The Badlands — Jackson Plains.
Southeast sector.
At the edge of a crater.
Click, clack.
The sound of high-heeled boots pressing into loose soil broke the uneasy silence of the scorched wasteland.
"[Discarded Pawn]… what an inauspicious name."
Speaking in her magnetic, cool tone, Vela crouched down, brushing aside still-warm ashes with her gloved hand. Ignoring the sticky, half-melted clumps beneath her fingers, she picked up a sand-stained, black-gray fragment of metal.
She brushed away the dust, revealing the rough outline of what once had been a finely crafted, custom-made handgun—with a distinct independent grip and a forward-mounted magazine.
Though badly damaged, its craftsmanship was still evident.
The half-melted frame reflected a warped, dull gleam. The metal had twisted under immense heat, its surface scarred with molten trails like frozen wax.
Running her fingers along the grip and the sticky residue on the trigger, Vela scanned the surroundings.
Everywhere her eyes reached—scorched earth, dozens of craters gouged into the ground, uneven scars left by blast waves and overlapping heat shock. The dry air stank of charred flesh and molten steel.
Nearby, several wrecked vehicles still burned, crackling loudly. Black smoke billowed skyward.
Their structures were so violently deformed they resembled the remains of a toy city smashed by unruly children—hardly recognizable as machines anymore.
All around, corpses of the so-called "terrorists" lay scattered—some fused with their vehicles in fiery explosions, some hurled dozens of meters away, others burned to unrecognizable remains.
Some were reduced to ash. Some still smoldered. Some—nothing was left at all.
Eventually, Vela stopped before the shattered wreck of a transport vehicle.
"Report: The 'Gift' has been recovered. However, the thermostatic container is destroyed. The hybrid tyrannosaur hatchling was roasted alive. All auxiliary equipment is also melted beyond use."
After his report, the cyber-ninja bowed slightly and stepped aside.
"Understood."
Vela nodded calmly, her expression unreadable.
Turning, she stopped near another charred, half-missing body.
Half the corpse was simply gone—the rest crushed and burned, face indistinguishable. Only by the remaining titanium bone frame could one estimate the build—around one meter ninety.
The limbs were mostly gone, leaving only the right arm and a few bent fingers.
Seeing this, Vela came to a conclusion.
"Is it him?"
She stroked the ruined [Discarded Pawn] and asked.
"Yes. Bio-signatures match," replied the ninja. "If the NUSA's Federal Intelligence Agency truly had the ability to extract their agents undetected while their combat net was breached, being tracked, and targeted by hypersonic missiles—all within three minutes—then it would be Washington, not us, standing at the Pacific now."
Without a doubt, this was the same cyber-ninja who had eliminated Alex.
Trained from childhood under Arasaka's system of feudal loyalty and service, one of the elite 'Hundred Lone Wolves,' his contempt for the New United States was palpable.
It was his unit that, through Alex's neural network, successfully infiltrated the FIA's temporary combat LAN—securing Arasaka's decisive advantage in the battle.
Just as Solomon Reed's retreat had been watched through Alex's own eyes, they had seamlessly taken over her link, shadowing Reed all the way to his destruction by missile strike.
"You did well," Vela said with a faint smile, tossing the [Discarded Pawn] to the ninja who had earned the greatest credit.
"Frame it. Deliver it to the Murata family when we return to Tokyo."
That "Murata" referred to the same Murata Ozuru who had been assassinated during the Metal Wars—the admiral who commanded the supercarrier Kujira.
The Murata family, long-standing vassals of the Arasaka clan, still held considerable power.
Unfortunately, on the night before the first signing of the Alvin Accord, Murata Ozuru was assassinated after docking—killed by NUSA agent Jonas Collinson, who had clearly learned the essence of Japanese gekokujou (the art of overthrowing one's superiors). He was the highest-ranking casualty Arasaka suffered during the Metal Wars.
At that time, Arasaka and Militech were just about to sign the peace agreement.
This incident humiliated Washington, forcing them to sacrifice Reed to quell Arasaka's fury. That was also why the FIA's Night City branch was wiped out in late 2069.
To Vela, who constantly schemed to put pressure on Yorinobu Arasaka, a Japanese family of such influence and capability was not one she could overlook.
Before, she hadn't had a reason to approach them. Now—an excuse had conveniently arrived.
Though she hadn't personally taken the head of the true culprit, Jonas Collinson, Reed had been the one who ensured Jonas' escape after that disaster in 2069. In that sense, he had prevented the Murata family's revenge. So now, by killing him, Vela could make good use of the situation—and even send word to offer her "congratulations."
As for keeping a trophy…
"[Discarded Pawn]—what an unlucky name. I don't care for it."
"Clean up the scene," Vela ordered. "Inform the Administration Division to prepare the materials. Once we return to the city, I'll hold a press conference."
That was the real reason she had personally come to the Badlands.
To make herself appear more urgent—and more innocent.
Politics was all about performance. Whether others believed it or not didn't matter; one had to act both saintly and ruthless at the same time.
The massive fireworks she'd ordered SAT-6 to launch on the outskirts of Night City still needed some explanation. After all, the gift she'd prepared for her "dear sister" Michiko had been ambushed. Director Abernathy of Arasaka's Special Operations had been killed. Her fury-driven retaliation would make for the perfect facade.
Tap, tap.
With everything handled, Vela turned to look back at the scene one last time.
The thermostatic containment unit holding the charred hybrid tyrannosaur hatchling was being sterilized and destroyed by SAT-6's heavy infantry.
Its purpose as bait had been fulfilled.
Using a hybrid tyrannosaur hatchling and a few boxes of R-618 "Rebirth" sub-series rejuvenation cosmetics and supplements to lure and eliminate one of the FIA's ace agents? In Vela's view, worth it—absolutely worth it.
Later, she planned to breed another violent hatchling and send it as a gift to Michiko.
Finally, her gaze lingered on Reed's corpse—unable to look away.
Not out of sentiment, but as a reminder to herself—to make sure this never happened to her.
After all, Solomon Reed had once been hailed as the finest intelligence officer of the NUSA, a man whose prime could rival legends like Morgan Blackhand. Reed had been no weakling—he had only lost because she hadn't played fair. She hadn't wasted time on games or pretense—she simply locked on and unleashed full fire coverage.
At this stage, her personal combat prowess was formidable—but there were still plenty of things that could kill her.
The "Power of the Nine Velas" did not mean invincibility.
She couldn't afford arrogance. Everything required caution and contingencies.
Silently, Vela reminded herself: the closer one gets to victory's dawn, the more they must beware of Militech's nuclear table-flipping and decapitation strikes.
Bzzz... bzzz...
Boarding her craft, Vela flew toward the crash site.
No matter what Abernathy had been in life—her death served its purpose.
The dead were often more useful than the living.
Vela was going to oversee the recovery, deliver a few words, shed a tear or two—crocodile tears, of course.
Beep-beep.
A new message alert. Vela glanced at the sender—Security Division?
"Hm?"
Scrolling down, her expression turned strange. "Lucyna Kushinada… Lucy? She actually revealed her own identity? Interesting."
...
Crash site.
The airspace was thick with armored AVs, with Octant-class heavy drones circling in layered patrols.
On the ground, Abernathy and the security officers' bodies were already sealed in body bags.
Escorted by David, Katsuo, and Suneo, Kiwi, Rebecca, and Lucy returned to the ambush site—expressions unreadable.
Under the peculiar and mocking gazes of the Arasaka field operatives, Kiwi and Rebecca exchanged guarded looks and whispered cautiously with their lips. Lucy followed silently behind David, her face emotionless—lost deep in thought.
Soon, a roaring sound came from the southeast, growing louder.
"They're here."
Lucy lifted her head, violet-blue eyes lined with shadow catching the glint of light.
Whether she lived or died now depended entirely on how she performed next.
A high-end, custom-built AV swept low over the crash site, the powerful air currents it stirred up sending a misty "sand rain" cascading from the sky.
Everyone, including David, stood solemnly in line.
Moments later, the AV extended its landing struts, descended, and touched down.
Clack—the hatch opened.
Lucy saw clearly: from within the entourage stepping down, a blonde woman in a tailored suit emerged, her gaze sweeping toward them.
All around, every armed presence—from NCPD border patrol to Barghest mercenaries—snapped to attention, standing with weapons ready, giving her a formal salute.
Trauma Team had come and gone—they only saved the living. Once it was confirmed there were none left to save, Arasaka handled its own dead.
The blonde woman walked forward with an air of calm composure.
It was Lucy's first time seeing Vela this close.
Just as the rumors said—breathtakingly beautiful, statuesque, with a poised, athletic grace. She looked barely in her twenties, yet carried an aura of maturity, authority, and quiet grandeur. A fusion of classical beauty and cybernetic perfection.
No wonder Saburo Arasaka admired her so much—calling her both gem and gold, talent and iron. The old man's praise had been so effusive it was as if he'd gladly kick his son Yorinobu aside to put her in power.
"David, Katsuo. Well done," Vela said coolly.
Katsuo Tanaka straightened his back, voice resonant and proud, just like that day at Arasaka Academy when Vela had given him guidance through his father's introduction. "It is our duty and honor, ma'am!"
David, visibly nervous, stammered, "Th-thank you, ma'am… Commander. I really appreciate it—you still remember me…"
Lucy blinked in surprise. That clear-eyed kid actually knew Vela? Were they alumni? Why had he never mentioned that?
As she was still trying to think of a way to plead her case or at least get a chance to explain herself, David silently stepped aside.
"!!"
Lucy froze. In front of her were crimson cyber-eyes that cut like blades.
If this had been the old her—the frightened girl who only knew how to run—she would've already fallen to her knees.
"Lucyna Kushinada, is that correct?"
The voice that followed was Vela's.
When those deep indigo eyes turned on her, despite all her mental preparation, Lucy still felt an inexplicable weight pressing on her chest. Her heartbeat quickened.
She had so many thoughts, so many backup plans—but when she opened her mouth, only one word came out.
"Yes."
"Do you want to return to Warsaw?" Vela asked next.
Lucy didn't hesitate. She shook her head. "No."
"You ran away from home. You erased your name. You abandoned your post," Vela said, her tone gentle but sharp, a faint smile playing at her lips. "And now you come seeking to return to Arasaka. Was it they who made you change your mind?"
Her gaze flicked toward Rebecca—restless and uneasy—and Kiwi, who stood with an air of resigned defeat.
"I…"
Lucy's pulse spiked. Every detail of her past had just been laid bare. She was completely under Vela's rhythm now.
But she couldn't help it.
"I'll ask only once," Vela continued before Lucy could answer. "Do you believe you are one of Arasaka's own?"
Lucy's stomach dropped.
A loaded question. A wrong answer meant death.
She wasn't stupid—she understood the implication perfectly.
Would Vela ever truly value her? Lucy doubted it.
The only thing Vela might value was her European connections—especially now, amid Yorinobu's power struggle for succession. Lucy didn't yet know the full scope of events in Tokyo, but her instincts told her enough.
"I am," she said finally, gritting her teeth.
Whatever—might as well gamble everything. Ten wasted years, endless beatings, the harsh lesson that even the Moon wasn't beyond Arasaka's reach—and after the 'Frankfurt Incident' caused by weaponization, she'd long realized how naive her old ideals had been. Life had taught her what people couldn't.
"I wish to join Arasaka Night City," Lucy declared.
Vela could hear the tremor in her rapid breathing.
"You've passed," Vela said simply.
Then, right before Lucy's eyes, streams of data lit up in Vela's pupils as she used her executive board privileges to open a direct intercontinental call through Arasaka's private network.
"Data Center—connect to Arasaka Tower, Paris… yes, Poland… hello, Warsaw Branch? This is Vela Adelheid Russell. Get me your Head of Security Systems, Takeshi Kushinada. Tell him to call me back immediately—I'll wait."
Hearing her father's name, Lucy's eyes widened. The relief she'd just felt vanished in an instant, replaced by a rush of dread.
Less than five seconds later—
Beep-beep.
"Takeshi Kushinada speaking."
"Director Vela, how may I be of service?"
Since Vela had enabled call sharing, Lucy heard that familiar yet distant voice—a voice that sounded so humble, so servile.
"There's something I need to inform you of," Vela said calmly.
"Please go ahead."
"Your daughter, Lucyna Kushinada, has been found. She's in Night City now. Her return, however, is… unconventional. It involves an FIA conspiracy. I intend to transfer her employment to Arasaka America. Do you have any objections?"
"None," Takeshi replied without hesitation—his tone the epitome of a model Arasaka executive, pragmatic and disciplined. "It is my daughter's honor to have caught your attention, Director. I'll immediately rescind her wanted notice and restore her personnel records under the Old Net Recovery Division."
"Good. Then it's settled. If time allows, I'll permit her to visit home. Or, perhaps, you can come to see her yourself."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Very well."
Click. The call ended.
In just a few sentences, Vela had decisively secured Lucy's place under Arasaka America's roster.
The allure of power—displayed in its purest form.
Vela herself had never met Takeshi Kushinada—or perhaps she had, though likely from the stage while he sat in the audience. But reviewing a file was enough for her to construct a basic psychological profile.
From their brief exchange, she could already picture him perfectly—the archetypal corporate loyalist: competent, educated, ruthless, and nearly devoid of empathy.
Sometimes, Vela thought, she and Lucy weren't so different.
Their starting points had been almost identical—both daughters of distinguished Arasaka employees, raised in luxury and safety within pristine Arasaka residential districts, living in villas with gardens, surrounded by comfort and privilege. Their childhoods were dreamlike, the kind most in the Cyberpunk world could only fantasize about.
The only difference was geography—one in Night City, the other in Warsaw.
And from there, their paths diverged.
At seven, Lucy hacked into her father's computer. What she found—the bloodstained rot beneath corporate perfection—shattered her worldview.
Whether it was moral idealism or teenage rebellion, maybe both, from that moment little Lucy began to resist everything her parents stood for. She jacked into the Net more often, grew restless, and finally ran away—fracturing her family beyond repair.
Back then, Vela had not yet awakened her [Divine Gift]. She was simply healthier and more energetic than most, pragmatic and grounded.
She had always been curious about the outside world—its streets, its legends—but never longed for it. Meeting her parents' expectations came easily. She was the perfect daughter, the model child—the one other corporate parents envied.
Then the Metal Wars began.
And North America was far more chaotic than Europe.
Losing her parents in the war forced Vela to leave her orderly comfort zone. She entered Arasaka Academy, diving into the ruthless internal competition that left others stunned. By the time her body reached full development, her drive for advancement had awakened her [Divine Gift].
The race was over.
There was no longer any comparison between Vela and Lucy.
One rose without limits, soaring ever higher. The other ran in circles, always in flight, forever afraid.
If Lucy had one advantage, it was that her parents were still alive.
Yet in terms of happiness—Vela's second "childhood" had been far more complete.
Thinking of Lucy's fateful divergence at age seven, Vela let her thoughts wander. If she had rebelled like Lucy—if she'd defied her parents back then—would they still have loved her as they did? Would they have cared for her the same?
No.
The thought was crushed as soon as it arose.
'What's done is done. There are no 'ifs,'' she reminded herself. 'They loved me as I was—and that is enough.'
"David, you know her. Take her with you."
"Uh—yes, ma'am!"
Casting one last glance at Lucy—standing still like a frightened quail, every bit the picture of obedience—Vela turned and strode toward the row of body bags.
—
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