In the Badlands, inside an old, long-abandoned pipeline.
Tap, tap.
Footsteps, barely audible beneath the rumble of the ground.
"The Rapid Response Unit has arrived."
"Jackie, we don't have much time left."
"Calm your people as best as you can. Make sure the retreat is clean—get to the safehouse and disappear fast."
"We're all grasshoppers tied to the same rope now. If you want peace of mind, best to clean up the loose ends… forget it, I'll shut up before I sound like I'm burning bridges. You know how it is after working Counter-Intelligence for so long."
The words about 'silencing witnesses' had barely left her mouth when V sensed the shift in her friend's eyes and stopped talking immediately.
She changed the subject, offering encouragement:
"At least it's some small blessing. The NUSA Federal Intelligence Agency's interference may have complicated the hit, but at least it's thrown Arasaka's pursuit into confusion. They'll lock their primary target on Solomon Reed—that's our chance to wash our hands clean."
"Jackie, I know what's bothering you."
"True, even with Abernathy gone, she still has plenty of troublesome assets left in the Special Operations Division. But trust me—if we keep our heads down, stay quiet, and hold our ground until the storm passes, once my department head moves up, no one will remember some washed-up corporate dog's old scandal."
That was Arasaka—or rather, that was how all megacorporations worked.
Jackie spoke next, his tone heavy: "No, it's not that. Arasaka's business—you handle that, chica, I trust you."
He paused. "It's Maine. His condition's bad. Dorio says he kept using his [Sandevistan] during the escape. He's on the edge of cyberpsychosis."
"Falco's injured, Pilar's badly hurt and immobile. And including those twin netrunner sisters—one gold-haired, one silver—three of his teammates are still in that bastard Reed's hands. Their status is unknown."
Breaking down? Cyberpsychosis? Wonderful.
If those two netrunners got their brains fried by FIA agents, even better!
V thought to herself silently.
Sure, she and Jackie were close friends—but with Maine's team, Panam, and those Nomads? That was just a business deal. No feelings involved. If they all dropped dead, she'd probably applaud—one less thing to worry about later.
Of course, out of respect for Jackie's emotions, V kept that thought to herself.
She had no intention of wasting energy arguing—survival came first.
"It'll be fine."
That was all V could bring herself to say.
Comforting people was not her specialty. Better to leave that to the hotline workers.
She glanced sideways at Jackie.
The cheerful, optimistic guy was now silent, head down, following her steps. His cyber-eyes flickered with streams of orange data—probably still connected with Maine's crew and Panam.
V turned away, uninterested in joining. She ran while calmly untangling the web of information in her mind.
She and Jackie had hidden their weapons and other 'evidence.' Locked them in a special safe, sealed into the rock wall, then covered it with stones, soil, and sand—impervious to scanners.
Maine had managed to escape. He, Dorio, Falco, and Pilar should have made it to the prearranged safehouse—a buried bunker in an abandoned oil town west of Jackson Plains. Supplies there could last them a month.
They might need some immune suppressant meds later.
As for Panam and the Nomads, word was their losses were severe. Even the local Nomad clan leader was dead or crippled. That hotheaded woman had cursed Jackie out, then stormed off to regroup with the surviving Nomads. Their safehouse was reportedly in the Badlands too, within a squatter camp—tents mixed in with a landfill.
They didn't need to bother with them anymore.
The Badlands belonged to the Nomads. Who knew how many tunnels they'd dug out there?
The farther from the city, the weaker corporate and government control became—even Arasaka's reach had limits.
And that massive explosion just now—according to internal Arasaka intel—came from the Security Bureau's Special Assault Unit 6…
Jenkins had made his promises loud and clear, but could he really handle the pressure? Even V wasn't sure.
She knew well the predicament her superior faced—the room to maneuver was shrinking fast. This ambush, to be blunt, was a desperate roll of the dice, the last gamble of someone with no chips left.
Jenkins' success or failure was her own.
As his protégé—personally promoted and protected by him—V had enjoyed rapid advancement. But that came with a cost: his mark branded on her. Their fates were tied together—his loss was her downfall, his triumph her glory.
She had to be loyal.
V understood perfectly: if Jenkins fell, she'd go down with him. Abernathy, victorious, would never spare her rival's people.
That was why she'd accepted this dangerous assignment.
After all—what if it worked?
Win, and she'd rise to the clouds. Lose, and she'd sink to the bottom of the bay.
A lowly employee or a departmental executive?
If given the choice again, V knew she'd still take the gamble.
Tap, tap.
Before she realized it, she and Jackie had reached the end of the sand-scarred, pothole-ridden tunnel. The derelict pipeline's foundation was still buried deep beneath the dunes. One after another, they dropped through a gap, landing on the dry riverbed below. The wind carried sand across V's disguised face, brushing her hat brim and the plain clothes she now wore.
"Put this on."
V took the small bundle from her belt and handed it over.
"What's this?"
"An adaptive morph-mask."
V explained, "A simplified version. Not as advanced as the full-body covert models, but enough to change your face and get us through Arasaka's border checkpoint."
"The control chip's included—preloaded with our cover data. Our fake IDs are registered as low-level Counter-Intelligence field agents who've been secretly investigating suspected FIA operatives near the city's southern border. It's logged in Arasaka's database."
Night City's border checkpoints used to fall under Militech jurisdiction.
But after most of the western states reestablished independence in 2076 and the Free States Alliance was restored, the signing of the Second Alvin Accord tilted the balance of power. Arasaka's dominance along the West Coast grew daily, while Militech's influence dwindled. Even Night City itself now stood firmly under Arasaka's shadow once more.
Naturally, the border checkpoints became Arasaka-controlled.
"Keep your spirits up. And drop that Spanish accent—remember who we're supposed to be."
V patted Jackie's shoulder. "If those three are dead, then you've got all the more reason to live—because you're the only one who can make sure their families get paid in full."
"Hey, chica, that's one hell of a way to comfort someone."
Jackie sighed, then nodded in understanding.
He wasn't a kid. He knew the risks of living the merc life.
Taking the bundle, zip—he opened it, pulling out the morph-mask: an oversized, off-white piece resembling a facial film, etched with faint circuit traces.
He pressed it onto his face. The edges sealed tight. Then he inserted the matching chip into his ear interface. In his retinal HUD, he selected 'Activate.' Beep-beep.
The morph-mask shimmered, adapting in color. Subtle shifts began—the face structure adjusted, skin tone darkened, freckles appeared, the lines of his cyberware became concealed. Individually, the changes were minor, but together they transformed him completely.
In seconds, a tan-skinned, classic Latino street punk appeared. Even someone from Heywood's Valentinos—or Misty, his girlfriend—wouldn't recognize him now.
Next, Jackie buttoned up like a typical Arasaka grunt, straightened his collar, and covered everything—hands, face, and neck—with fabric. After wrapping a sand scarf around his head, he forced a grin and gave V a thumbs-up.
"Poor Maine, though."
"Arasaka—or rather, the Counter-Intelligence Division—will compensate him. Hopefully his friends are loyal enough to make it matter. Let's move."
After giving Jackie a quick once-over, V nodded. She turned back toward the distant horizon of the Jackson Plains—where armored hovercraft still streaked through the sky, gunfire echoing nonstop. Some were already pushing into the coastal mountains. It was chaos. The mushroom clouds had faded, but the rising plumes of smoke lingered endlessly.
Then V turned away, crossing the dry riverbed and stepping onto a half-buried stretch of old asphalt road. Before long, they reached the vehicle they'd hidden earlier in a remote corner. Pulling off the tarp, folding it neatly, they climbed in, started the engine, and drove toward the locked-down border checkpoint.
The Badlands assault incident—
From this point on, it had nothing to do with her.
She hadn't done it.
She hadn't even been there.