The assassination incidents caused direct and severe impacts on both Militech and Biotechnica giants' core decision-making layers.
However, due to their vastly different corporate cultures and core demands, the shockwaves triggered by these impacts propagated and fed back through their respective systems, ultimately leading in different directions.
Inside Biotechnica headquarters' top-floor CEO office, the air was suffocatingly heavy.
Nicolò Loggagia stood with his back to massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, portions of Night City's skyline distorted and deformed in artificial halos.
Security Director Elliott Kwan stood before him, completely lacking his usual composure.
Kwan's suit clung wrinkled to his body, tie askew to one side, forehead covered in cold sweat.
His gaze was unfocused, hands trembling uncontrollably, voice stuttering with obvious tremors: "She... she just appeared in my bedroom...
Mr. Loggagia! In my own apartment, the innermost room... all the security systems, everything... everything was like they didn't exist!"
He swallowed with difficulty, Adam's apple rolling violently: "I didn't even see how she got in... one second the room had only me, next second... next second she was standing by my bed.
That weapon... pressed against my throat... I could feel it vibrating, making that... that low-frequency humming..."
Kwan's voice suddenly rose, carrying hysterical terror: "Her voice... completely inhuman! Coming through some synthesizer, so cold... so cold it numbed my whole body.
She said... she said we must stop all actions against them, everything! Surveillance, tracking, bounties... everything must cease!"
He frantically fumbled in pockets, tremblingly extracting a data chip: "This... this is the list she gave, says it's reparations... reparations demanded for our 'offense.' I... I didn't even dare look at what's inside..."
Kwan's breathing grew increasingly rapid, nearly suffocating: "She also said... Strange and Winters... they... they've already been... eliminated. And I... the only reason I can still stand here is just because... because I need bringing this message back..."
Just as Kwan incoherently described that weapon pressed against his throat, the personal terminal on Loggagia's wrist suddenly emitted piercing buzzing. Two crimson encrypted information windows forcibly popped up, hovering in air.
Loggagia's gaze swept across the first message. Pupils abruptly contracted. It was an emergency notice from internal security departments: "Confirmed board member Julia Winters deceased at Charter Hill residence."
His fingers still lingered on the first message when the second arrived immediately after—from Militech's internal notice, concise and cold: "Special Projects Division Operations Coordinator Lt. Colonel Karl Strange confirmed deceased."
Office air seemed instantly freezing. Loggagia's fist slammed hard on the desktop, knuckles whitening from excessive force. Kwan's report abruptly halted. He watched terrified at the distorted expression on the CEO's face, finally realizing what happened.
"They... they're all..." Kwan's voice stuck in his throat. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his shirt.
This moment, he truly understood why he could stand here alive—he wasn't a survivor, merely a carefully designed messenger. The opponents didn't just want killing people but precisely controlling information delivery rhythms. Even the timing when he learned colleagues' death news was calculated to the second.
Loggagia violently turned, palms carrying full body force slamming hard onto the solid office desktop. Loud crashes exploded through sealed spaces. Even air trembled. His complexion instantly swelled from livid to dark red. Blood vessels beside temples protruded hideously pulsing, as if about to burst anytime.
"Lawless! Utterly arrogant!" His voice tore through his throat, echoing with broken tones throughout the office.
But beneath this furious facade, his fingertips were trembling uncontrollably.
Winters' death news struck like a heavy punch to his gut. That woman always opposing him at board meetings, that opponent he privately wished eliminated—now truly dead.
Not in his carefully planned commercial struggles but easily erased by some unknown enemy like crushing ants.
This recognition made chills crawl up his spine.
He forced himself standing straighter, raising voice higher, attempting using volume masking deep inner wavering.
"Retaliation!" He practically roared, turning toward those senior executives who'd rushed over upon hearing news. Their faces wrote clear panic, making him more irritable: "Must conduct most severe retaliation! At any cost!"
His gaze swept every person present, noticing several veteran executives exchanging uneasy glances.
This made him angrier yet more anxious.
"Intelligence department!" He roared naming names. "Send all analysts out! That assassin plus whoever's pulling strings behind her! Can't miss any leads! Street rumors, black market gossip—investigate everything!"
His voice grew louder and louder, as if trying filling this suddenly overly-spacious office with commanding sounds.
Death's shadow had never so tangibly shrouded him.
He recalled Kwan's description of that weapon pressed against throats, unconsciously touching his own neck.
"Security department! Immediately raise alert levels to maximum! Reassess all executives' security details!" His orders came one after another, too fast for reactions.
"Black market bounties, sky-high prices! I'll pile eddies into mountains, making all Night City's bloodhounds move!" Reaching here, he suddenly paused. Chest heaving violently.
A trace of cold sweat slid down temples. He roughly wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"I need knowing which desert rat hole that puppet master's hiding in!" His voice suddenly dropped, carrying almost obsessive fixation. "Drag him out... thoroughly crush him..."
Final words nearly squeezed through clenched teeth.
He surveyed silent executives, seeing fear and hesitation in their eyes. This made him angrier yet more clearly aware: if opponents could easily take Winters and Strange's lives, then taking his life was equally effortless.
This thought coiled around his heart like venomous snakes, nearly suffocating him.
But before subordinates, he couldn't show any weakness.
He forced himself straightening spine, using all remaining strength maintaining furious facades—though he clearly knew, in discerning eyes, this was merely outwardly fierce but inwardly cowardly performance.
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