Inside Arasaka Tower's Central War Room in Oakland, Vela was working tirelessly—directing the spring offensive across the central front, calculating every variable, and mentally simulating Myers' reaction to the unmoving frontline and the pipeline infiltration's potential results.
Meanwhile, far to the east, along the Potomac River, the atmosphere in and around Washington was thick with tension and dread.
In the west wing of the White House—beneath the ever-changing Oval Office—
The offensives launched by Arasaka and its allied conglomerates swept through like a blizzard of steel, cutting through Washington's defenses like razors through snow. Telegrams from the Omaha frontlines begging for reinforcements arrived like snowflakes. The glow of scrolling battle reports reflected on President Rosalind Myers' face—cold as ice.
"Useless!"
"Our defensive line's as fragile as paper—it tears at the first touch!"
"I won't complain that Arasaka surpasses us in naval technology, AI applications, or advanced weapon systems. I won't even argue that they lead us in bioengineering and cyberware design! But—"
Bang!
Myers slammed her palm on the desk, face twisting with fury as she rose sharply to her feet.
"I never imagined that in the field we pride ourselves on most—mass production, standardized quality, military-grade heavy industry—you people could perform so pathetically that Arasaka's nearly matched us!"
"What is this?! A disgrace!"
"Militech's foundation, the very pride of our nation's military-industrial power, overtaken by a pack of corporate vermin?!"
"Superior? Equal footing?"
Clang! She hurled her PDA against the edge of the holographic sand table. "Self-delusion! Word games! If we're not ahead—we've already lost!"
Arasaka was an all-encompassing corporate empire. Militech, though it had expanded after its victory in the Fourth Corporate War, remained a specialized arms manufacturer—a traditional military industry giant with severe academic and technological imbalance.
For its primary business to be caught up to seventy percent by Arasaka's manufacturing division—one of the corporation's three pillars—was unthinkable. The implications were terrifying.
The cabinet fell silent.
They were all shrewd operators—they knew Myers wasn't just venting. She was looking for someone to take the fall for the underperforming campaign.
"I've only been away from Militech for twelve years," Myers hissed. "Twelve! And now the nation and the company have rotted this far?!"
Tap, tap.
Myers paced around the war room, her tone biting and accusatory.
"I can summarize the possibilities in two words. One—DARPA and Militech's Weapons Development Division have been infiltrated by traitors. Two—you've grown complacent, negligent, sleeping on your laurels!"
"Mr. Luccessi, your development department is responsible!"
Halfway through her stride, Myers turned abruptly, sweeping her arm toward the Militech Weapons Development Director and DARPA Chief.
Huff... Exhaling a thick plume of smoke, she crushed her cigar into the ashtray. The elderly white man she'd addressed—Luccessi—slowly stood, adjusting the chain of his antique monocle.
His voice was low and gravelly. "From missiles to air-dropped ordnance, from multi-purpose propellants to specialized explosives, from new materials and energy systems to storage batteries and performance optimization... I'll admit it—we underestimated Arasaka. We underestimated their innovation and resilience."
Luccessi knew full well he couldn't escape this blame.
Myers needed a scapegoat—and someone of suitable rank. As a descendant of Militech founder Antonio Luccessi, who had been sidelined as far back as the Donald Lundee era (2020s), his pedigree was perfect for the role.
And truthfully, it wasn't entirely unjust.
As head of development, Luccessi bore responsibility for Militech's stagnation. Many heavy-weapon subfields where Militech once led had been overtaken by Arasaka's alternative methods.
As a developer himself, Luccessi knew exactly what that "alternative method" was—
They had solved every engineering challenge through materials science.
In recent years, Arasaka's breakthroughs in material technology had been nothing short of staggering.
Countermeasures? Espionage had long been attempted, but Arasaka's internal security was airtight. What little intel they'd gathered was useless without time to reverse-engineer from captured hardware.
Of course, regardless of fairness, Luccessi knew the blame had to land somewhere—and it had to land on him.
After a moment's thought, he clenched his jaw and named the person responsible. "Vela A. Russell. Saburo Arasaka's decision to empower her—that was his so-called divine revelation under the cherry blossoms before his rebirth."
"It's not only because of how dangerous she is, nor because she's managed to unite the Free States separatists under her banner—but because of the tremendous positive feedback she's given both Arasaka Corporation and Saburo himself. Especially the so-called 'Rejuvenation.' Saburo's recovery has thrown too many of our plans into disarray. It slowed our entire war-readiness cycle by a step."
At that, he couldn't help but sigh in frustration.
If only they'd killed Vela when they had the chance.
Saburo had been half-dead, Arasaka was in disarray, and his heirs were feuding endlessly—a perfect situation for Militech to seize quiet victory without direct confrontation.
Now, all of that was gone.
Saburo had united the feuding Arasaka factions—Vela, Yorinobu, Hanako, and Michiko—all aligned, each fulfilling their role.
Even the infamous wastrel Yorinobu had, under wartime pressure, publicly declared unity and dispatched his most elite divisions to support his once-rival niece.
Intelligence confirmed that after the first three A-Class divisions were deployed to the southern front, the second wave of four divisions had landed in North America and were already moving toward the Omaha central front. Meanwhile, the third wave—five divisions—had just completed mobilization in Japan, preparing to embark with a massive shipment of supplies and weaponry.
Even the fourth wave of reinforcements—comprising reserve divisions, restructured security forces, recalled veterans, conscripted mercenaries, and new recruits—had begun retraining by late April, forming a Strategic Support Army to deploy in sequence as readiness allowed.
Recruitment for the Strategic Support Army was ongoing.
"Damn that Yorinobu," Luccessi muttered. "He swore on Tokyo News that he would fully support 'his dear niece Vela' and the North American war effort—to avenge his 'good brother' Kei Arasaka by crushing Militech."
"And then there's EuroBank, SovOil, and Biotechnica... By mid-2076, the international community largely sided with Arasaka and turned against us."
"Even Petrochem didn't support us this time because of Texas' ambiguous stance."
...
In short—there were many reasons.
"Yes, I share responsibility," Luccessi admitted, "but not all of it lies with me."
Myers listened quietly, weighing his words.
She recognized the soft deflection immediately.
Why had the world's megacorps turned against them? Because she had promised to rebuild America and launched the War of Unification. Why had Petrochem withheld support? Because after that war, her overzealous border troops had killed and injured Texans and bombed Lone Star border cities—Washington's intent to reabsorb Texas was clear to all. And Petrochem was, after all, born in Texas...
Still, Myers decided to let it go for now—at least Luccessi had been smart enough to shoulder the blame.
She nodded curtly, signaling her acceptance, then emphasized coldly: "Increase production of exoskeletons and ACPA armor immediately. If Arasaka can equip every soldier with exoskeleton support, there's no reason we can't. I will not see my troops wearing paper-thin vests while fighting Arasaka's chrome-plated invaders. That's a waste of lives and resources."
Her tone hardened as her gaze shifted to the central screen showing the live Omaha feed—
Arasaka's multi-legged bionic assault tanks ravaging the streets; mechanical beasts—some animal-like, some humanoid—slashing through the urban maze; biomechanical warforms tunneling through rubble and shadows.
In close combat, Militech's exosuit troops appeared more aggressive, but Arasaka's superior [EXO] suits outperformed them effortlessly—faster response, better control, deadlier precision.
The howls of gravitational fields reverberated like thunder, their shockwaves tearing through Omaha's dense urban defenses. Arasaka's fully cyberized "Tyrants" dominated the battlefield—fast, mobile, devastating.
A Militech Chimera heavy multi-legged tank lay dead at the breach of a building, but not before capturing footage of Arasaka's battlefield medics using advanced hemostatic gels, regenerative foams, and neuro-stimulant serums—methods starkly superior to the crude first aid of New American troops.
Aside from minor advantages in heavy vehicle tonnage, Arasaka had gained the upper hand in nearly every other aspect.
Expressionless, Myers turned away from the screen, her voice cutting coldly through the silence: "Your next development focus—targeted iteration. Match their systems. Surpass them."
"Yes... understood," Luccessi replied, face pale and bitter, before slumping back into his seat.
"And Omaha's request for reinforcements?" one general asked cautiously.
"The Reserve Army in Washington will dispatch three heavy mechanized infantry divisions. Equip every soldier with exoskeleton support, no exceptions." Myers exhaled sharply. "They'll coordinate with the Lazarus mercenaries and corporate units stationed along the central line to reinforce Omaha. The center must hold. The south is where we strike next."