperation isn't signed. In Night City, accidents are common. Disrupting it, this small company loses Arasaka's shelter while offending Militech. They won't have time to chase you. I'll manage Arasaka's image. When I finish your transfer, I'll give you a higher clearance so you can operate it more easily. With a small push, we can let people suspect Militech. No one will find that strange."
V nods. Difficulty and risk are manageable. This test is whether he'll stand in Jenkins's camp and bind himself to it. No reason to refuse the cake handed to him. He accepts the result in his mind, slowly but thoroughly.