Night, by the gurgling fountain beside the shimmering community artificial lake, the crowd surged and roared.
With a sudden whoosh, followed by a muffled grunt of pain, a man fell heavily to the ground.
Under the firelight, the splashing water mixed with marble dust, blood, and iron fragments. The man's neck guard and throat were ripped open by a bullet, skin and flesh torn apart. Half his head sank limply into the water, his mouth opening and closing several times, spitting only blood and bits of bone.
The rust-scented blood trickled into the artificial lake, spreading and dyeing the water red.
In the corpse's arms was a bundle of looted goods from some unknown household.
On the nearby lawn, the chase continued.
When that silver figure—ferocious, dazzling, and proud—like a peacock flaunting its feathers, charged in at the head of Arasaka's riot suppression reinforcements, the steel tide clashing into the patchwork "joint army" that looked like a bunch of scavengers playing soldier, Rogue Amendiares felt a moment of daze.
So the only reliable one was... myself?
Johnny, that damn ghost, boasted so much—only to vanish along with Yorinobu Arasaka, both gone silent.
Those Militech bastards came swaggering in, thinking themselves hotshots—but what did they amount to? Leaking intel like a sieve. They hid the news about the planned demolition from allies, yet their elite managers got infiltrated by Arasaka instead.
Damn it, you're all less reliable than that double-plug brat who once swore to play in a band with Johnny forever!
At least Kerry really did organize a concert, calling in fans and blocking traffic in Japantown—holding up Arasaka's mobile division from advancing.
Lost again…
What difference does pouring everything out make? This scene feels so familiar, just like fifty-four years ago.
Only this time, the defeat was even worse.
Arasaka would not let her go again for her past submission.
Exhausted, Rogue slumped down beside a brick wall covered in vines, watching her remaining Afterlife loyalists still fighting desperately.
"Seeking death?" she asked herself.
Why had she acted so foolishly?
Was it endless guilt and remorse for abandoning Johnny and the Atlantis squad? The mental exhaustion and emptiness from cleaning up corporate messes all these years? Or... love?
Rogue didn't know.
"The old days... they ain't coming back. Johnny, the damn Samurai band... maybe I should've never gone to that gig…" She gave a bitter laugh, leaning on her Nekomata electromagnetic sniper rifle, swaying as she stood.
"Defeated! Everyone's routed!" shouted Crispin Weyland, the "Pangolin" who had retreated with the main force.
He ran over quickly, shouting anxiously, "Boss! We have to go!"
Without waiting, Weyland grabbed Rogue's arm and injected her with a strong stimulant. As he supported her away, he called out to the Afterlife mercs. The group clustered around their boss, heading toward the Militech Shrike tactical bomber parked not far away.
They moved hastily, not even checking on the other Afterlife legends.
Rogue instinctively tried to bark an order, to have the mercs go back for their comrades—but she gave up in silence.
It couldn't be done. Sending anyone back now was sending them to die.
Bang. The moment Weyland shoved her into the bomber's cabin, Rogue stared blankly toward the battlefield.
Her cybernetic eyes zoomed in—
Squelch!
The black-and-red [Black Abyss V] easily pierced through steel, carbon fiber, ceramic composite, and flesh alike. A corpse—meat wrapped in metal—hung on the blade. Then, after impaling another, the deathly silver Valkyrie lifted and swung—armored bodies flew like rag dolls, crashing into those foolish enough to "draw their swords" against her.
Her floating drone modules weaved through smoke and ruins, unleashing torrents of heat beams and micro-missiles. Booms shook the night, waves of bloody mist rising.
She raised her arm fluidly—the hadro cannon fired blue energy rounds at a rate that would shatter a normal person's wrist.
Stepping forward, she leaped—the winged anti-gravity and propulsion modules on her back roaring as she soared, lightning-fast.
Wherever she struck, enemy lines collapsed.
Or perhaps—it was that wherever resistance formed, she appeared.
With terrifying precision and destructive grace, she turned slaughter into art.
The sight was overwhelming.
Rogue suddenly laughed.
Johnny, you didn't lose unjustly.
This woman is far more difficult to deal with than Kei Arasaka, the one we faced back in 2023!
Bang!
Clang! The armor dented, sparks flying.
"Hm?" Using a fleeing Basilisk as a makeshift brake, Vela kicked its side armor. The sharp crack of splitting metal echoed as a visible shockwave burst out from the impact point, flinging armored vehicles tumbling and flipping like toys, along with several unlucky souls, crashing them into nearby houses. As she steadied herself, she let out a small sound of surprise, glancing southeastward into the distance.
Through the chaos of flares and EMP countermeasures filling the low sky, a military-grade armored AV silently lifted off.
A quick scan identified it: Militech's Shrike-class tactical bomber.
Who could it be?
Crackle! Casually, Vela raised a lattice of hexagonal crystalline shields, blocking the incoming bullets, plasma beams, and proximity grenades. She frowned slightly.
That feeling—being watched. Among the countless eyes filled with hostility or fear, one gaze in particular stood out—strong, inexplicable.
Without hesitation, she switched [VARIS] to hadro mode and fired a shot.
Vwooom! A dark red energy beam split the night sky like a heavy brushstroke across a black canvas, scorching across two accelerating AVs, scattering trails of molten sparks.
The floating vehicle lost balance immediately, belching smoke, deploying flares chaotically, and spiraling down in flames.
The [Warframe] arm cannon's wing-like energy arrays glowed red as Vela flexed her hand; faint wisps of blue smoke rose from the seams of her silver armor. "Looks like a big fish. Go deal with it," she said, turning toward the elite operatives of the President's Security Division fighting nearby.
"Yes, ma'am." The squad leader nodded and raised his arm, pointing toward the downed aircraft.
A team immediately moved out toward the crash site.
Vela's gaze lingered on one of them—a particularly bulky [Oni 4-B Type] heavy-powered assault suit operator. She raised an eyebrow. "David."
"Ah? Ma'am! Here! It's me!" Startled, David Martinez, gripping his thermal axe, paused mid-step. Realizing Vela was addressing him, he quickly lowered his powered armor's stance and pounded a fist to his chest.
"Stay alert. Do it well."
"Yes, ma'am!" Feeling his teammates' envious stares, David replied loudly.
He moved out swiftly.
Each step a surge of momentum—like a hungry wolf chasing wounded prey.
After that brief moment of encouragement, Vela floated in midair, surveying the battlefield.
She had just crushed the remaining Afterlife mercenaries and Militech forces—those few with the courage and organization to resist. The rest was cleanup work for her subordinates. She, however, had something more important to do than killing.
Negotiation—setting the tone for handling Yorinobu's rebel army.
"Divide and dissolve…" Shh! Pulling out the [Black Abyss] impaled in the ground through a corpse, Vela flew toward the main assault zone led by Yorinobu's forces.
There, the largest encirclement had just ended—a six or seven-hundred-man internal conflict.
Perhaps not the fiercest battle, but brutally bloody, exposing the complexities of human nature.
The foul stench of blood and burnt flesh drifted in the foul wind. Amid the ruins, chaos reigned—yelling, cursing, scuffling, despair, fury… the sounds of men in every state imaginable.
Riot troops surrounded the area, weapons ready, faces twisted in mockery or cold indifference.
Inside, the rebels were half-surrendered, half-defiant. For safety, the riot troops had surrounded but not yet attacked.
"Idiots! Do you even know what you're doing?! You've already drawn blood and still delude yourselves! After killing so many Americans and destroying her home, do you think that bitch—after founding New America—will let you live?!" cried a blood-soaked Japanese officer, voice cracking with grief and rage.
The twin bars and three-star insignia on his collar marked him as a colonel—regimental commander.
"Even if Vela pretends mercy and spares you, look around you! Look at what you've done! Do you think the worms and parasites who've lost their interests will let you live?!"
He shouted over and over, trying to rally the soldiers, calling for one last desperate stand in loyalty to their lord.
But few answered.
Those who had fought hardest were already dead—their blood soaking the dirt. The rest had either perished in the earlier 'physical debates' or lay on the ground, groaning in pain.
Scrapped machinery and light vehicles lay scattered across the ground. Severed limbs and horribly mutilated corpses were everywhere, blood pooling in thick, glistening streams. Those still able to move were wounded, broken, and hopeless.
Faced with the colonel's impassioned roar, some lowered their heads, unable to meet his gaze. Some, eyes bloodshot, were driven to madness. Others simply slumped to the ground, refusing to listen, refusing to care.
When Vela descended through the air, murmurs rippled through the crowd. One by one, people began to stand. Even the riot troops forming the outer cordon couldn't help craning their necks for a better look.
Another act of rebellion against authority was about to unfold.
"Commander, you forced us into this!"
"The longer we delay accepting the 'Notice to Officers and Soldiers,' the less value we have for negotiation!"
"The brothers want to live—we have families! So we'll just borrow your head!"
Led by a junior officer, a dozen surrendering soldiers surrounded the colonel. Without another word, they drew their pistols and opened fire.
"You bastards will die for this!" the colonel roared, before choking on his own blood.
The soldiers who dared not strike an officer but tolerated the act quietly backed away. Some tried to intervene, but were held down by their comrades.
Once blood is drawn, reason no longer matters.
Ugh! Multiple tungsten rounds pierced through the colonel's exoskeletal armor, punching bloody holes in his torso. His pupils widened in disbelief as he pointed at the limping officer approaching him—but before he could speak, his throat was slit. He fell with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath him.
Soon after, the remaining resisters and those still cursing were executed—betrayed by their own brothers.
Clap, clap.
"That's enough." Watching silently from above, Vela clapped her hands lightly. "Disarm them. Let the medics in. Give them emergency supplies."
She stepped forward.
The surrendering soldiers, of course, noticed her movements. Watching the silver-armored woman stride forward with an effortless, radiant grace, their eyes flickered with complicated emotions.
"Commander." The limping captain who had led the mutiny stepped forward, removing his exosuit, his movements stiff and uneasy.
"Good. Restoring order." Vela looked him over from head to toe. "How did your leg get injured?"
His expression froze. After a brief hesitation, he clenched his jaw and spoke honestly. "When we attacked Russell Manor, I was hit by a grenade." Lowering his head, he started to kneel.
But the black-and-red [Black Abyss] stopped him.
"I see." Vela's cool voice drifted. "Captain Takumi Tokuda. Go and receive treatment."
"You… you won't punish your subordinate?" The captain looked up, stunned.
Vela smiled faintly but gave no direct answer. Clang! She stabbed the [Black Abyss] into the ground. With a mechanical click, the streamlined head armor split open along the faceplate, retracting neatly to the sides, revealing the brilliant, refined features of the woman beneath.
The fetid wind blew across her face, tousling her pale golden hair tied into a high knot.
She walked forward slowly, her gaze sweeping across the countless weary, bloodstained, and numbed faces before her.
Wherever her eyes fell, men lowered their heads, unable to look at her directly.
"Some told me you're all traitors and rebels, and that the simplest solution would be to execute you all." Vela began, her voice echoing through the open comms channel she had overridden.
The crowd of several hundred surrendering soldiers erupted in shock.
"I refused," Vela continued, her tone calm but firm. "You are guilty, yes—but each of you fought for your own cause, following orders as soldiers should. Those who fulfill their duty, regardless of allegiance, deserve respect. Even if the highest respect we show our enemies is to annihilate them."
Her words hung in the air like steel.
"But tell me—do you truly see yourselves as my enemies? Why should Arasaka tear itself apart? I've said this many times: conflict is inevitable—but conflict must not shatter unity. Only through solidarity can we win."
The noise subsided instantly.
Even those who had once cursed the idea of a foreign woman like Vela leading Arasaka fell silent.
After all, she held the power of life and death—and their families' fates—within her grasp.
"Punishment and atonement are unavoidable," Vela continued. "But here and now, in my name—Vela Adelheid Arasaka Russell—I will establish three decrees."
"First, those who actively restore order shall retain their military status."
At that, many bloodstained soldiers exhaled in relief. It wasn't the worst outcome.
As long as their military registration remained, their corporate accounts would stay active. The money could go to their families. Even if they were later quietly 'handled,' maintaining Arasaka employee status would still offer their loved ones protection.
In wartime, the company still needed bodies to fight—it wouldn't cut all ties.
"Second, summary executions and private punishment are strictly forbidden."
In other words—no beatings, no torture, no lynching. Unless they went out of their way to cause trouble themselves.
One by one, the surrendering soldiers dropped their weapons and stood, forming ranks according to infantry regulation.
"Never punish without first teaching."
The quick-witted ones caught on first, and more soon followed. Except for those too wounded to stand, within moments, hundreds had assembled neatly—as though awaiting inspection. They had no choice but to stand. If you refused to realign yourself, you'd be eliminated—not by the riot troops, but by your fellow 'rebels' eager to prove their loyalty.
Warm winds swept the field as Vela inspected the surrendering forces, her bearing poised and radiant.
"For the prosperity of Arasaka!" she declared, hand to her chest.
"Salute!" the captain barked the order, his throat nearly cracking from shouting.
"Salute to Commander Vela!" ×N voices roared in unison.
From the half-collapsed manor atop a nearby rise, Jackie Welles watched for a long time, goosebumps rising all over.
The very people who, moments ago, wanted to tear your house down and kill you—now shouting homage to you. Damn… now that's what it means to be a big shot!
He didn't know the old Kang Tao saying, "A true man should be like this," but he sure felt it. Damn, if he could ever pull off something like that—even dying afterward would be worth it.
Tap. Hah.
Footsteps approached from behind.
It was V. Having finished cleaning up the remaining assassination and sabotage cells, she removed her helmet, brushed back her short undercut, and lit a cigarette. Walking up beside Jackie, she took a deep drag and exhaled, satisfaction gleaming on her face. "It's over," she said.
Seeing Jackie still awed by Vela's presence, V nudged him in the ribs with a smirk. "Still dreaming about becoming Night City's next legend? One of your idols, Dexter DeShawn, just kicked the bucket."
Jackie grimaced.
"Man, that's old news. But wait—how'd the fat bastard die? Gotta know for the story."
"What else? We had the upper hand. He got cornered, took a bullet to the head. Dead. Though the netrunner he hired—she was decent... hey, Lucy, you there? How'd your little hacker duel go?"
V's words had barely left her mouth when—
[I tracked her location and fried her brain. Her name was T-Bug.] Lucy's calm voice echoed over the comms.
"Damn, nice one, Lucy," Jackie said with admiration. "T-Bug, huh…? That black fat bastard made a scene about hiring some 'top-tier netrunner' when he came back. Thought he was untouchable. Guess corporate training does beat street hacks…"
As he mused, V's expression shifted slightly. "Hey, it's me… Oh? Got it." She hung up, turning to Jackie. "One of the culprits—Rogue, the Queen of the Afterlife—she's dead. Just now."
Jackie's face froze. He exhaled slowly, saying nothing.
"I get it now," he murmured. "Killing corpos… all we're really doing is helping them refine better parts."
"What?" V blinked. She'd heard Jackie rant endlessly about legends and the Afterlife. Hearing him talk like this was a surprise. She leaned closer, eyes wide in mock astonishment.
"La vida cambia, la gente crece. (Spanish proverb: Life changes, people grow.)" Jackie's face flushed as he slipped into his native tongue.
Then, with a rueful grin, he shook his head. "The most anti-corporate lone wolves use corporate-made weapons and chrome. The rebel rockers sing anti-corp songs with corporate guitars. Even Silverhand's 2023 nuke in Arasaka Tower—corporate-made. It's all bullshit. But hell, we still gotta keep living in this bullshit world, right?"
V inhaled deeply, her cigarette burning low. "Yeah." She flicked the butt, crushing it under her boot.
Meanwhile, over the open network channel in Russell Manor's surveillance room, Lucy, Kiwi, and Song So Mi drifted silently through the net, scanning for threats.
Outside Arasaka's residential district, in a back road blocked by wrecked cars, Rebecca sat atop a black, muscle-bound corpse, its gold-plated arm gleaming under dim light. At her feet lay crates stuffed with eurocash, jewels, precision-engineered chipsets, and antique watches.
Nearby, Maine was rummaging through corpses; Falco piloted the multi-legged combat vehicle around the wreckage; Pilar tinkered with a battered car's wiring. Dorio, the team's de facto big sister, had already led the wounded and the bodies away.
Everyone heard Jackie's cynical musing—but none laughed.
V patted Jackie's arm.
"So… living off the corp's paycheck doesn't sound so bad after all."
...
After the inspection, Vela departed.
The encirclement remained, but medics soon arrived with supplies. The surrendered soldiers sat on the ground, drinking nutrient beverages and eating meal packs produced by All Foods Corporation.
Using this as a model, Vela repeated the same process in other encirclements—dispatching medics, providing rations, and broadcasting each negotiation and surrender live. The ongoing feed shattered what little resolve the remaining rebels still held.
In one smaller pocket, Yorinobu's diehard loyalists cursed and spat, some even feigning surrender in an attempt to detonate alongside Vela. Amidst the flames and chaos, that officer performed what could only be called a one-man show of doomed defiance.
Vela granted him that satisfaction.
After ordering the massacre of his entire company, she surrounded him with over a dozen riot-frame units. The heavy-powered suits tore him apart, punching holes through his armor until both blood and oil seeped out in rhythmic drips. When it was over, they took his head.
Vela continued moving across the frontlines, orchestrating the broader campaign—dividing, subduing, and reabsorbing surrendering forces as she went.
The slower you surrendered, the worse your outcome.
Those who had returned early, like the coastal districts, were fully pardoned according to her promise—no punishment, no prosecution.
Those who surrendered midway, such as most of the forces in the Arasaka Community area, were treated with pragmatic leniency—some of the most proactive defectors were forgiven and reinstated at reduced rank. The majority retained their military registration but were reassigned to "Redemption Units," destined to fill frontline attrition. Any who resisted were downgraded to the lowest class—immediate execution, military status revoked, accounts terminated, and family members punished.
And then there were the lowest of all—the final names on Vela's purge list: Yorinobu's diehard followers and the officers they had promoted. In places like the northern industrial district, where rebel main forces had clashed with the 1st Garrison Division, Vela ordered their commanding officers rounded up, stripped of rank, and executed.
By dawn's first light, the situation was completely under control. The override command Yorinobu had issued through an exploit in his access privileges was nullified. Wielding Arasaka's highest remaining military authority, Vela froze all rebel network and cyberware access, effectively severing their operational capacity.
The rebellion was over.
All that remained were the details—cleanup, accounting, and reward distribution.
As Vela coordinated with Acting Mayor Weldon Holt in Night City and placed an international call to Shintaro Takayama in Tokyo to discuss the purges and reorganization, her holo-interface blinked with another incoming call.
Beep-beep.
"Hello, my dear CEO and sister in arms," came Michiko Arasaka's elegant voice, smooth and steady. "Saburo has awakened. He wishes to see you."