Jenkins, the director of Arasaka's Counter-Intelligence Department, stood in his office on an upper floor of Arasaka Tower, looking out over Night City through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city spread out below him, neon lights flashing, traffic flowing like a giant, never-ending machine.
He had just finished a secure communication meeting with the headquarters, the content of which was naturally about the recent conflict with that mysterious force and its aftermath.
The moment the communication screen went dark, the office returned to a dead silence.
Jenkins didn't move immediately; he needed these few seconds to fully digest the confrontation he had just experienced.
Although both the North America Branch and the Japan headquarters had explicitly expressed dissatisfaction with the trouble caused by the Counter-Intelligence Department's so-called unauthorized actions, the icy tone of the questioning from the other end of the line softened significantly once Jenkins presented the specific terms of the ceasefire agreement Valerie had negotiated.
The corporation only values results and profits; this was an iron rule Jenkins had kept in mind throughout his ascent within Arasaka.
Since the crisis had been quelled at the lowest possible cost—no core secrets leaked, no board members affected, and no widespread armed conflict triggered—then pursuing accountability for a specific department seemed less urgent and cost-effective.
Headquarters was more concerned with the possibility of acquiring potential technology and how to avoid provoking that mysterious entity hidden deep in the Badlands again.
Jenkins slowly walked to his large, cold metal desk and sat down in his spacious office chair.
Although the chair was comfortable to sit in, it wasn't so easy to sit securely.
He exhaled softly, feeling his nerves, which had been taut for days, finally begin to relax.
His knuckles unconsciously tapped on the smooth desktop, making a rhythmic soft sound.
For him, the outcome of this incident was perfect.
Publicly, he successfully turned a potential disaster that could have plunged Arasaka into a deeper and more costly conflict into a crisis management effort that, while a loss of face, was a substantive stop-loss.
Privately, he seized the opportunity presented by Abernathy's reckless actions, effectively kicking this long-time rival out of the power core of the Counter-Intelligence Department.
Although he couldn't make her physically disappear completely—it wasn't difficult to make a former corporate executive commit suicide or die in an accident in Night City—that would leave unnecessary hidden dangers and fodder for gossip.
A former supervisor, reassigned to an irrelevant position with a record of failure, was like a snake with its fangs pulled out; she could no longer pose any substantial threat to him.
This outcome might be even better now; her very existence served as a living warning to other potential challengers.
Thinking of this, a cold and brief arc of a smile, difficult to suppress, appeared at the corner of Jenkins' usually expressionless mouth.
He reached for the intercom and dialed Valerie's number.
It was time to give this meritorious subordinate a small reward and, at the same time, assign the next phase of tasks.
He pressed the internal communication button, connecting to Deputy Director Valerie's office.
"Valerie, you did well this time." Jenkins' voice returned to its usual steady tone. "You've worked hard; I'm giving you two days off to relax."
Valerie's calm reply came from the other end of the intercom: "Thank you, Director. It was my duty."
"Hmm," Jenkins paused, his tone becoming slightly more serious, "Vacation is vacation, but don't cut off the 'line' with Maine's crew. Stay in touch and see if there's an opportunity, like with Militech, to establish some… transaction channels.
Since the hard approach isn't working, we'll try the soft one. Please put more effort into this."
"Understood, Director. I will follow up." Valerie's answer was without hesitation, as if she had already anticipated this arrangement.
Hanging up the call, Valerie looked at the disappearing call interface on the screen, her face devoid of expression.
She was long accustomed to being assigned work even during her vacation.
In Arasaka, especially in the Counter-Intelligence Department, true rest was a luxury.
She stood up and walked to the full-length mirror, beginning to swiftly take off the well-tailored Arasaka uniform she was wearing, which symbolized both her status and her constraints.
She changed into a more street-style outfit—a dark motorcycle jacket, a simple cotton T-shirt underneath, slim-fit jeans, and a pair of sturdy ankle boots.
She let her long, pinned-up hair fall down, messing it up a bit to make herself look less like a "corporate drone."
Looking at her distinctly different self in the mirror, Valerie took a deep breath, trying to expel the tense atmosphere of the office from her body.
—
Half an hour later, Valerie's car pulled up outside a bar called "Wild Wolf Bar" in Heywood District.
The bar's exterior was unassuming, with somewhat mottled red brick walls, but the wooden sign's border was outlined by a constantly flashing pink neon tube, making the old wolf head emblem particularly striking in the night.
This was a place frequented by many local residents and street mercenaries in Heywood District, filled with a blend of old and new street vibes.
Pushing open the rather heavy wooden door, a familiar scent—a mixture of tequila, tortillas, engine oil, and the smell of overheated circuit boards—wafted over her.
The interior of the bar had complex lighting, with hanging colorful Mexican lanterns and blue neon tubes wrapped around the ceiling beams providing illumination, casting interwoven light and shadows on the walls.
Besides large Mexican sombreros and brightly colored serapes, the walls also displayed several subtly glowing holographic GIFs, advertising the latest synthetic tequila.
The old-fashioned jukebox in the corner had been modified, with pulsating LED light strips added to its casing. It was playing lively Mexican folk songs, which, though a bit noisy, along with the roar of the AVs from outside, filled the entire space with a unique vibrancy.
It was afternoon, and the bar wasn't too crowded.
A few former Valentinos members, wearing loose shirts but with data ports visible on their necks, were playing poker, with smart weapons and iced bottled beer on the table beside them.
A relaxed, even somewhat lazy, atmosphere permeated the air, as if this was a deliberately preserved old corner within the cyber metropolis.
Valerie's gaze quickly landed on a sturdy figure sitting in a booth further inside.
Jackie Welles also saw her and immediately broke into a bright smile, waving vigorously at her.
"Hey! Valerie! Over here!" Jackie's voice was loud, with the characteristic warmth of Heywood District.
Valerie walked over and sat down in the booth opposite Jackie.
Two empty beer bottles were already in front of Jackie; he was holding a third, and upon seeing Valerie, he immediately pushed another unopened bottle of beer across the table to her.