Chapter 109: Valarie's Time Off
Director Jenkins of Arasaka Counter-Intelligence stood in his high-rise office in Arasaka Tower, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling window at Night City below.
The city was laid out beneath him, a sprawling, neon-lit machine that never slept, traffic flowing like electric blood through its veins.
He had just concluded an encrypted briefing with HQ regarding the recent conflict with the mysterious faction and its aftermath.
The moment the comms screen went dark, the office returned to a deathly silence.
Jenkins didn't move immediately. He needed a few seconds to fully process the exchange.
Both the North American branch and Tokyo HQ had expressed clear dissatisfaction with Counter-Intel's "unauthorized operation" causing such a mess. However, when Jenkins presented the specific terms of the ceasefire negotiated by Valarie, the cold interrogation from the other end noticeably softened.
The Corporation cared only for results and profit. This was the iron law Jenkins had etched into his heart during his climb up the Arasaka ladder.
Since the crisis had been quelled with the minimum possible cost—no core secrets leaked, no board members harmed, and no wider armed conflict triggered—assigning specific blame became less urgent and cost-effective.
HQ was far more interested in the potential for acquiring new technology, and how to avoid provoking the entity hiding in the deep Badlands again.
Jenkins walked slowly to his wide, cold metal desk and sank into his executive chair.
It was a comfortable seat, but keeping it was never easy.
He let out a breath, feeling the tension of the last few days finally begin to loosen.
His knuckles rapped unconsciously on the smooth desk surface, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap.
For him, the outcome was perfect.
Professionally, he had turned a potential disaster into a damage-control success, saving face even if some was lost.
Personally, he had used Abernathy's reckless move to surgically remove a long-time rival from the core of Counter-Intel's power structure.
While he hadn't physically eliminated her—arranging a suicide or accident for an ex-exec in Night City was trivial—that would leave loose ends.
A disgraced former director, shuffled off to a meaningless post with a failure on her record, was like a defanged snake. She posed no substantial threat.
This result was perhaps even better; her existence served as a living warning to any other potential challengers.
Thinking of this, the corners of Jenkins' usually impassive mouth twitched upward into a cold, brief smile.
He reached for the internal comms and punched in Valarie's code.
It was time to give his capable subordinate a little reward, and simultaneously assign the next phase of the mission.
"Valarie, good work on this one," Jenkins' voice returned to its usual calm authority. " tough job. I'm authorizing two days of leave. Relax a little."
Valarie's calm voice came through the comms. "Thank you, Director. Just doing my job."
"Mm," Jenkins paused, his tone turning slightly more serious. "Leave is leave, but don't let the line to Maine's crew go cold. Keep in touch. See if there's an opportunity to... establish some trade channels, like Militech is doing.
"If hard power doesn't work, we try soft power. I'm counting on you for this."
"Understood, Director. I'll follow up." Valarie's reply was instant, as if she had expected this.
Ending the call, Valarie stared at the blank screen, her face expressionless.
Being assigned work during "time off" was standard procedure.
In Arasaka, especially in Counter-Intel, true rest was a luxury.
She stood up, walked to the mirror, and began to efficiently strip off her tailored Arasaka suit—the symbol of her status and her chains.
She changed into street wear: a dark biker jacket over a simple cotton tee, slim jeans, and sturdy boots.
She let her hair down, messing it up slightly to look less like a "corpo-rat."
Looking at her transformed reflection, Valarie took a deep breath, trying to exhale the stifling atmosphere of the office.
Half an hour later, Valarie's sedan pulled up outside a bar in Heywood called El Coyote Cojo.
The bar's exterior was unassuming, its red brick walls weathered, but the wooden sign was outlined in flickering pink neon, making the old wolf-head logo stand out in the night.
This was a local haunt for Heywood residents and street mercs, filled with the scent of the old and new street life.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she was hit by the familiar smell of tequila, corn tortillas, machine oil, and overheated circuit boards.
The interior lighting was complex. Colorful Mexican lanterns hung from the ceiling mixed with blue neon tubes wrapped around the beams, casting interwoven shadows on the walls.
The walls were adorned with giant sombreros and colorful serapes, alongside glowing holographic ads for the latest synth-tequila.
An old, modified jukebox in the corner, fitted with pulsing LED strips, was playing an upbeat Mexican folk song. Though noisy, combined with the roar of AVs outside, it gave the space a unique vitality.
It was afternoon, and the bar wasn't crowded.
A few former Valentinos, wearing loose shirts that revealed neck-jacks, were playing poker. Smart-weapons and chilled beer bottles sat on the table beside them.
The air was relaxed, almost lazy, as if this were a corner of the past deliberately preserved within the cyber-city.
Valarie's gaze quickly locked onto a hulking figure in a booth near the back.
Jackie Welles saw her too. He broke into a brilliant grin, waving his arm vigorously.
"Hey! Val! Over here!" Jackie's voice was booming, full of Heywood warmth.
Valarie walked over and sat opposite him.
There were already two empty beer bottles in front of Jackie. He was holding a third, and seeing Valarie, he immediately slid an unopened bottle across the table to her.
(End of Chapter)