Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka

"...For six years, NUSA has never accounted for its deployment of lethal weaponry and military forces along the Free States border—actions that blatantly violate the spirit of the Arvin Peace Accord and the International Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Excessive Force. Ladies and gentlemen, these are real, verifiable facts—not mere conjecture. This is real. It is all meticulously documented."

On the podium, the luminous {ARASAKA} display plaque gleamed brightly. The elegant, poised blonde woman spoke calmly, her cool and clear voice amplified across the spacious conference hall.

As Vela raised the detachable chip in her hand—

Zzt—the background wall display, adorned with glittering logos of attending megacorporations, responded and switched.

Images appeared on the screen—photos and footage seemingly captured under dangerous circumstances: clandestinely taken videos and audio.

In the trembling visuals, emaciated, half-naked former Independent States veterans were shown being abused by soldiers clad in Militech-style digital camouflage. Formation tanks rumbled under concealed transport, moving into a breach of contract base carved into the Nevada Mountains near Northern California. Audio captured during a massacre of unarmed civilians played alongside: gunfire and screams overlapped with key phrases heard in the soldiers' chatter—"batch," "orders from above," "complete," "clear out"...

"...There is no doubt that all of this was premeditated, systematic, and large-scale. This is a blatant disregard for the independence and sovereignty of the Free States—a trampling of the dignity of Western citizens."

Amid the timely gasps and murmurs of the attendees, Vela spoke with a tone of barely suppressed anger and righteous indignation.

All of them—actors!

At this expanded public multilateral dialogue session, one of the 'Best Actresses Present,' Miss Vela herself, discreetly swept her eyes across the crowd of bloodsucking vampires and corporate dogs with imperceptible side glances.

So fake. So dramatic. Zero professionalism.

They gasped "Oh my god" at a few raw clips, wore expressions like their father just died, and some even squeezed out tears—hands covering their faces, shoulders shaking as if they were dabbing eyedrops...

Anyone who didn't know better might think they truly cared about the postwar welfare of North America's western citizens.

Oh, and over at the {NUSA} and {MILITECH} nameplates, the New America and Militech delegates—dressed like tax collectors—had gone pale. They were already banging on tables in protest, rising to their feet to question the proceedings.

But no one paid them any mind.

Although this wasn't Night City or the Arasaka-friendly regions of Northern or Southern California, it wasn't under Washington's influence either. This was Texas—or more precisely, the Republic of Texas, with Austin as its capital.

Once the state with the strongest independence movement in the old United States.

During the Metal Wars, the Federalist Party that governed Southern Texas may have chosen neutrality and moderate alliance with Washington. But by 2076, in the face of Washington D.C.'s push to "strengthen national power," promising to expand federal rule and demanding a return to the old U.S. system, Texas's stance had begun to shift subtly.

Did the Lone Star State want to become the 50th star on the American flag again?

Retracting her gaze, Vela ignored the Militech representative's protest. Seizing this pause—meant for attendees to review the evidence—she took a moment to prepare emotionally.

Hmm... should she try to squeeze out a tear?

Forget it—too much might backfire.

Good thing she came prepared...

Taking a deep breath, Vela lifted her head. Her eyes turned glassy, clear as spring water, soft and glistening as she looked down at the suited beasts below. Amid rippling waves of blurred vision, she saw "herself"—the version of her who attended the antitrust hearing, the "other" Vela as CEO of Militech.

Sigh.

Burdened by the pressure of antitrust investigations, envious rivals ganging up on her, and the urge to simply gun them down—yet forced to endure for the sake of the bigger picture—Vela could relate deeply.

Immediately, her expression shifted to sorrowful, full of empathy for the suffering of others, as she continued speaking.

Fluent, emotionally resonant, and delivered with precisely the right tone.

After elaborating on NUSA's violation of agreements—covert troop deployments to the West Coast, and a long list of offenses including but not limited to: oppressing the Western States population, retaliating against Independent State war veterans in defiance of accords, persecuting three highly respected local party elders, and failing to grant the Western States equal voting rights and respect as promised...

"Thank you for listening."

With that, she stepped down from the podium. As she passed the Militech representative, Vela gave him a deep, lingering glance before returning to her seat.

Rosalind Myers and the current CEO of Militech hadn't shown up. Clearly, based on reciprocity, Vela's rank wasn't high enough to warrant their attendance. If Saburo Arasaka or Yorinobu Arasaka had come, perhaps.

"This is slander—a baseless and factually unsubstantiated rumor. Director Russell's accusations are false and irresponsible."

With his signature "accordion gesture," the Militech representative began his rebuttal speech. "No one understands better than us how to serve the citizens of America..."

From the seats below, Vela simply treated it as background noise. She unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and took a sip. After nodding politely to the Biotechnica, EuroBank, and SovOil representatives who expressed concern and friendliness, she straightened her posture, folded her hands in her lap, and appeared to listen attentively to her old adversary's rebuttal.

At least, it looked that way on the surface.

This conference wasn't going to reach any conclusions.

Vela knew that all too well.

What couldn't be won on the battlefield should never be expected at the negotiating table.

But this was a political statement.

It was about rallying supporters in the Western Independent States seeking state autonomy, igniting the resistance consciousness of former Free States in the central region who had long suffered from Eastern State discrimination and economic exploitation, and undermining the ideological banner of New America promoted by Myers—"Unity, Make America Great Again."

In this respect, Arasaka had countless potential allies on the international stage.

No country or force in the world wanted to see America reunified and the post-WWII global hegemon return.

EuroBank opposed it—having broken free only during the collapse of the dollar settlement system in the 1990s, amidst a global economic crisis and the disintegration of the old United States. It was finally Europe's turn to prosper. What goes around comes around.

SovOil opposed it—driven by both profit and historical grievances.

Biotechnica opposed it—because this was the shared desire of all corporations: the world should never again have a superpower inclined toward strong centralized government.

Even Petrochem, despite its close ties with Militech, did not want Washington to grow stronger.

As the only petrochemical company in North America licensed to produce CHOHO2 (an essential energy resource), they had no interest in having their monopoly position threatened by a reinvigorated federal government conducting antitrust investigations.

They weren't Militech, after all.

Everyone knew the not-so-secret truth: New America was Militech, and Militech was New America.

...

After the Metal Wars, Washington had nearly reabsorbed the territory of the old United States. Militech had become increasingly arrogant and domineering toward other North American companies—acting like they owned the place.

Better them than me.

Teaching Militech a lesson and derailing New America's rise had become a shared goal for more and more global powers—especially since it was Arasaka leading the charge, not them.

Vela never expected any of them to be reliable. No matter how loudly they shouted, most could only offer everything except actual help.

As long as they didn't drag her down, that was good enough.

Vela calculated silently, glancing sideways at the Petrochem Slav representative, who was wearing the unmistakable expression of someone watching a good show.

Compared to Vela's speech, the rebuttal from the Militech executive—dressed flamboyantly like a flamingo—was clearly a flop.

Only the fact that the attendees were all civilized corporate professionals kept them from booing or flipping him the bird.

Vela shook her head.

No need to keep listening. Militech's righteous tirade would be handled by the Arasaka Tower diplomatic and PR department head from Night City who had accompanied her.

Midway through the Militech representative's impassioned rant about Arasaka preemptively deploying troops near Night City, Vela hadn't even opened her mouth before the burly Slav representative from SovOil jumped in, shirtless, to take her side.

He launched into a scathing monologue about Militech's nuclear bombing of Arasaka Tower in 2023 and the subsequent framing attempt. He said, "You people are known terrorists with a criminal record. Saburo lost his eldest son because of you. Of course he would take precautions."

The tirade left the Militech negotiation team's faces dark and stormy.

Meanwhile, the SovOil rep wore an expression that screamed, Come at me if you dare. His posture said, Act tough here all you want. Try pulling this in Eastern Europe or Moscow—you'll get your face rearranged.

After only half a day, the expanded multilateral dialogue meeting came to an end—or rather, failed to achieve anything meaningful.

A resolution—number whatever—was passed, urging Militech and Washington to adhere to the Arvin Peace Accord and allow international friendly enterprises to send observers to investigate human rights conditions in the Western Independent States. If necessary, the U.S. would be required to withdraw...

Faced with such an openly hostile, anti-New America resolution, the Militech representative stormed out in protest.

"This is a conspiracy against New America and Militech! A new iron curtain, woven by Arasaka, is descending upon the North American continent. The bald eagle cannot pierce this iron curtain. Our homeland is being divided into East and West!"

Before exiting the conference hall, the Militech rep issued a furious declaration to the press: "We will never yield."

Vela, unfazed, followed soon after—surrounded by allies and onlookers as she exited the backstabbing-filled chamber.

She looked to the sky.

Just as the lights of Austin began to glow, the moon hung high, stars scattered across the heavens. The galaxy unfolded above her, and Vela felt a rare sense of clarity and calm.

She could clearly sense that localized armed conflict in North America was about to become the norm.

And she had helped push forward several of the most critical pieces.

The Metal Wars of 2069–2070 had ended only six years ago. The grizzled old veterans of the Independent States weren't all dead yet. The young who grew up steeped in hatred were now in their most impulsive years. Washington's assimilation policies toward the Western States hadn't reached their feedback stage yet. The longer it dragged on, the more time diluted hatred, the more favorable things would become for Militech.

Which is precisely why Vela had to seize this unprecedentedly favorable international climate to restore Arasaka's North American branch to its former glory.

2076 to 2078—this was the rehearsal phase of the Fifth Corporate War in her plans.

Maybe it would come early. Maybe it would be delayed.

That's how plans work—ever-changing, always adjusting to real-world conditions.

But war…

She was orchestrating what could become a conflict on par with a world war.

Her first time doing this. Anyone would feel a little nervous.

Being mentally prepared and facing the real thing were two different matters. A fleeting hint of melancholy flashed in Vela's eyes—but it vanished quickly.

Her moral bottom line was flexible.

On the one hand, she offered small favors and tried to help those under her command live just a bit better—better than the rotting world around them—even at the cost of some personal gain.

On the other hand, when necessary, she wouldn't hesitate to harm countless people's interests, or even their lives.

These two thoughts often coexisted in her mind.

After all, humans aren't binary. Black and white blur—too complex to classify.

Psychologically, Vela understood herself very well: she loved only herself. She might not mind giving up some benefits, but only if it served her. Love others? Love yourself first.

That's a capitalist.

Or a ruler. A meat-eater. A member of the ruling class.

But interrupting New America's national rise…

Vela's eyes burned bright with excitement.

Now that was a challenge.

After acknowledging the representatives from SovOil, EuroBank, and Biotechnica who had backed Arasaka during the meeting, Vela stepped down the grand stairs of the parliament building, her eyes glowing with an orange-red hue.

"The Austin meeting is over. Militech won't be scared off by a little diplomatic pressure and media drama—at most, they'll feel embarrassed. Have the airport prepped. We're returning to Night City. Alert the escort fleet hidden near the U.S.–Mexico border, and inform Night City—Adam Smasher and the Cyber Kong unit are to prepare for deployment. Be ready. Some gamblers might try to copy the success of 2023 and risk it all..."

...

At the same time—

U.S.–Mexico Border.

A Federal Intelligence Agency outpost hidden within Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.

Combat Intelligence Safehouse.

Beep beep—

Behind the blinking terminal console, several agents in plainclothes lifted their synthetic-skinned faces.

"Shit. Those desk-warming office rejects. Not only did they lose the actual fight, now they got wrecked at the mic too? Did you see that smug Arasaka bitch's face?"

"Tch. In the end, it's up to us. Any word from upstairs? Come on, did anything come down? We know she's leaving through the U.S.–Mexico border, right? Boss, is there any way we can hit her? Not saying we kill her—just shoot her down. Myers would personally give us a medal. Hell, we might even retire rich."

They turned toward the shadow seated in the corner, speaking quietly into an internal comm line.

"Yes. Mm... understood. No need to repeat yourself. I know. I'll keep my subordinates in check..."

The voice was low, hoarse—barely concealing seething rage.

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