Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka

By April 2076, Night City was a noisy, irritable place, with an uptick in civil unrest.

Footsteps echoed chaotically in the light-polluted Little China district.

Live models, as usual, posed seductively in the glass display fronts of roadside shops, serving as living advertisements. In the muddy, grimy alleys, a flasher with a toy in hand panted in pleasure; zombie-like drifters, dressed in rags, shuffled along the curb, lifting their cloudy eyes to the street ahead, where crowds had gathered with banners and placards.

What were they shouting?

"Down with Washington's tyrannical dictatorship! Respect the Free States' independence and sovereignty!"

"Kick Myers out of Night City! Out of California!"

"Greedy East Coasters, go back to your gloomy, damp coast! The West belongs to cowboys of the free flag and free people!"

"It's Arasaka that should get out of Night City!"

"Stop Vela Adelheid and Michiko's conspiracy! The Americas belong to Americans!"

...

The homeless man seemed to hear the rants of these overfed, idle fools.

But to him, it was just background noise.

His dull eyes shifted, turning away. Carrying all his worldly possessions in an oil-stained, tattered satchel, he approached a metal dumpster—today's fresh one, untouched by others—and began digging for anything of value. That was what mattered to him.

As for the well-fed folks with homes and cars—their problems had nothing to do with him.

Crack—

Amid the escalating shoving and shouting came the sharp sound of glass breaking and a burst of flame. There was a flash, a blaze—but no explosion. Molotov cocktails.

Cries rang out from the affected, joined by shocked gasps from the onlookers.

Almost simultaneously, opposing protest groups came to blows—pushing, fists, steel pipes, bricks, stones, smoke bombs. The street became a bloody melee. One hothead had already drawn a real weapon—bang!

Gunfire. Blood spray. Screams of pain and terror…

The crowd surged, trampled, and as more gunshots rang out, police sirens howled. NCPD officers in full riot gear, supported by security robots and bipedal drones, moved in to violently disperse the demonstrators—Arasaka supporters, Militech backers, Free States loyalists, Washington nationalists—all embroiled in an all-out street brawl.

On the sidewalk, Maine and Dorio, en route to Afterlife, exchanged glances.

Cyberpsychos were rampant in Night City. Gunfights were common. Law practically didn't exist.

But even here, such large-scale protests? How many had there been today already? Truly a once-in-a-lifetime sight.

A bunch of bored, overfed idiots.

Pot calling kettle. What was there to argue about? All rotten!

"This reminds me of the days when the 'rocker boy' Johnny Silverhand was active. They say, under his call, countless people marched to Corporate Plaza and launched mass protests against Arasaka."

Lucy, the team's savings-focused girl, said thoughtfully.

"Ha, you still watch those outdated things?"

Rebecca, the explosive legal loli, stood hands on hips, her pink-to-green gradient pupils flashing with indignation.

"Those so-called has-been legends were all assholes—especially Bartmoss. If he hadn't screwed up the internet, I wouldn't have to jump through so many hoops just to get online! Isn't everyone saying now that Bartmoss ruined everything? And Silverhand? His biggest claim to fame was fighting Arasaka, but look—Arasaka's doing just fine. Even we..."

"That's enough, Rebecca. Dial it back."

Kiwi tugged on the pigtail of the rampaging loli.

A cigarette protruded from the round hole of her pink iron mask. She took a puff, exhaled a smoke ring, and looked at Maine.

"Corp drama—unless it's a job, don't ask."

"Understood."

Maine nodded seriously, clearly catching Kiwi's meaning.

Right now, they were playing both sides. If exposed, they didn't know if Arasaka would protect them—but Militech, backing Faraday, would definitely come down on them with everything they had.

"Still, something as civilized as protests... who else but the corps, parliament, or the higher-ups would have the time or interest to stir that up?"

This had nothing to do with them.

With a broad wave of his hand, Maine led the team into a narrow alleyway and into a particularly dark, damp parking lot—perpetually shrouded in shadow thanks to towering apartment blocks overhead.

"Kiwi... no surprise. The 'Afterlife' queen's movements have drawn plenty of top-tier mercs sniffing around."

With a quick scan of the area, Lucy frowned slightly.

The lot was packed with luxury and modified cars of all makes and models—from the sleek Gudra 66 to the opulent Alvarado V4F, and all manner of souped-up Mizutani and Makino rides...

"With such a major attack on the US-Mexico border, Arasaka isn't going to let it go. The massive clashes between local party separatists and Washington's forces in New Mexico and Arizona are inevitable. Even Rogue won't be able to sit this one out."

Kiwi remained calm.

If Night City in California was this heated, just imagine what things must be like in New Mexico and Arizona—two states now serving as key footholds for Arasaka's intervention.

"Will she pick a side?" Lucy asked after a moment of thought.

"Who knows."

With a shadowed gaze, Kiwi looked toward the Afterlife's entrance.

Nothing impressive.

A front adorned with cheap neon tubing, chaotic graffiti scrawled across the doorway, and even a pile of trash bags stacked in the corner. Grimy and cluttered, it was a far cry from what one might expect of a place with Afterlife's reputation in mercenary circles.

Still, out on the street, countless people dreamed of getting through that door.

Past the rust-stained corridor stood an old acquaintance they'd never really interacted with—Emmerick, posted like a doorman at the Afterlife's threshold. The guard dog of Rogue Amendiares, Night City's unofficial queen of fixers. The most convincing boss-type doorman in town.

"Welcome." With a nod, hands clasped in front of his stomach, the stocky Emmerick—no less broad than Maine—stepped aside.

Maine's crew were regulars at the Afterlife. No need for frisking.

"Appreciate it, man."

They entered.

Flashing neon lights—practically light pollution—buzzed and blinked. Aggressive heavy metal music pounded at the skull. The air was thick with a cocktail of alcohol, smoke, leaf, pills... A single breath—ah~

The scent of the Afterlife.

Maine felt the discomfort from his cyberware erosion ease a little.

The place was packed. Fixers, edgerunners, clients, info brokers, sponsors—plenty of familiar faces.

"Long time no see, viego (my friend)."

A voice snapped Maine back to reality.

He turned.

At the bar, sitting alone with his signature man bun, was the burly figure of Jackie Welles. He waved them over.

"Dorio, take the crew to the booth. Kiwi, with me."

Maine pushed down his shades and motioned for his team's external brain.

Snap! "Two Old Fashioned Tequilas. Add beer and chili." With a very boss-like air, Jackie snapped his fingers at the muscular, unmodified female bartender.

"Two Johnny Silverhands. Coming right up."

As she started mixing drinks, Jackie looked at Maine.

"How's it going, brother Maine? Man, Night City barely had a few quiet days and it's back in chaos. Heard you picked up a big one from Faraday. That job must be nasty—especially now. A few damn good crews have already gone down running for him."

He winked at Maine.

Beep.

Short-range comms sync.

[Jackie: Hey, you're looking sharp. Guess the hot stuff my baby sister gave you really paid off.]

[Maine: It's good stuff, just too damn expensive.]

[Jackie: You get what you pay for, hermano. Once my baby sis moves up, the price will come down. Before resistance kicks in, I'll try to get you the updated batch. Seriously, Maine—your military-grade Sandevistan, Militech-made... plenty of cyberpsychos used to be Militech soldiers. Pushing yourself like this ain't sustainable.]

[Maine: Let's talk after this job. So, what's the deal—when's Miss V pulling the net? Faraday's already getting suspicious. He's got people watching me. He hasn't linked it to Arasaka yet, but that four-eyed bastard is spreading rumors I'm slacking off, dragging my feet, not pulling weight. He's trying to force us to get serious—or go die.]

[Jackie: Gilipollas (idiot). Guys like him always get what's coming.]

"Hey, two Johnny Silverhands, ready." said the bartender.

"Thanks, chica."

Jackie motioned for the bartender to pass the drinks to Maine and Kiwi.

[Jackie: Militech's probably running out of patience with Faraday too. Word is, a bunch of fixers are getting secret jobs from Militech… cleanup ops tucked into chip packs. I'll give you one after this. Oh, and that four-eyed punk's lackey is here at Afterlife too.]

Jackie ended the encrypted comms.

Ding.

He raised his glass, clinking it with Maine and Kiwi's.

"To windfalls and survival. Oh, and to the Afterlife."

Gulp. Down in one.

"Yours is the one with the love twist, right?"

Maine glanced at Jackie's drink with curiosity.

"Yup. The Jackie Welles cocktail. Haha, not gonna make one for yourself?"

"I'll pass. Dorio says it's bad luck. Gotta die to have a drink named after you. Too steep a price. I'm staying alive—to protect my crew."

Maine shook his head.

"Hey, everyone's gotta go someday. Why not go out with some style?"

"I'd rather go out late."

As they chatted, the blaring heavy metal music suddenly cut off. From a back room emerged an old lady in a yellow jacket and black leather pants.

It was Rogue.

Though Jackie's years frequenting the Afterlife had dulled some of his initial awe, he still held deep respect for the fixer queen of Night City—the living legend herself.

He fell silent immediately.

"I'm Rogue. No introductions needed."

She stepped to the center of the bar, speaking calmly.

"You're all heavy hitters in the biz, so I'll keep this short. Regarding my invitation: it's about a shift in my personal operations."

"You've all heard about what went down on the border. Anything involving New Mexico and Arizona is blowing up, thanks to the big players throwing money around like confetti. Demand is hotter than ever. So I, Rogue, am pulling out of that market. You don't need to know more. I have my ways. Afterlife stays open. That's all."

Short statement, but huge implications.

The Afterlife was Rogue's domain. And in practice, nearly all of Night City's merc network answered to her. Every major gig needed her sign-off. Her influence even reached the badlands of Southern California and extended to nomad clans in other states.

Now she was giving up the turf most suited to her—New Mexico and Arizona—the profit, the influence, the say.

"Rogue, are you backing down? Dodging heat? The Barghest have been investing like crazy in this. Don't tell me you've cut a deal with Dogtown."

One bold merc couldn't help but speak up.

Rogue remained unbothered.

"Are you teaching me how to run things? You want intel? Gotta stay alive long enough to use it."

"Rogue, who do you support?"

A merc from Santo Domingo asked.

"Whoever wins."

...

Rogue was still Rogue.

With ease, the weight of decades of authority crushed every would-be challenger.

Back in the second-floor private lounge of the nightclub.

Exhaling heavily through her nose, Rogue's face darkened. She narrowed her eyes, her irises glowing orange-red.

"...I did what you asked. What do you really want? Start the Fifth Corporate War?"

[That won't be necessary for Night City's queen of the underworld to worry about. All you need to know is this: pass your jobs to Kurt Hansen's Barghest.]

"Then I at least deserve to know whose orders I'm following! You should know, my operations have the endorsement of Arasaka… of Miss Michiko herself."

[Heh... true. But it's no secret: the order comes from Director Vela Adelheid Russell. Lady Michiko has handed control of your operations over to Lady Vela. Rogue, a wise woman knows when to step aside. You know as well as anyone—crossing Arasaka brings ruin to countless lives. Just continue being the queen of the underworld. That's your reward—for services rendered.]

Beep.

Comm ended.

"Arasaka..."

Rogue bit her lower lip hard, slumping onto the couch. She covered her face with one hand, then looked to the photo frame beside her—an old picture of her and her Atlantis crew.

"Those days… they're never coming back."

"Sorry… Johnny. Sorry… everyone."

For a moment, her eyes lost all focus, like a blind fly hopelessly flinging itself at the light-filtered glass.

...

Outside the Afterlife nightclub.

[Jackie: Big news, hermano. Didn't think the last legend of Night City would even consider retirement… Take care.]

[Maine: You too.]

In a blind spot outside surveillance view, their Afterlife chat concluded. In a brief exchange, Jackie handed the shard to Maine.

As Jackie walked off, Maine retraced his steps.

Along the way, he saw the protestors had been violently dispersed by NCPD—only wreckage and scattered corpses remained. Crossing a curb, he spotted a homeless man's body lying in front of a trash bin, skull punctured by a tragic stray bullet.

Back in the alley, after getting the all-clear from Kiwi and Lucy, Maine slotted the shard into his neural port.

"So this is it."

[Mission: Successfully retrieve and disguise key Arasaka personnel transfer logs and intel, then deliver them to Faraday.]

...

Buzz.

Driving down Bradbury Street, Jackie dialed an encrypted number.

"Yo, V, you busy?"

Jackie grinned.

"The mission's been handed off to Maine… Don't worry, your boy Jackie handled it clean. No tails. I made the handoff at Afterlife. That's where we met, remember? Today just so happened to be the queen fixer's big announcement—plenty of people showed up. Everything checks out. Unless Militech throws down, but they don't have that kind of bandwidth. Not for Faraday."

"Hmm, safe? I'll be careful… You too, hermana."

"That big shot of yours, Vela Adelheid Russell—her counterattack is wild, seriously badass. The news coming out of New Mexico and Arizona... damn. Is this an independence war in the making?"