Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka

Ding dong.

[150,000€ has been transferred.]

"Hey, chica, working late without your beauty sleep? Still pulling overtime this late? Aha, just like you asked, the remaining payment's sent. Half of it."

Little China. Even at night, the streets remained noisy and bustling.

In the alley behind Misty's Esoterica, Jackie plopped down on an old sofa beneath the awning, holding a takeout box. His burly frame nearly overwhelmed the seat as he slurped up greasy zha jiang noodles, eyes glinting with the light of a call signal.

Beep.

[V: Jackie, cut the crap. If you worked in Arasaka's Counter-Intelligence Division, you'd be doing overtime too. Just now you said—you transferred 150,000 euros to Maine's crew? Tsk. Jackie, not to lecture you, but you should've only paid a third.]

"Hey, chica, those guys are risking their necks. Right now they're holed up in some sewer waiting for things to blow over. Gotta give 'em some encouragement, right?"

After slurping down the noodles in a few big gulps, Jackie tossed the box into the nearby trash bin, wiped his mouth with his hand, and smiled faintly.

[V: You're practically running a charity. A 50/50 split between fixer and mercs? Never heard of that. Far as I know, top fixers at Afterlife usually work on a 70/30 split.]

"But I'm not them."

Jackie grinned warmly.

"If you want to be a legend, you need your own style. Before talking business, you have to connect—heart to heart. That's a rule I learned growing up in Heywood. Sincerity, chica. Any long-term partnership worth a damn starts with that. That's the Jackie Welles way."

He knew V was looking out for him—letting him keep more.

The 200,000-euro deposit had already been paid upfront to show sincerity and seize initiative. V had personally delivered it to Maine's crew. As for the remaining payment—at least 600,000 euros in off-the-books funding for the "Misleading Operation"—V had already secured it from upstairs.

Following her suggestion, Jackie would first take half of that 600,000 as his cut, as a new fixer rising in Bradbury and Buran Street territory. Of the remaining 300,000, Jackie would keep another 100,000, and the final 200,000 would be paid to Maine's crew—split into two tranches.

Right now, Maine's team was putting on a solid, convincing performance at the Arasaka Waterfront. V had Jackie send them 100,000 as a reward, with the last 100,000 to be paid after the job was done.

That final payment depended on Faraday and Militech's next moves—as well as Washington's.

And that "depends on follow-up" was entirely subjective. Plenty of room to maneuver.

If Jackie were ruthless enough, he could easily claim that the results fell short and slash Maine's payout by 50,000 euros. Hell, if he wanted to be a real bastard, he could toss them 5,000 and call it done.

[V: Heart to heart. So you go all soft and split fifty-fifty? Jackie, that kind of attitude won't get you far as a fixer.]

V's voice over the encrypted video call was half exasperated, like a big sister scolding her unruly brother.

"Please, don't use that 'disappointed mom' tone with me," Jackie raised both hands in mock surrender. "But chica... a man's gotta have some honor, yeah? A little warmth?"

Sprawled across the old sofa like a king in his throne, Jackie folded his arms behind the backrest, gazing up at the alley's narrow strip of sky.

The murky, paper-littered air was sliced into a sliver of neon by the towering buildings on either side. Multicolored halos spilled outward from the massive holographic billboards stabbing into the heavens. Just like Night City—hazy, blurred, surreal.

The height of luxury, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

V was a good friend, good sister—loyal to her own.

But toward others, her haughty, dismissive attitude and the way she looked at people like disposable tools… Jackie saw it all and it worried him.

The higher his chica climbed in Arasaka's snake pit, the less she trusted people.

Through their routine contact, Jackie felt it more and more—his chica had begun to bury all her thoughts deep inside, and the expression on her face was always as cold and frozen as ice, with eyes that forever carried scrutiny.

"In this pretty but cold-as-hell city, when everything else is taken from me, at least I still have this." Jackie pointed to his chest.

[V: ...Mm, suit yourself. That 600k, while technically a designated transfer, was really requested specifically for you. If it weren't for your lucky break, I wouldn't have picked up on Faraday's slip. Without this operation, my promotion wouldn't have gone through so smoothly. Think of it as funding to help you build your own crew. If one of my would-be bigshot brothers wants to play boss, I gotta help him save face. But Jackie, boundaries—don't let people treat you like an idiot with an ATM for a brain.]

"You're the best, chica. Heh… thanks."

[V: Don't thank me yet. For the final phase—you need to know, the troops stationed at the Arasaka Waterfront are only protecting one person. My boss. Even her superiors don't have command authority—only advisory. The aftermath? That's their problem. Make sure Maine's crew doesn't screw it up. Since they're already acting, they better finish the role and then vanish. Though honestly, I wouldn't mind if the fake show turned real.]

"Of course. I know full well the presence your Executive Director carries. All the recent chaos started because of her. Now that's what you call a major player. And that was after a failed assassination. If it had succeeded? Shit, I don't even wanna imagine the kind of storm that would've followed."

Jackie nodded gravely.

Then he shifted the topic.

"That ass-licking Militech bootlicker Faraday… uh, present company excluded, obviously. I've seen him. Eyes always darting around, never says more than needed when handing out jobs. His mercs rarely screw up, sure, but the guy's ice cold and shady as hell. When he talks to people, he expects to be treated like royalty."

[V: Get to the point.]

"...Point is, with his personality, the moment Maine picks up something valuable, Faraday's definitely gonna report it to his masters."

Jackie shrugged. "The second I laid eyes on him, I knew—I'll never work with that guy in my life. Once this gig's over, if things go well on your side, Militech's bound to come knocking for payback. Just imagining that four-eyed freak's smug face getting smashed in makes me grin."

"Alright, that's it for Jackie's report. Miss V, madam—how's it looking on your end?"

[V: Corp operation—you know the drill. Divided by zone, phase, and department. Everyone keeps to their lane. My part's wrapped up. As for the rest—don't ask. That's for the higher-ups to worry about. But yeah, Security Division's buzzing.]

"Oof, good ol' fortress-grade office politics."

...

Morning. Russell Residence Duplex, Westbrook.

"Smoother than I expected."

Draped in a loose white robe, Vela reclined diagonally on the sofa. One hand propped up her cheek, the other casually flipped through the hovering interface in front of her—

A holographic curtain projected by a cluster of high-precision imaging projectors.

Live surveillance from the Arasaka Waterfront the previous night. Kurt Hansen delivering enlistment speeches across major cities in New Mexico. Jimmy making progress networking across Washington and Oregon.

"Looks like it's time to stoke the fire a little more."

After absorbing all the visual and text data, Vela lowered the hand supporting her cheek and gazed at the enlarged map of the southwestern North American coast on the holoscreen: California, Arizona, New Mexico.

"An unexpected move can still be legitimate."

Split-pane holographic feeds continued to broadcast high-resolution footage across the blue-tinted screen.

Her eyes skimmed past the so-called Iron Curtain Axis—California, per the New American propaganda outlets—then the chaos-ridden New Mexico.

Finally, Vela's gaze settled on Arizona, where the scale of unrest was relatively mild.

Her vision wandered around the state capital, Phoenix.

Arasaka Intelligence Division and covert operative society reports uploaded—

Confirmed Militech encampments, NUSA military bases, pending verification on Wasteland transport routes, and current intelligence on military movements were all meticulously marked. Arasaka's Information Division AI analyses and multiple predictive conclusions were also clearly laid out.

The data indicated that the situation in the southwestern states remained deadlocked.

Despite how embarrassed and reactive Washington appeared under pressure from Kurt Hansen—being blasted in public discourse—he still held solid grassroots support from retired veterans, Wasteland cowboys, and Western Partisans throughout the Free States.

Yet Washington's strategic patience was notable—they kept the Lazarus Mobile Field Battalions on standby.

Just as Vela currently lacked the confidence to completely crush Militech, Rosalind Myers wasn't ready to wage an all-out war against Arasaka and start the Fifth Corporate War. She didn't have full confidence either.

Both sides were locked in fierce struggle, yet with restraint.

Until the parent companies of Arasaka and Militech openly declared full-scale war, the Lazarus Group's Mobile Field Battalions served as the final line.

They were the last respectable facade before hot war—Washington and Militech's direct handpicked proxy "general reserve."

Myers, a political animal cultivated by Washington itself, understood perfectly well: the general reserve was not to be wasted.

"Only the truly cunning can climb out of a viper pit. No idiots here—only abstract intentions, no real fools. Expected, really."

Vela studied the Arizona battlefield map, then shifted her gaze to another split screen showing Arasaka's military personnel movements and data.

"Then, I'll raise the stakes with a preemptive move—stir up the entire zone, divide the force in two. One hidden in Oregon and Washington, biding their time. The other loud and bold, advancing eastward from Southern California."

In truth, this remained a "combine orthodox and surprise" tactic—a fusion of conventional and unconventional forces.

From Vela's perspective:

Her main forces—disguised as irregulars—were concealed in Oregon and Washington.

They wouldn't act just yet, continuing instead to link with local networks. Like the other restless Free States across the West, they'd continue stoking chaos: protests, assaults on NUSA federal law enforcement, random looting, vandalism, arson—any disruption would do.

The goal was to misdirect local NUSA law enforcement and troops. Exhaust them. Make them numb. Lower their guard.

As for the most visible "main force" in the media? That was the real unconventional play—Kurt Hansen.

Under global media spotlight, he continued delivering enlistment speeches across New Mexico, deliberately provoking the FIA's nerves.

Barghest's mercenary main force steadily funneled into the region. The local Free State parties played their part, exploiting their tangled networks of relationships and interests to influence police forces, SWAT, National Guard—even shake the morale of the federal garrisons.

Make them go through the motions. Hold back. Hedge their bets.

Of course, good strategy hinges on flexibility.

Vela wasn't some rigid tactician obsessed with blueprints and micromanagement. She wasn't the type to stubbornly execute a plan word for word despite changing circumstances.

As the battle evolved, the conventional and unconventional could switch roles. Regular forces could become the surprise element, and irregulars could take the lead—the essence of blending the two.

This had nothing to do with impulsive changes or delusional command.

It was a concept she'd learned during her law studies in Tokyo—while idly exploring the Arasaka Family Compound, she had stumbled into a hidden treasure: an ancient library.

Among the dusty tomes, she discovered and hand-copied a forgotten classic from Kang Tao—"The Art of War: Chapter on Formations."

While it had the appearance of sucking up to Saburo, Vela's interest was genuine.

And it carried a deep, personal attachment—one she would never share with anyone.

In the cyberpunk world, aside from occasionally discussing such topics with Saburo over their games of strategy—topics that, by 2076, were ancient relics no one read, cared about, or even circulated on Kang Tao's local intranet—Vela had studied them alone. The kind of study where "cyber" doesn't shine, but something beyond the sky does. She let her other selves hunt down books, trading what they found.

To that end, Vela kept an old-fashioned paper library in her Westbrook home.

Michiko Arasaka once remarked that Vela's thoughts and manners had a certain old-school air—one reason, perhaps, why Saburo took a liking to her.

Back to the point: Vela now decided to turn what she originally framed as irregular forces—feigned regulars in the eyes of outsiders—into actual regulars. Or at least half-regulars.

Beep beep. With her fingers, Vela circled and tapped across the 3D map projected by the imaging system.

She pressed firmly on a blinking red dot on the border between Mexico and New Mexico.

—"March 30th Arasaka Delegation Border Ambush Incident"—

The location of the attack on Vela.

Cases like this—international criminal cases—usually took two to three months to investigate.

From late March to early May, it had only been about a month. The heavily armed Arasaka military investigation team stationed there had yet to withdraw.

South of that point lay Ciudad Juárez on the Mexican side.

As for the local FIA agents who caused the whole mess, Vela wasn't sure of their status. Either they fled to avoid Arasaka's revenge, or were ordered from above to lay low and avoid escalating the conflict.

So far, no new clashes involving the New Americans had broken out.

Vela's response was simple: if the enemy retreats, we advance.

She had waited, lured, endured. Rosalind Myers had moved like she was testing the waters—pressing, probing, shadowing.

She showed intent, but never followed through.

The Counter-Intelligence Division's "Misleading Operation" had been useful, but not decisive. A catalyst, but not yet a tipping point.

Waiting longer would only play into Washington's tempo—and waste the opportunity.

Hence: "Arizona."

Eyes sharp, Vela tapped the state's 3D topography on the map.

Just like Barghest, Lazarus had also deployed significant forces to New Mexico.

That state marked the easternmost edge of the so-called "Western Free States" political region.

Geographically, it directly bordered the central buffer states long manipulated by Washington even before the Metal Wars. Afterward, Washington had absorbed those territories deeply—their garrisons could roll into New Mexico at a moment's notice.

Meanwhile, Arizona sat between California to the west and New Mexico to the east.

Now that Kurt Hansen had stationed Barghest's main force in Santa Fe, New Mexico's capital, provoking both NUSA and Lazarus with high-profile recruitment drives, Arizona—now subtly cut off and more susceptible to Arasaka influence—had become strategically delicate.

"Hansen."

Vela's pupils flickered with streaming data. Call initiated.

Brrr…

Connected.

"Time to see if Barghest can be the next Lazarus. All talk and no action's worthless. Let's see if you've got what it takes. Don't let me down."

Vela sat upright, fingers drumming on the armrest.

Ding dong.

[Hansen: I can win.]

A terse, instant reply.

"I'll be watching."

She meant it.

With Adam Smasher and the Cyber Tyrant unit guarding him, as long as Hansen survived, that alone would be a victory. Just standing there would boost morale.

Vela ended the call.

"Then it's time to move."

She rose, arms crossed, gazing at the enlarged map of the North American west coast. Her mind was made up.

Beep. Her UID executive interface as Operations Executive Director came online.

"This is Vela Adelheid. Transmit orders to the Security Bureau—initiate covert operation number 217. Codename: Fluttering Sleeve Vajra. Deploy a portion of the Special Assault Unit. Station Mobile Teams 1, 2, and 3 for eastward movement to Phoenix."

After her "assassination," Arasaka had condemned the act but taken no formal action. The White House press secretary repeatedly claimed it was a rogue act by a mid-level FIA agent, unrelated to Washington.

Fine. This Executive Director is happy to take that hint—and assign the blame herself.

Look! The traitor reveals himself!

Phoenix, Arizona. Chief Secretary of State Plymouth Devon!

He once served in the FIA. The assassin Mendoza Laurie rose from his jurisdiction. There was even a local paper that printed a photo of Devon awarding medals alongside Mendoza and others. He definitely knew. It was his doing!

Who cares about the truth? With even a thread of suspicion, Vela had decided to kill him as closure for her own attack.

His rank was just high enough.

"Chief Secretary of State" was a special title established by Myers via post-Metal War legislation to absorb the Western Free States—a non-permanent position.

According to the federal constitution, governors were elected directly by citizens. To maintain appearances and pay lip service to American traditions, Washington created this new role to override, contain, and monitor the elected governors.

Not a whim, but a precise and calculated choice.

Whether he died wasn't the key—what mattered was where he died.

For example, collateral damage caused along the way due to his desperate resistance...

After how publicly humiliated she'd been on camera, it would be a waste not to squeeze every drop of value out of that incident. By the principle of reciprocity, Vela's "revenge" was more than justified.

Key point: This operation did not target any political entity or corporation. It was a personal grievance.

She was sure the international community could sympathize. Militech and Washington, too, would understand her rage.

Vela continued issuing commands.

"Regional Bureau—coordinate with the Intelligence Division. Reactivate agents embedded in Phoenix. It's time to wake them."

"Foreign Affairs Division—send a representative eastward immediately. Tell the Arizona local parties: assemble but don't attack, riot without destruction, yield without surrender. What are they playing at? This is their last chance. The longer they wait, the less the voters will need them. Do they really think Myers will show mercy? I, Vela, keep my word—if they seize the State Capitol and declare renewed independence, Arasaka will stand with them. The international community will stand with them."

"Arasaka Waterfront Authority—enter covert military standby mode. Organize logistics convoys. Coordinate with Night City Rail Authority to prepare for bulk material transport. Use standards for an interstate war."

...

[AI: Orders dispatched.]

A few minutes later, after double-checking everything, the auxiliary AI sent out the encrypted internal orders.

Something seemed to strike her. Staring at Plymouth Devon's file, Vela tapped the top contact in her private line.

[Shintaro Takayama]

Brrr… beep…

"Director Takayama, long time no see..."

"Mm. I've initiated an action that might appear impulsive. I need to consult Lord Saburo."

"Six years ago, the end of the Metal Wars concluded with the FIA assassinating Commander Murata Ozuru—the captain of the Kujira. Now, I intend to begin with the death of Plymouth Devon, Chief Secretary of State of Arizona, and properly bring closure to Arasaka's role in this U.S.-Mexico border incident."

"Yes... just this once. This will be Arasaka's sole, barely legal and barely reasonable use of armed intervention in this entire incident. After that, Arasaka must withdraw from the stage for a while... Naval deterrence during this period is necessary... Yes. The Western Free States Alliance—we must rebuild it, support it, not directly intervene... I understand."

Click.

After hanging up, Vela let out a long, heavy breath.

With the major strategy decided and higher approval and reinforcements requested, she picked up the PDA tablet from the coffee table.

High-firewall data throughput: a red-encrypted email.

[Sender: Jimmy]

[Content: Ready.]

[Vela: Stand by. Await Phoenix signal.]

Setting the PDA back down, a slight smile curled at the corner of Vela's lips, her eyes glinting with a quiet excitement.

She turned toward the cyber ninja quietly waiting outside the door and said, "Prepare for departure. I need to pay Lady Michiko a visit."

With that, Vela headed upstairs to freshen up. She was flying to Los Angeles—

Not for pleasure.

Business.

Militech was definitely tracking her every move now. Leaving Night City served both to divert some attention and to meet a practical need: she needed to leverage Michiko Arasaka's influence.

Even the smallest increase in momentum could mean everything—motivating wavering individuals or hesitant factions.

Whoosh—

...

Arasaka Barracks, Northern Watson New District.

The construction site was still bustling as ever.

As usual, acting as site supervisor—newly upgraded implants and now clad in full Arasaka heavy soldier gear—David Martinez patrolled the section of the site he was responsible for, carrying a silver Quinque case. On his back, an electromagnetic shotgun; at his waist, a chainsaw blade; on his chest, an HJSH-18 Masamune rifle.

"Nomads, Aldecaldos—that's what they call themselves."

David watched the modded bike maniacs from afar.

The minefield across the claimed zone was mostly cleared. While some were still on dangerous EOD duty, most had been conscripted by the long-haired, burly man with the rugged beard to do construction work.

All for survival. All for pay.

The more David watched the nomads, the more he appreciated his mother. If not for her, he would never have returned to study at Arasaka Academy—nor met the people who came after...

He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. Focus.

...Everything seemed normal.

Except—where was that feisty, tanned, hot-tempered girl who always argued with the long-haired brute?

He glanced over at the row of parked custom bikes. That roaring Mackinaw wasn't there either.

Because of David's imposing presence as an Arasaka heavy soldier, one of the guards watching the vehicles stood up warily—but didn't dare draw a weapon.

Not wanting to trouble honest folks just trying to make a living, David did one last check and left.

Just as he was heading toward the area supervised by Suneo Kawakami—

"Hey, David! Check your mail!"

David turned around—it was Suneo.

Right on cue—ding-ling-ling.

[Arasaka Security Division – Night City]

—[Operation Codename: Fluttering Sleeve Vajra]—

[Employee: David Martinez, you have been selected...]

An external mission?

David's eyes widened.

Before he could process it—

"David, Suneo."

Screech—an Arasaka-painted Emperor 620 Ragnar drifted to a stop. Katsuo Tanaka leaned out the window, looking at David and the approaching Suneo.

"Mission: Operation Fluttering Sleeve Vajra." Katsuo took a deep breath and pointed to the backseat, motioning them in. "Command order. We're rolling with the 3rd Mobile Team. This is it—time to shine or fall flat. It all comes down to this run."

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