Fake office politics—whether large-scale factional disputes or small-scale gossip, every matter from promotions to scandals revolved around schemes and calculations. In the high towers of corporate offices, strategies were crafted; in luxury hotel suites, decisions were made that would affect distant outcomes. It was a world where cunning ambition thrived—a Darwinian battleground of internal power redistribution under the rule of 'the capable rise, the mediocre fall.'
Real office politics—competition? Compete, my ass! When problems can't be resolved peacefully, then resolve the ones who cause the problem!
Night falls.
Watson District, Little China.
The most famous underground information hub in Night City—Afterlife Nightclub.
A place that never turned anyone away, providing private rooms for every kind of shady deal.
A secret discussion between a corporate dog and a fixer was underway.
"So, this is all you want me to do? You want me to take out this Ms. Susan Abernathy?"
As the orange-red data flow from a retinal chip scan flickered across his eyes, Jackie Welles leaned lazily against the sofa and asked in a calm tone.
"Exactly."
The red-haired woman with one side of her head shaved—dressed like an Arasaka corporate employee—lifted a shot glass with her free hand and downed it in one gulp. Her amber eyes narrowed slightly. "Kill her, and everything will be fine. My boss's blocked promotion path will reopen once that bitch is gone."
"Ever since that bitch somehow got herself promoted to Director of Special Operations and secured her position, she's been making life hell for me and my department. Every damn hot potato of a job gets dumped on us."
"Fuck Susan Abernathy."
V couldn't help cursing aloud at that point.
"When things go right, she takes the credit; when they go wrong, we take the blame! Was Frankfurt our fault? No! Some other division screwed up, and we were left cleaning up their mess!"
"OK, OK, I get it, I get it. Calm down, chica."
Pop! Pulling the cork from a chilled tequila bottle, the broad-shouldered, gorilla-built but ever-supportive Jackie refilled V's glass.
He didn't like this kind of job, and he knew his best friend V didn't either. But this was Arasaka—the snake pit where profit and danger went hand in hand. When a job like this landed on you, refusing wasn't an option.
He knew Arasaka's rules.
Not everyone was Vela Adelheid Russell.
After a year or two of benefiting from Arasaka's black-ops contracts, and having gotten his start in Afterlife as a small-time but reputable fixer, Jackie had come to understand the deeper rules that governed the underground merc world and the corporations that fed off it.
Experience made him wiser.
If he were still the hotheaded street punk from the Valentinos, the broke kid from Heywood, he might've told V to refuse, said something like, "Today they ask you to kill someone, tomorrow they'll send someone to kill you." But now, Jackie would only help his best friend.
With everything he had.
After all, in this fucked-up world, what job wasn't like that?
It wasn't about whether you wanted to be threatened or not—if you wanted to cut ties with the corps completely, you might as well fly to the moon and join those so-called noble 'Highriders,' if they'd even take you.
Besides, there was no way he'd let V die.
He owed her. Without V's earlier help, he'd never have made it this far.
Sure, he had a good reputation for being fair and dependable, but as a fixer, that came with a cost. Slow growth, less profit, and more enemies among peers.
Big names like Rogue, Mr. Hands, and Padre didn't care—but among small-time fixers, grudges brewed easily.
Without V's care—her corporate jobs, her share of Arasaka's new drug distribution channel—Jackie would've been finished long ago.
He knew that much.
"Here. Tequila. Cheers, hermana… Don't frown like that. Bad times always pass. Don't worry. This job—I'll handle it."
"Thank you, Jackie. You're the one I trust most. For something like this, I really wouldn't know who else to turn to."
Clink.
They exchanged a knowing smile, raised their glasses, and downed them together.
With greetings done and mutual understanding reached, it was time to get to business.
V pointed at the shard lying on the table. "This contains the information my boss and I gathered over the past month. Should be useful."
"Mm, I saw. Pretty thorough. Schedule, biometrics, Trauma Team card… huh, safehouses? One, two, three, four… damn, you Arasaka folks really scared of dying, huh?"
Jackie removed the shard from behind his ear and set it aside. "Security clearance, inner circle—driver, security chief, lover, lover's husband. It's all here."
Clearly, the grudge ran deep. The girl and her boss were desperate to see this 'Susan Abernathy' dead.
Focusing on the retinal projection of the target: typical corpo attire, faint traces of facial cyberware, mid-length black hair tied in a ponytail, slightly wide face, full lips… As he memorized the target's features, Jackie thought quietly to himself.
"This job'll cost a lot. And the payment has to be quiet—no transfers, no digital trail. Cash only."
V placed a briefcase full of eurodollars on the table. "Cash is ready."
Jackie nodded. "Rough estimate—you'll need a full pro cybermerc team. One, no, at least two netrunners with top-tier neuralware… and a driver crazy enough to race through hell. Oh, right—V, any chance that woman's got a [Cyber Tyrant] assigned to her?"
"Personal bodyguard with a [Cyber Tyrant]? Hah. That bitch's rank isn't nearly that high—unless she pays out of pocket."
V sneered.
Then, as if recalling something, she pointed at a second shard inside the data box. "This one's about [Quinque] gear. Don't spread it around. The portability and surprise factor of this new tech make it perfect for executive security. Watch out for those 'briefcase carriers.'"
"And once you start the job, you'd better take her out within five minutes. Otherwise, Arasaka Security Division's rapid-response teams stationed throughout Night City will be on you."
"Even with the city's 'Over-Limit Firepower Restriction Treaty,' don't rule out the possibility that her guards might have exoskeleton armor."
V continued sternly, "Jackie, I won't interfere with how you do things, but choose your people carefully. No one with ties to the company. People you know—people you trust. If they turn around and sell us out… you know what happens."
"And they've got to be damn good," Jackie added with a grin.
"Damn, a lot of prerequisites, huh."
Clicking his tongue, he shook his head, then after a short pause, his tone turned serious. "As for candidates… I've got a solid crew in mind. The Maine crew—you've met them."
"You mean the brown-skinned hulk from the Faraday misdirection job? The one nearly fried his brain?"
V recalled, "A year now, and he's still not gone cyberpsycho? Impressive."
"They're keeping him stable with your company's new drug," Jackie replied. "He's been gradually replacing outdated, low-compatibility implants to reduce strain."
"Good."
V nodded. "A Sandevistan user—no problem there. His crew also has two skilled netrunners. But one team alone… not enough."
"Understood."
Jackie wasn't surprised by her caution. Better safe than sorry.
After a moment's thought, he said a name: "Panam Palmer."
Seeing V's inquisitive look, he explained, "She's a Nomad from the Aldecaldos. Came to Night City recently, trying her luck as a merc."
"We've worked together a few times. She's got guts—and I like her style. If you trust my judgment, she's reliable."
He emphasized, "No way she's a Nomad traitor. I've seen her chatting with other Nomads out in the Badlands—they're on good terms. Just different ways of surviving. Her family's doing construction work in Arasaka's new R&D district. She drives a customized Thorton Mackinaw 'Warhorse,' heavy firepower rig, smuggler-style—you get the picture."
Smuggling runs meant crossing the Badlands—dealing constantly with the Raffen Shiv cyber-scum who prowled the wastes. Anyone who could make a name out there clearly wasn't lacking in skill.
A former Nomad also meant having plenty of contacts outside the city.
Thinking of this, V looked at Jackie. "Seems we're thinking along the same lines."
"Outside the city," Jackie replied. "Or maybe when that lady and her lover—and her lover's husband—go for one of their little three-way getaways."
If an assassination could be done cleanly, there was no need to turn it into a robbery.
And any hit—whatever the method—should never happen in City Center or Westbrook.
The former was obvious—Corporate Plaza stood right there. As for the latter—Westbrook, Charter Hill, and North Oak—those were the wealth and corporate districts. Vela's estate and the Arasaka Family's Night City residence were all located there.
Targeting an Arasaka mid-to-high-level executive meant stirring a hornet's nest. The NCPD, MaxTac, Trauma Team, Barghest mercs, and Arasaka Security Division would all move.
As for Abernathy's home—not impossible, but extremely risky. It was in a high-end corporate community, with too much security for anyone to sneak in easily.
Doing this kind of private, rank-defying job, V couldn't afford to use Arasaka's official resources.
"Any time limit?" Jackie asked. "Your department head didn't set a deadline?"
"No," V replied. "Time's flexible. But the sooner, the better."
"OK, got it. Huh… then let's draft a few plans. A frontal hit's nearly impossible… best bet's still an ambush outside the city."
"I'll keep tabs on the target's movements," V said.
Jackie nodded. "Also, we can't put all our bets on one plan."
Tapping the shard that held Abernathy's data, he gave a strange look. "Judging by her spending habits, she's got quite the appetite. Visits Clouds for those male dolls pretty often… let's see if I can work that angle."
Noting Jackie's odd tone at the mention of Clouds, V added, "Don't forget to scout around her residence, too."
"Yeah, yeah. Got it."
Both were quick-thinking and action-oriented; in just a few exchanges, the commission details were settled. Rubbing his chin, Jackie slapped his thigh. "Alright, plans are set. I'll contact you soon. For now, let's have a few more drinks."
He filled their glasses with tequila and raised his own. "To my hermana's promotion."
Caught up in Jackie's optimism, the exhaustion faded from V's face. She smiled, lifted her glass. "To my brother Jackie's road to fame."
"Cheers." ×2.
Clink.
...
Meanwhile.
Night City, Arasaka Coastline Private Mid-Sized Airfield.
Vmmm… Vmmm…
A formation of fully armed orbital shuttles slowed and descended, escorting a single luxury orbital-grade AV that emerged from their center. It landed smoothly before the waiting reception team.
Clack.
Opening her eyes from a brief nap and straightening her coat, Vela glanced at Michiko Arasaka beside her, then stepped off the vehicle.
"Uncle Thomas."
Since she hadn't informed Night City's administration division of her return, the welcoming party was small—only trusted personnel. Among them, Vela immediately spotted James Thomas, Vice President of the Arasaka Tower Night City Executive Council.
He had risen alongside Vela—from the position of First Executive Deputy Director of Security. Her loyalty to old allies clearly pleased him. The stern lines of his face softened with satisfaction. Still, in public—especially during work—he never acted like an old-timer throwing his weight around.
"Director Vela," he greeted formally, stepping forward.
Then he turned to Michiko. "Ms. Arasaka."
"Vice President Thomas," Michiko replied with a polite nod.
Seeing that Vela and Thomas were heading aside for a private talk, Michiko didn't mind. She casually called for an attendant to guide her toward the airport's reception center, waving lightly to Vela as she left.
Vela waved back, then turned, walking side by side with Thomas until they reached the edge of the tarmac—where the vast construction site of the new Arasaka Research Center in North Watson could be seen in the distance. Her eyes began to glow a faint orange-red.
[Vela: During my absence in North America, any progress in rounding up the remnants of the Federal Intelligence Agency?]
[Thomas: Some, but not much. After Washington rebuilt its Night City intel network, the person in charge got a lot more cautious—slippery as ever. But we did get something significant. We're fairly certain their main base is around the Pacifica area.]
[Vela: Pacifica? Makes sense. After Dogtown's transition from independence to city jurisdiction, population flow's been wild—perfect for hiding. Haven't acted for half a year, so let Kurt Hansen run another sweep.]
[Thomas: I'll leave it to Hansen, with Intelligence support. But speaking of Intelligence—the Frankfurt mess completely broke the truce between Counter-Intelligence and Special Operations. Now that the issue's been buried, Arthur Jenkins and Susan Abernathy are at each other's throats again.]
"Oh? Is that so."
In the shadow of the night, the corner of Vela's lips curved into a sharp, knowing smile.